The Devil May Care (Brotherhood of Sinners #1) by Lara Archer Page A

what came from her mouth as his fingertips slipped beneath the neckline of her gown was a wild, rasping sound.
    The coach was swaying and shuddering beneath them, bouncing her lightly against his lap, seeming to urge them both on. Impulses she didn’t know how to name coursed through her body: she wanted his touch, and feared it. She wanted him to take his hands from her, and wanted him to tear the gown from her shoulders, all at the same time.
    His fingers dipped lower, brushing one hard-peaked nipple, and she cried out like he’d burnt her.
    “Easy,” he said, as he might to a skittish mare. “Don’t you trust me?”
    “Of course not,” she said automatically, though perhaps it wasn’t anywhere near as true as it should have been.
    He took no offense, in any case. “That’s probably wise,” he said, shrugging. “But there’s no hurry here. We’re just getting to know each other now. All right?”
    She nodded tremulously.
    “Good.” Taking his hands from her bodice, he reached upwards instead to pull the tortoiseshell combs form her hair. As his fingers loosened her curls and let them spill around her shoulders, he made a low grumbling sound in his throat. “Pity Jenny had to cut the rest. It was so lovely falling down around your hips. I’d have relished spreading it across a pillow.”
    She fought not to groan at the sensation of his fingers brushing her scalp. Surely he could feel how hard she was shaking against him. “We aren’t even in a bed.”
    His eyebrows raised. “Not now.”
    “Not ever, though,” she said hastily. “This is just . . . one time. I haven’t agreed to anything more.”
    He blew out a hard breath. “No, you haven’t, have you? Pity to that as well.” His gaze raked over her, and his pupils seemed to grow blacker and wider. “This mission may just be the death of me, even if our enemies never reach us.”
    His words scarcely registered—her brain was distracted by his fingers slipping downwards again, this time reaching around to the back of her dress, where her bodice fastened.
    “I’ll just have to make the most of the time I have, then,” he murmured.
    Her heart pounded as his fingers tugged at the closure. “What are you doing now?”
    “Opening your dress,” he said calmly. “I’ve been wanting to get a better look at you. It wouldn’t do for you to have birthmarks or other distinguishing features I’m not aware of. You never know when we might get called out on a lie.”
    Oh . Her breasts throbbed, and heat and moisture were pooling between her thighs. He was going to bare her breasts. He was going to look at her. She was terrified, and she wanted him to look.
    Not just look, but touch and taste, and consume her whole. This was madness.
    But then a wash of cold went over her again, and she reached behind her to stop his hands. “Tell me something first, Sebastian.”
    “What””
    “Did you ever . . . Did you ever do this with—” A hard knot formed suddenly in her throat, blocking the name she meant to say. She swallowed and used the other name instead, the one her sister had invented. “With Salomé ?”
    His fingers stilled. “That concerns you?”
    “That concerns me.”
    For a moment, the pained look that crossed his face made her think he was about to say words that would make her push his hands away forever. But then his gaze met hers squarely, and the pain cleared. “No,” he said. “Never. It was never like this between us.”
    The relief she felt at those words took her by surprise. But doubt still nagged at her. She wasn’t sure why this mattered so much to her, but just now it did, and desperately. “Not at all?”
    “Not in the slightest. She’d have done me considerable damage if I tried.” He must have seen her expression fall a little in response to that, because he hastened to add, “And I never wished to try.”
    “No?” Her heart was pumping strangely, her stomach clenching. “You didn’t desire her?”
    “No,”