Chloe (Made Men, #3)(55)

“You ought to be,” he mused, “conversing as you are with one of the worst monsters of them all.”

Her attention snapped back to him. “What a ridiculous claim.”

Ainsley might have grown up to become a libertine with not a shred of honor, but she wouldn’t consider him the worst.

He assessed her with the barest hint of amusement. “Is it proof you want?”

“No, thank you,” she said flatly. “In this particular field, you may strive for excellence. I shall not be responsible for challenging you to become worse than you are.”

He laughed, and Kathryn’s heart did an uncomfortable flip in her chest.

“Good night, Lord Ainsley,” she said, hastily pushing the painfully familiar feeling to the back of her mind. Once again, she stepped around him, and once again, she found him blocking her way.

He offered his arm. “Am I escorting you back to your box or to your carriage, Lady Kathryn?”

Her choices were very clear: her box, her carriage, or stand here to be annoyed by him for all eternity, or at least until the end of the opera, which would feel like an eternity.

She sighed with grudging resignation. She didn’t have time for this. “You may hail me a hack.”

Kathryn curled her hand into the crook of his elbow, his heat burning through her glove. As they stepped out into the drizzling night, she did her best to ignore the hard, attractive male blocking most of the wind.

Ainsley turned up his coat collar against the biting wind and whistled loudly to alert a nearby hackney. Across the street, the coachman urged his reluctant horses toward the theater. When the small, two-seater carriage stopped, and the danger of becoming unforgivably covered in mud was at least lessened, he walked her to the door and helped her in.

“Thank you for your escort, Lord Ainsley,” she said. “I am sure I never would have found a carriage without you.”

Without him, she wouldn’t have needed one.

He leaned into the open doorway, his broad frame blocking the wind from entering the small space. “It isn’t finding a hack that’s dangerous.”

“Ah, yes. Monsters and goblins.” She nodded. “Although, strangely enough, I saw none, my lord.”

“No?” One dark brow winged high.

“You mean you?” She choked back the laughter the thought evoked. There was absolutely no danger of her falling prey to Ainsley’s charms, despite his Olympian body and the annoying little thing his smile did to her chest. She was more likely to brain him with whatever was handy.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out, and he clamped it shut, regarding her soberly. Then he climbed into the carriage and pulled her into him. Kathryn felt a wave of panic as his arms surrounded her, his heat seeping into her, burning her.

“Get your hands off me,” she managed calmly, trying to ignore how very close his face was to hers, how very close all of him was.

“What will you do if I don’t?” he asked with a smug grin. “Scream?”

If someone found them together now, she would be ruined. She had no choice except to stay silent, and he knew it, the beast.

“I gave you fair warning.” His low murmur rumbled over her as his breath fanned her lips, leaving them tingling. Confident gray eyes bore into hers. “You might enjoy it,” he added. “The things I can do with my hands, my lips… my tongue.”

He was teasing her, and it was working. Her pulse quickened when his cheek brushed against hers, grazing her skin with just a hint of stubble. The scent of sandalwood, musk, and male seemed to fill the entire carriage, muddling her mind. Her fingers drummed against his chest impatiently in an attempt to hide the tremble in the traitorous things.

“By gad, I might enjoy it even more,” he murmured just below her ear. “When did you become so lovely?” His lips lightly grazed her neck, and her breath hitched.

They were the empty words of a rake, which he quite possibly used on hundreds before her, just as her uncle had her aunt.

She had always thought herself above such insincere flattery, so why did she have to fight the urge to melt into him? Perhaps it was because she had been dreaming of doing just that ever since she was sixteen when she had realized he was very attractive and possibly good for more than just riding and stealing sweet rolls with.

Kathryn closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his breath on her lips. His fingers lifted her chin and his thumb brushed her bottom lip. She felt his nose just barely touching hers.

The beautiful, irritating rake was going to kiss her. Now—after he had run off to war and returned a debauched rascal, losing every drop of chivalry, which had first endeared him to her—now he was going to kiss her.

The rogue.

Even as she thought she would rather slap him silly than suffer the kiss she ought not to want, the intimate touch fell away, and his arm around her loosened.

“I hope you have learned your lesson,” he said as he relaxed beside her.

Kathryn glared back at him, speechless, as she warred between scratching his eyes out and attempting to strangle him.

“You should have struck me,” he said casually.

“The thought had occurred to me.”

“With your habits, I imagine you will have the opportunity with another unlucky fellow in the not so distant future.” He made a thrusting motion, touching the heel of his hand to the underside of his nose. “Do it like this. Chances are it won’t stop him, but at least someone might catch him if they have a blood trail to follow.”