"I think we both know the answer to that, Emily," he replied stiffly.

"Sit down, Devlin," she told him, already pouring him a mug of coffee, and gestured toward the kitchen table. "Have a sweet roll, and let's discuss the fact that we seem to be attracted to each other." God in His heaven! Had she really said that? The look of surprise on his face told her she had.

"I'm your editor," he replied.

"And Savannah Banning tells me you're a very good one," Emily answered him. "Why should the fact that we're being drawn to each other change that?"

"You know Lady Palmer?" he asked her.

"We go way back," Emily said. "I was her witness when she and Sir Reginald went to the registry office seven years ago. I'm the Honorable William's godmother."

He nodded, surprised. It had never occurred to him that Emily Shanski would know the beautiful and flamboyant Savannah Banning. And God knew what the gossipy Lady Palmer had said about him. "More than a business relationship between us would be inappropriate," he tried to explain, but he sensed she knew that.

"Oh, piffle!" Emily responded. She plunked a roll on his plate and pushed it and the butter toward him. "Do you want to sleep with me?" In for a penny, in for a pound, she decided. She didn't have a whole lot of time, after all, and a sexy, hot Defiant Duchess was due to Stratford at the end of December.

He choked on the bit of roll in his mouth, his face growing red, coughing. "Water!" he gasped, jumping up. She got it for him. Swallowing it, he managed to regain what he hoped would pass for composure. "You're joking, of course," he said.

"Are you amused?" she countered dryly. Her blue eyes were actually dancing with merriment, and her lips twitched, as if she wanted to burst into laughter at him.

The little witch was enjoying his discomfiture quite thoroughly, he thought. What would happen if he called her bluff? he wondered. Would she fall into his arms, or run shrieking from her sunny kitchen? Michael Devlin didn't liked being played for a fool, and he always made it a point to be the one who initiated any sexual encounter. But this was just too good to resist. If he was ever going to have any credibility with his writer, he had to make damned certain from the start that Emily knew who was the boss.

"As a matter of fact," he told her, looking down into those big cornflower-blue eyes, "I don't want to sleep with you, Emily Shanski. Let's tell it like it really is. I want to fuck you. I've wanted to since I first saw you. It is totally inappropriate for us to get involved, but I've never been a man to play entirely by the rules. If you're game, so am I," Devlin said wickedly. He almost laughed aloud at the look of surprise on her face. He had shocked the adorable Miss Shanski with his rather blunt and crude language.

Emily swallowed hard, and worked to feign an imperturbability she was far from feeling. "All right," she finally said. "Then we'll do it tonight." Her pulse pounded.

"Oh, no, angel face," he responded, surprised, but not about to let her get the upper hand. "I don't play that way. No appointments for you and me. I like spontaneity. I think now is as good a time as any to begin our little adventure, don't you?" Standing away from the table, he moved toward her, his mouth twitching with his amusement.

"It's morning!" Emily protested, taking a step back.

"Haven't you ever done it in the daylight, angel face? It's just as much fun. Sometimes even better, because there is always the chance someone will come in and discover you getting your ears fucked off on your well-scrubbed oak kitchen table." His green eyes glittered as he moved closer and closer to where she now stood.

Emily backed away again, eyes wide. People made love on kitchen tables? She didn't know whether she should be shocked or intrigued. She swallowed hard once more and said coolly, "I far prefer the comfort of a bed, Devlin, and I'm not interested in voyeurism. It's vulgar, and speaks badly of the couple involved." There! That should set him back on his heels-she hoped. What was she getting herself into? she suddenly wondered. Was this a good idea? Maybe she should just rent some X-rated videos.

"Very well," he drawled. "Your room or mine? And yes, now!"

"Now is not the best time," Emily said, gasping as he suddenly reached out and pulled her into his arms. God, he smelled so good!

"Are you a cock tease, Emily?" he asked her softly, taking her hand and pressing it against his groin. "That's not nice, you know."

Her fingers moved involuntarily against the hard ridge pressing against his jeans. "Oh," she half whispered. His penis was very hard beneath her hand.

"If you want to stop, Emily, this is the time. Keep touching me like that and there will be no going back for either of us," he warned her. He nuzzled her hair. It was soft.

She didn't know what to say. Had she come too far to cut and run? Coward, the voice in her head said. You want knowledge, and you have the chance to obtain it.

Okay! Okay! I'll do it, damn it, she said to that irritating voice. She looked up at Devlin, her lips half parted, wondering what was going to come next.

His hand caressed then cupped her face. The green eyes searched her face. "Emily?" he asked, his voice rough. Devlin was shocked by the incredible reaction he was having to her. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her, make her scream and beg him for everything he could give her. And then he would give her more and more until they were both so weak and exhausted they couldn't move for another day. What was it about this woman that was making him feel this way? He barely knew her, but then, that had never been a hindrance to his lusts. And she seemed to feel the same way, yet there was a shyness, an innocence about her that made him want to be gentle. "Emily?" he repeated. "Yes or no?"

"Yes." She half whispered the word. This wasn't at all what she had expected, she thought as he led her upstairs and into his bedroom. Where were the candles flickering in the soft evening breezes? The roses to perfume the air? This wasn't romantic at all. It was raw and primal, but to her own surprise she knew it was what she wanted from him. They weren't in love. She needed a man to take her virginity, and then show her everything she needed to know if she was going to write that explicitly sexy novel Stratford wanted out of her. This was research. Research to ensure authenticity. Research so she could save her career. Hell! An editor was supposed to help a writer. The sound of the bedroom door closing snapped her back to reality.

"You aren't afraid of me, are you?" he asked her gently. "We both want this, don't we, Emily?" He was giving her an opportunity to stop this madness.

She nodded. She knew what was to come, because she had read enough in this past week about the sexual situation, but she was shaking inside, and afraid that if she spoke her voice would give her away. Then he might not do it. She had been wearing a yellow cotton tee. He pulled it up over her head and arms, laying it aside on the chair.

"I like your taste in scanties," he said with a small smile, fingering the top of the lacy little bra she was wearing. "Now let's see how this opens. Ah, the front." He unhooked the garment and slid it off over her shoulders, tossing it to where the tee lay. "Oh, Emily," he said softly, staring at her breasts. "How lovely these are." Reaching out he cupped a single breast in his palm. She had small, pointed pink nipples.

What was she supposed to do? Emily wondered frantically. Well, she was certainly beginning to understand the necessity of practical experience. Her books did not cover anything like this. It would seem she should begin undressing him. Her fingers fumbled with the small buttons on his sports shirt. Getting them all open, she pushed the shirt from his broad shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Her fingers splayed out over his broad chest. His skin was soft, but he was hard beneath. In one of her books she had seen the woman kiss the man's nipples. Bending her head, she did so now.

His hands were now undoing her jeans, and he lifted her from the pile of denim. "For a proper miss you wear very sensuous panties," he told her, eyeing the silk bikini bottom, amused.

"They match the bra," she said low. "Pretty undergarments are my one vice," Emily told him. Her hands imitated his, and she undid his jeans, thrusting them down over his lean hips. "Oh!" she gasped, surprised. "You don't wear…" Her voice died.

"No, I don't," he said. "And from now on I don't want you to either. No bra. No panties when you are with me. I want you ready whenever I want you, Emily. And you will be a very good girl and do what I tell you, won't you?" He tipped her face up to his even as he ripped the lace-and-silk bikini from her body. Then his hand slipped quickly between her legs to cup her mons.

Emily caught her breath, surprised. "No underwear?" she managed to say.

"When I want to fuck you, angel face, I don't want to have to waste the time pulling off your clothes that I could spend making us both happy," he told her.

"Do you treat all your women this way, Devlin?" She could not lose control of this situation. Oh, God, his hand was so warm. He fingered the curls of her pubic area and she couldn't contain the shiver that ran up her spine.

"Are you a good girl or a bad girl?" he asked her. His tongue began to harry her small ear. "I think you might be a bad girl under all that propriety."

"I don't know what I am, but I'm sure you're going to tell me afterward," she said spiritedly. "I already know you're a bad boy, Devlin." She was naked in the arms of a naked man. And she still had the ability to carry on a conversation? What in the name of heaven would her grandmothers think of her? Well, at least she wasn't Katy.