Regency Sins. Bronwyn Scott

boiled. It was time for this impudent wench to learn a lesson about what happened when she played with fire. ‘You need taming badly.’ He advanced towards her, hands on hips.

      ‘You think you’re that man?’ The Cat queried from her relaxed position in the chair, unmoved by his proximity.

      He leaned over her chair, his hands braced on each of the arms. He inhaled. The scent of outdoor air with the tinge of winter on it still hovered about her. She hadn’t been there long ahead of him. ‘Damn right I am.’

      ‘Many men have tried and most have failed.’

      ‘I am not most men.’ He was impressed. She hadn’t flinched once.

      ‘No, you’re an Earl. There’s, what, roughly fifty of you?’ She rose from the chair, her movements forcing him to step back and aside.

      She still wore his jacket. She made a great show of taking it off and laying it aside with all the care of a man preparing to engage in fisticuffs. ‘Well, my lord, are you going to come tame The Cat or stand there all night trying to figure out who the other forty-nine are?’

      He saw her game and it was over. He would not suffer defeat twice in the same evening, nor would he be cowed into retreating by her brazen tongue.

      ‘I call your bluff. Consider yourself caught.’ He gripped her forearms and covered her lush mouth with his in a kiss that conveyed the power of his desire—a desire that both transcended the base need to be the sole possessor of such a wild creature and encompassed the primal need to protect what was his.

      Indeed, whether she knew it or not, she was his—his equal in wit, in sensual gambits, in passion for a cause. In all the ways that mattered, she was his. His tongue probed the warmth of her mouth and she responded wholeheartedly, giving herself over to a complete embrace and, for once, letting him lead. Her body pressed against his. Her hands twined about his neck to pull him close. Her hips fitted against his jutting erection. At such contact, Brandon knew an elation as old as Adam.

      Confident in himself and in her response, he moved his hand to rest in the provocative space between her breast and ribs. She sighed encouragement into his mouth and he cupped her full breast through the cloth of her shirt. Then he was falling backwards onto the bed, taking the weight of The Cat with him. In a flash he found himself pinned, The Cat looming above him, straddling him at midsection.

      She changed her grip so that she imprisoned both of his wrists with her right hand. The charming smile on her lips persuaded Brandon to lay still and see where her shenanigans led. If she required the illusion of control, he could accommodate her whim.

      With her free hand she pulled his cravat free and wound it around his wrists, her actions compelling her to stretch over his head so that her breasts were mere inches from his mouth. With a flick of his tongue, he could lick the nipples through the linen of her dark shirt. His sense of fair play startled him back to consciousness. He had not mistaken her motions. She was tying him up with his own clothing.

      ‘What are you doing?’ he inquired, a douse of sobriety cooling some of his ardour. He tried to make sense of the amusement playing across her masked features when she leaned back from her efforts.

      The Cat leaned forward to sprinkle tantalising kisses against his jaw. ‘Have none of your other lovers ever invigorated you like this?’ Her hand drifted to his member and grasped it firmly, stroking him through the fabric, her thumb teasing its sensitive head.

      ‘I didn’t think so.’ The Cat laughed—a deep throaty sound men would pay handsomely to hear in the night. She tugged his shirttails from his waistband and popped the buttons of his shirt open to reveal his bare chest. Brandon knew his nipples were erect with need.

      ‘Still think you can tame The Cat?’ She took one erect nubbin in her mouth and laved it with her tongue.

      Brandon moaned. If this was failure, he’d like to fail more often.

      The Cat sat back on her haunches, smiling broadly. She swung off the bed and studied his long legs for a thoughtful moment. Then she began to tug. Off came his boots. Off came his trousers. His member stood at rigid attention for them both to see.

      The Cat stepped away from the bed and walked backwards towards the door, her face still wreathed in her grin. ‘Consider yourself caught.’ She used his own words.

      ‘Where are you going?’ Brandon strained again to sit upright.

      ‘I’m going home.’

      ‘Going home?’ The implications slowly dawned on him. ‘Wait. You can’t leave me like this!’

      ‘Yes, I can.’ She fired her parting volley, ‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to trust a smiling cat?’