Excerpt of My Reckless Surrender by Anna Campbell

London, July, 1827

"Perhaps I want you," Ashcroft murmured. And watched her
gray eyes darken with fear and a fascination she couldn't
hide, much as he knew she tried to.

Which made no sense when she'd boldly offered herself,
cool as a drink of spring water on a summer's day.

She had beautiful eyes. Large, clear and brilliant,
shadowed by thick dark gold lashes that matched her elegant
brows but not her bright gold hair, just visible under the
bonnet.

Ashcroft frowned down at the mysterious Diana, the pores
of his skin tightening with unwelcome arousal. And warning.

Nothing about her added up. He didn't trust her. Instinct
urged him to throw her out on her stylish rump and pray he
never encountered her again.

Yet he wasn't entirely ready to let her go.

This close, his senses filled with her scent. Green
apples. Disconcertingly innocent. And beneath that fresh
perfume, a subtle female warmth.

Since she'd raised her veils with that absurdly dramatic
gesture, he hadn't been able to look away. She was
exquisite. Slender and graceful, with a purity of feature
he'd never seen before. She looked like a Madonna, yet
hawked herself like a streetwalker.

Any man would pay a fortune for her favors. If she was a
courtesan. He already knew she wasn't.

Perhaps she was the country widow she claimed. His
intuition insisted she wasn't completely honest. If not
about everything, about most of what she'd said.

His intuition, unlike the women he'd known, never lied.

"You don't want me." Resentment beaded her low voice.

"You just said…"

A pulse fluttered under the delicate skin of her bare
throat. He told himself he should take pity on her. Except
she didn't cringe away and her face held stubbornness as
well as fear.

He didn't know what she wanted of him. Not what she
asked, although he recognized the signs that she found him
attractive. She'd needed courage to come here and she needed
courage to continue staring into his eyes.

He'd always admired courage. Unwilling interest wove its
way through anger and doubt. "Perhaps I'd like a taste of
what's on offer before I decide whether I want more."

Her white throat moved as she swallowed. "You play with me."

His response was curt. "You come here unbidden and insult
me. I deserve some fleeting entertainment as recompense."

"In…insult you? I meant no…"

He leaned closer and bent his head to the crook of her
neck and shoulder. With every second, the urge to taste her
burgeoned, but he reined it in. Instead he drew in a lungful
of her sweet fragrance.

"That only added to the insult," he murmured. "You appear
from nowhere, proposition me as if I were a whore, then
you're surprised I'm less than overwhelmed at your generosity."

He heard the ragged saw of her breath, but she didn't
pull away. He was astonished he had to struggle to resist
kissing the smooth flesh so close to his lips.

"I can't be the first woman who's wanted to…sleep with
you." Her voice strengthened. "You've invited plenty of
women into your bed. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for
the gander."

He laughed softly and watched her tremble as his breath
brushed her skin. "This gander likes to do his own chasing,
Madam Goose."

"So…" She paused and he knew she scrambled after her
scattered courage. "Are you chasing?"

He lifted his head and studied her. Except for two hectic
flags of color high on her cheekbones, she was pale. Her
pupils dilated, the black threatening to swallow the gray. A
pink tongue flickered out to moisten her lips.

Hunger slammed through Ashcroft.

Before this he'd toyed with her. In that second, the game
became serious.

He wanted her.

By God, he could take her. She'd offered herself. He only
needed to hike up her skirts, part her thighs and ease his
aching hardness in her wet heat.

The idea filled his head with fire.

The onset of such powerful desire made him pause. His
instincts still shrieked danger.

Very slowly he edged away, although his hand remained
splayed next to her head on the door. Each inch he removed
himself felt like an excruciating mile. That in itself was
admonition to banish this puzzling visitor.

"Lord Ashcroft?"

Her low voice played along his veins like music. In spite
of his best efforts, he couldn't help but imagine that voice
whispering salacious wishes in the privacy of his bed.

As she spoke, her lips parted. All he saw was that lush,
glistening mouth. The hint of darkness within. While the
rest of her features could be carved for a cathedral
sanctuary, her mouth was pure sin. He already knew she'd be
delicious.

Against every dictate of self-preservation, he leaned
down. One taste. One taste only…