As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(105)

“What else can I do to make you tremble, hmm?” His hand reached down for her skirt and pulled it slowly up her thighs. The promised shivers trailed in its wake.

Miranda rolled back her head and gave herself over to him. She’d wanted this moment for so long, and now that it was finally happening—oh, dear Lord, it was happening! She could hardly believe it wasn’t still only a dream. Robert in her arms, his lips on hers, his hands caressing her seductively. Her heart pounded so hard she could hear the rush of blood in her ears, so rapidly she was certain he could feel it, because when she placed her palm on his bare chest, his heart raced beneath her fingertips.

He nipped his way down her throat, then farther down to lick his tongue into the valley between her breasts. When she shuddered and wrapped her arms around his neck to bring him closer, his lips closed around her peaked nipple and sucked.

She moaned, her back arching off the mattress. “Robert…”

He froze, his mouth stilling on her. Then slowly, he released her breast and lifted his head. His blue eyes pinned hers. “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything. I just—”

“Christ!” He pushed off the panther mask and revealed his face.

Oh God.

The air ripped from her lungs. “Sebastian.”

Oh God oh God oh God oh God!

“Who are you?” Sebastian Carlisle grabbed her mask and yanked it down. His eyes widened in stunned surprise. “Miranda?”

He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe— Oh, he was looking at her! Red heat flushed her face, and she slapped hard at his bare chest. “Get off me! Get off—”

His hand clamped down over her mouth. “Shush!” Anger furrowed his brow. “Someone will hear you.”

“I don’t care!” she mumbled against his palm.

“You will if they find us together”—another sweep of his gaze down her body—“like this.”

With a mortified groan, she rolled her eyes. She wanted to die!

He crooked a brow in warning to keep her voice down, then withdrew his hand and rolled off the bed, muttering angrily beneath his breath as he snatched up his shirt from the floor and yanked it on.

Miranda scrambled to cover herself, but her fingers shook so hard that she could barely retie the bows at her shoulders. One knotted pathetically.

He wheeled on her. “What are you doing here, Miranda?”

“Me?” she squeaked, her hand jerking and creating another knot. “What are you doing in Robert’s room? You’d better dress and leave before he—”

“This is my room.” He pointed possessively at the floor.

“Your— No,” she protested firmly even as she took a frantic glance around, although she wouldn’t have known the difference between any of the brothers’ bedrooms at Chestnut Hill. But this was Robert’s, she was certain of it, along with the toy soldiers and poetry books. “I asked the footman. He told me this room.”

His eyes narrowed. “You asked a footman which bedroom belonged to Robert?”

“I was discreet.” She sniffed at his insinuation that she’d been reckless enough to confide her plan for seduction to a footman. If a woman planned to drape herself across a would-be-lover’s bed, she certainly wouldn’t announce it to the household staff. Even she knew that much. “And I wore a mask.”

He placed his palms on the mattress and leaned toward her, bringing his face level with hers. “Exactly how does a masked lady go about asking a footman which bedroom belongs to a bachelor gentleman?”

Ugh, he was so frustrating! She pushed at his shoulders to shove him away, but of course he didn’t budge. The man was a veritable mountain of muscle and aggravation.

With a huff, she folded her arms across her chest and raised her chin. “Wearing her mask, she goes to a footman at the party, slips him a coin, and points to the gentleman in his mask, then asks in complete anonymity which room is—”

He held up a hand, stopping her. “If the gentleman was wearing a mask, how did you know which man you pointed to?”

“Because I bribed Robert’s valet yesterday to find out what mask he’d…” The blood drained from her face as she realized her mistake. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” With a grimace, he tossed the panther mask onto the bed at her feet. “We switched masks before the party. The man you pointed to tonight, Miranda, was me.”

Her stomach plummeted. “Sebastian, I had no idea.”

“Obviously.” He drew up to his full six-foot height and looked down at her with that authoritative look that all the Carlisle brothers—and especially Sebastian—thought they could level on her simply because they’d all grown up together. “Now, we’ve determined how you ended up here.” He folded his arms across his chest, the intimidating pose one she knew well. “Tell me why.”

But she had absolutely no intention of telling him that. Wasn’t she already humiliated enough? “It doesn’t matter. I—I need to leave.”

She scooted to the edge of the bed, her hands tugging at her skirt with each wiggle of her hips to keep her legs covered, although she didn’t know why she bothered, considering he’d just had his mouth on her breast.

Her face burned. Oh God—Sebastian’s mouth had been on her breast!