Georgina

He takes my face in his hands and pulls me roughly against him, conquering my mouth with his. My gasp is swallowed by his lips, his velvet, practiced, perfect lips — his impossible lips. I can't be kissing him!

Electricity floods my body, slashing through the haze of too many whiskeys and a foolish tumble into the pool. Richard's shadowed face when he caught me shivering with Blake — I thought it was outrage, or indignance, or shame, or annoyance. But it wasn't, was it?

It was something far more impossible.

It was jealousy.

Richard's hands drag down my body, halting briefly to cup my breasts in a firm, over-confident way that makes me groan, desperate and weak, against his mouth. His palms leave lines of fire down my sides, my hips, my thighs. Then his dexterous, slender hands catch the hem of my dress and wrench it up.

"Richard," I gasp, and he bites my lip, hard. Pain and pleasure pull inside of me like a trigger — I could melt. Okay, my mind and body say suddenly. Just once, just o