Destiny

He traced the curve of her cheek with his finger. “Miss Davenport, do all the men in the novels you read wind up scarred or crippled or alone?”

She pressed her lips together, struggling to ignore the sensation of his touch. “That would seem to be the case.”

His fingertip made tiny circles over her earlobe. “Why do you enjoy reading about tortured men?”

Emma never knew her ears would be so sensitive to a man’s caress. She licked her lips and twisted away from him. “The characters are brooding and romantic. They suffer for love.”

His arm snaked around her waist, dragging Emma against his unyielding male body. “Shouldn’t love bring pleasure, Miss Davenport?”

“You shouldn’t…we shouldn’t do this,” she gasped, struggling to keep her wits about her as his heat and touch threatened to overwhelm her senses.

“Answer my question, and I’ll leave you alone with your tortured hero. Shouldn’t love bring pleasure?”

The note of desire in his husky rasp shredded her meager defenses. “I don’t know,” she whispered, feeling her voice catch in her throat.

“I think you do,” Jack persisted, moving his lips to caress her lobe as his finger had moments earlier. “Shouldn’t love bring pleasure, Emma?”

He spoke her name as a seductive caress against her nape. His mouth burned a trail along the thin line of flesh exposed above her high collar. “Answer me, darlin’. Or should I try to convince you that I’m right?”

She shook her head. “You don’t need to convince me,” she murmured. “Love should bring pleasure.”

He smiled, his mouth curving wickedly as honey-brown eyes raked over her. “You don’t sound completely certain, Emma. I do need to convince you.”