Spotting the ivy-covered back of the house, tension eased from her shoulders. Her pounding heart slowed. She had made it. Even with all the traffic coming in and out of the servants’ door, the lush ivy threatened to swallow it. She closed her hand over the latch, ready to pull it open, when a hard hand clamped down on her shoulder and whirled her around.
She jumped, and quickly swallowed her startled cry as she came face-to-face with a wet, disheveled, very angry Camden.
He was not quite dripping wet, but he was indisputably soaked. Thanks to her. Heat crawled up her face.
He’d rid himself of his jacket and unbuttoned his vest to reveal the fine linen of his shirt. The white fabric was so wet it was rendered translucent. She stepped back, her gaze raking over him, stopping at the tan-gold of his skin visible through the material. The flat expanse of his chest, the sharp contours of his pectoral muscles with their dusky brown nipples, so flat and dark and very different from her own, made her flush and feel all shades of awkward. Her gaze dipped lower, identifying the cut lines of his abdomen. Her mouth dried. She’d seen him shirtless before. The memory of him at Sodom was etched permanently in her mind. It wasn’t right that one man should be so blessed.
Swallowing in an attempt to gain moisture in her mouth, she donned a look of calm innocence. “Lord Camden, what a surprise.”
“A surprise? Oh, you didn’t just see me in the park?” He advanced on her, bringing to mind a stealthy jungle cat. She could not stop herself from retreating, backing away as he spoke in that dangerously gravely voice. “You didn’t just push me into the pond, then?”
“Oh,” she stammered, eyeing his towering form warily. “That . . .”
“Yes. That,” he growled, settling his hands against the ivy-layered wall on either side of her head. For all his dampness, his body radiated enough heat that she felt singed.
She gulped, and then felt certain he had heard the sound. He had never talked to her so menacingly. He pressed his body against hers as he had once before. It was heaven. No, it was hell.
She struggled for bravado, refusing to let him know how intimidating she found him. “You’re being a brute, Camden. Let me go.”
“And you’re a brat,” he countered. “So we’re well-matched.”
A small shiver coursed through her. She was not certain how to manage him like this. She met his gaze, clashing with eyes that were now more gray than blue. The coldness in those smoky depths chilled her. She pushed lightly at his shoulder in an attempt to get him to let her pass, but he wouldn’t budge.
“What do you want from me?” She fell back against the brick wall, and he only pressed closer. Her breasts ached where they mashed into him, her nipples hardening, and it was mortifying to think he probably felt her reaction to him—knew of her arousal.
She closed her eyes tightly, and in the darkness behind her lids, the long-ago image of him with Ingrid in the greenhouse flashed into her mind. The physicality of him as he worked himself over the maid made her flush hotter. Desperation shot through her. She would not be one of the countless women to fall at his feet. She had to break away before she revealed herself to be just as vulnerable to him as they were. Her pride could not withstand that embarrassment. Being demoralized once by him was all her ego would allow.
“Let me go,” she demanded as she opened her eyes, hating that it sounded like she was pleading.
“You’re not going anywhere until we’re finished.” He inched in, bending his arms so he could thrust his face close. So close that she could see the dark ring of blue surrounding his irises. “And we’re not even close to being done.”
Max knew he should release her. Trapping her against the wall of the house, where anyone could happen upon them, was a bad idea. This was Aurelia. No matter how angry she had made him, he shouldn’t be touching her . . . much less manhandling her. Especially considering the inappropriate thoughts he had been harboring for her lately.