Lord Day and Lady Night

60. Fighting Dirty

With a thud, the knife-placeholder fell to the ground.

What the...! How...? Why...?

A thousand and one questions raced through Amy's mind. Yet no answers were forthcoming. Mostly because all she could feel, all she could think about, was:

He was kissing her.

He. Was. Kissing. Her. So hard she didn't know up from down. So heatedly it nearly blew her brains out.

Maybe 'e's not so bad at dirty fightin' after all...

Particularly since he made a move that meant fighting back was the last thing on her mind.

Are ye bloody nuts, Amy? Ye're just gonna let him sweep ye off yer feet? 'e's tryin' ta distract ye! Ye're supposed ta fight! Da moment ye lose yer focus, 'e'll—

Just then, he captured her hands between his. Whirling her around, he picked her up like a feather. A moment later, she found herself pressed against the wall, captured in his grasp.

Helpless. Open. Vulnerable.

And ye ain't supposed ta be enjoying dat! Get a grip, Amy!

That didn't actually sound like a bad idea. If only her hands were free, she could reach down to his crotch, and...

Not like dat, stupid! Not like dat!

The next instant, her last vestiges of thoughts were expunged as Lord Patrick's teeth tugged at her lower lip, eliciting an involuntary moan from her.

"Now," he murmured, "let's see who'll be the winner of this duel, shall we?"

In a blink, she was away from the wall. For a moment she didn't know where was up or down—then her back hit the carpet and the breath was knocked out of her. The disorientation lasted only for a second. That, however, was long enough for Lord Patrick Day to come down on her, pinning her to the floor with the weight of his body.

Holy...!

Amy felt him. Strong arms, iron-hard abs...every single muscle in perfect definition.

What's wrong with ye, Amy? It's yer job ta shag men! Ye've done stuff like dis ten thousand times!

But...had she?

Then why did this feel so very different?

"Well?" Lord Patrick demanded, his azure blue eyes gazing deeply into hers. How had she never noticed how much they resembled a glittering sapphire? "What do you think of that takedown?"

"T-takedown?" Amy managed to get out. "What makes ye think I'm taken dow—mmmmph!"

"This," His Lordship whispered against her sealed lips. "Or do you think differently?"

Think? Think? That was pretty bloody much impossible at the moment, thank you very much!

Polite gentleman that he was, he reciprocated her thanks. Generously. Lips. Hands. Firm but gentle fingers. They were everywhere, holding her, caressing her, driving her wild. And from within her, in response, rose up something even wilder. Some part of her that had been beaten down and wounded so often she didn't know she still had it.

Her chest throbbed.

What...what was that?

Another throb. More painful, and so much more wonderful.

Was that...my 'eart?

"Well?" the arrogant aristocrat's voice that suddenly sounded far too tempting for her liking enquired from above her. "Do you admit defeat?"