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dress, but it felt as if he were touching her bare skin. He squeezed and fondled until she was writhing with agony.
    She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and she was even more troubled. At that moment, she’d have donewhatever he suggested, despite how perilous or reckless.
    Before she recognized what he planned, he slipped his fingers into her bodice and slithered across to toy with her nipple. The sensation was like nothing she’d ever imagined, like nothing she could have explained. She knew she should wrench herself away and flee, but what sane woman would want him to halt? What woman would have the fortitude to say no?
    In some foggy section of her mind, it dawned on her to recollect that he was a skilled roué, who regularly practiced seduction, and she was merely another ninny who’d sneaked off to be with him. Alarm bells were ringing, but softly, warning her that she’d jumped in much further than she’d ever intended to go.
    She had to gather her wits, had to extricate herself from the shameful predicament, but she was too captivated, and she couldn’t conjure any reasons to desist.
    The exploit rattled her, made her brood and ache. Where would it end?
How
would it end?
    Suddenly Stanton eased away, his naughty hand sliding out of her dress, his delectable mouth separating from hers.
    “What is it?” she asked, disoriented by the abrupt cessation.
    She gazed up at him, deciding that she’d never witnessed a more beautiful sight. His blue eyes were glowing with lust, but also with what she was certain was a good deal of fondness. She’d never been scrutinized like that, as if she was remarkable and unique, and she could have stayed there forever, watching him, and reveling in his attention.
    He was as disturbed by the encounter as she was,herself. His respiration was labored, his skin flushed, his lips moist and swollen from their kisses.
    He appeared perplexed, as if he couldn’t figure out how he’d come to have her sprawled across the table, how he’d managed to immerse them in such a sordid endeavor. The incident had escalated so rapidly, had hurled them to a dizzying height, and Ellen felt as if the earth had tipped off its axis.
    She was positive that if she stood, the floor would be tilted, that she wouldn’t be able to find her balance. She hadn’t fathomed that such feelings could engulf her, that she’d have no willpower to resist the onslaught, and she could hardly keep from embarrassing herself by latching on to him, dragging him back down, and commencing anew.
    “Isn’t kissing . . . splendid?” He grinned, a dimple creasing his cheek. He looked delicious, dangerous, and more handsome than any man ought to be.
    “Yes, I hadn’t realized . . .”
    “No, you hadn’t.”
    He rested his palms on her shoulders, and he stroked them down, taking a slow, leisurely journey across her bosom, her breasts, tummy, and thighs.
    “I . . . I feel all ragged inside,” she confessed.
    “Of course you do, and I bet you’re wishing I would alleviate your distress. I could, you know.”
    “Please. . . .”
    It was a prayer, a plea for mercy. As if she’d been struck by lightning, a riotous energy had been dumped into her, but there was no extra space to contain it. It was rolling around, making her crazed, making her yearn for . . . for . . . what? How was she to bear up when she was filled with such a swirling, discomfiting anguish?
    With a final swipe up her torso, he straightened and began adjusting his clothes. The playful lover had vanished, his tender expression gone. He was sophisticated, urbane, and completely unaffected, while she was reeling, her hair a mess, her gown twisted, the hem rucked up. She felt as if she were a towel he’d wrung out and hung on a hook.
    Every piece of her, down to the smallest pore, was humming with an undefined hunger that needed satiation, but she had no idea what remedy was required.
    “Are we . . . are we finished?” she dared to