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But she would never, ever meet with him again.
    It would be her conquest. Not his.
    She was going to win.
    She stripped her clothes off before climbing into the bed. The scents of spice and musk and man wafted up from the sheets. The smell evoked such sharp craving it forced her to press her thighs together. She’d never wanted a man so much. If she wasn’t careful, if she wasn’t careful… She pushed the unnerving litany out of her mind and tossed back her third glass in three swallows, ignoring the fear hammering in her chest. The room swam and her stomach lurched.
    Oh, the third glass might not have been wise. She’d forgotten how rich fine claret could be. Her eyes grew so heavy…
     
    * * * *
     
    Grey stared down at Beth’s sleeping form. He’d had a busy morning. First receiving the news from the insurance man that The Philadelphia Pride was damaged beyond repair, then releasing his current mistress, Maria, from their arrangement.
    “You are in love.”
    Delivered in her calm tones, the accusation had burnt his ears. He hadn’t dignified it with a response. She, of all people, knew he wasn’t capable of that depth of feeling.
    He traced the lines of Beth’s oval face. He did want her, though—too much, in fact. Could he gentle her, so she fitted into his life? The clock chimed a quarter past two and her lashes fluttered. His patience in waiting for her to awaken vapourised. He pulled back the covers.
     “Beth.”
    Warm and naked, she curled against his body as he drew her close.
    “I am sorry I was late. I had unavoidable business.”
    Her lids fluttered and she murmured something. He kissed her and she opened to him. He slid his tongue inside, tasting her rich, fruity breath.
    He pulled away, chuckling. “You’ve been into the wine.”
    “A glass or two…” She hiccoughed softly. “Possibly three.”
    At her slurred voice, his good humour vanished. “You sound foxed.”
    “I shouldn’t have been drinking your wine. I am sorry.”
    “I don’t mind if you drink my wine. I shall furnish you with your own if you wish, but I’d prefer you to stay sober when you are expecting me.” He stroked her hair, the keen edge of frustration beginning to cut into him. “This is the sort of thing we need to talk about. My requirements of you, your expectations of me.”
    “Your requirements, my expectations—it sounds very serious.”
    “Well, in a way it is. It can keep us from burning each other.”
    “Nothing can keep us from burning each other.” She laughed and touched his erection through his pantaloons.
    Fire raced through him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
    “Why aren’t you undressed?” she asked, her tone all Madam Practicality when she was everything but. “Come on.” With her free hand, she snapped her fingers. Or rather, she tried to. “Time to get out of those clothes.”
    She tugged and pulled at his buttons. An adorable little line formed between her eyes.
    He didn’t know if he should kiss her or wring her neck. “You’re impossible, aren’t you?”
    “What do you mean”—she licked her lips—“impossible?”
    “I mean you are impossible to deal with.”
    Her fingers kept slipping on his buttons but she had a few of them loose. The way his cock kept surging with high hopes at each brush of her hand added to the comedy of the moment. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel like laughing. “Tell me, do you strive for this effect or is it pure chaos on your part?”
    Ashen-faced, she closed her eyes and her throat worked rapidly.
    A disquieting thought occurred to him. “Beth, you don’t become ill when you drink, do you?”
     “Not u—usually.”
    “Thank heavens for that.” He took her hand and put it aside. “You’d better go back to sleep for a while. When you’re feeling a little better I’ll call for some coffee.”
    “Aren’t you gonna fuck me, Grey?” Her tone, light and musical with amusement, clashed with his present mood.
    “I don’t think