Her breath caught-she skittered back and blushed; effortlessly, his smile very evident, he drew her back.
"I'm only teasing," he murmured. "It's just play."
"I know," Flick assured him, her heart beating frantically. Unfortunately, he was playing a game with which she was unfamiliar. She tried her best to relax, to smile easily, teasingly, back.
From beneath his lashes, Demon glanced ahead; Bletchley was no longer looking their way. After one last scan of the Heath, he turned and lumbered around the building, out of sight.
Flick's eyes widened; she immediately stepped out. He hauled her up short, pulling her to his side. "No." She looked up, ready to glare; he leaned closer-nearer-so the ebb and flow of their interaction looked like a seductive game. "We don't know," he murmured, his lips close by her temple, "who he's meeting and where they are. They might be behind us."
"Oh." Obedient to his pressure on her arm, Flick, a smile on her lips, steeled herself and leaned against him, her shoulder and upper arm nestling into the warmth of his chest. Then, with the same sweet, inane smile, she eased away as they continued to stroll.
After a moment-after she'd caught her breath-she looked up, into his smiling eyes. "What are you planning to do?"
His lips quirked, very definitely teasing. "Join Bletchley and his friend, of course."
They'd reached the corner of the stable; without pause, Demon continued on, not hugging the shadow of the wall as Bletchley had but strolling on and past, into the clear area behind the stable bounded by a railing fence.
As soon as they had cleared the corner, Flick looked ahead. Demon released her elbow, slid his arm about her waist, drew her against him and kissed her.
She nearly dropped her parasol.
"Don't look at him-he'll notice." Demon breathed the injunction against her lips, then kissed her, briefly, again.
Wits reeling, she hauled in a breath. "But-"
"No buts. Just follow my lead and we'll be able to hear everything-and see it all, too." Setting her on her feet, shielded by her open parasol, presently pointed, rather waveringly, at Bletchley, his eyes searched hers, then he added, his voice deep and low, "If you won't behave, I'll have to distract you some more."
She stared at him. Then she cleared her throat. "What do you want me to do?"
"Concentrate on me as if you aren't even aware Bletchley and friend exist."
She kept her gaze glued to his face. "Has his friend arrived?" She hadn't been able to see before he'd kissed her.
"Not yet, but I think someone's drifting this way." Righting her parasol, Demon smiled down at her; his hand resting lightly at her waist, he turned her. Gazes locked, they strolled on, apparently aimlessly.
Bletchley had halted midway along the back of the stable, clearly waiting for someone to join him. From the corner of her eye, Flick saw him frown at them. Demon bent his head and blew in her ear; she squirmed and giggled, entirely spontaneously.
Naturally, he did it again.
With no option but to throw herself into their deception, she giggled and wriggled and squirmed. Laughing, Demon caught her more closely to him, then with a flourish, he whirled her, twirled her-they stopped with him leaning against the railing fence, her before him. His eyes glowed wickedly; his smile was distinctly devilish.
Flick caught her breath on a gasp, a perfectly natural, silly smile on her lips. "What next?" she whispered.
Screened from Bletchley by her parasol, Demon looked down into her eyes. "Put your hand on my shoulder, stretch up and kiss me."
She blinked at him; he raised his brows innocently, the expression in his eyes anything but. "You've done it before."
She had, but that had been different. He'd started it. Still… it hadn't been difficult.
Fleetingly frowning at him, she placed her free hand on his broad shoulder and stretched up on her toes. Even so, he had to lower his head-balanced precariously on the very tips of her toes, she had to lean against him, her breasts to his hard chest, to reach his lips with hers.
She kissed him-just a simple, gentle kiss. When she went to draw back, his hands firmed, one spanning her waist, the other closing about her fingers gripping her parasol. He held her steady as his lips closed over hers.
Tilting her and her parasol to just the right angle, Demon held her before him, and, from beneath his lashes, looked out under the parasol's frilled rim. Bletchley, ten yards away, had been slouching, watching them idly-he doubtless considered Demon a reckless blade set on seducing a sweet country miss. But although he watched, Bletchley wasn't interested. Then he straightened, alert, as another man joined him.
Breaking off the kiss, Demon breathed a curse.
Flick blinked, but he didn't shift, didn't let her down.
"No-don't turn," he hissed as she went to twist her head.
"Who is it?"
His lips, presently at eye level, twisted into a grim grimace. "Another jockey." Disappointment laced his tone.
"Perhaps he has a message from the syndicate."
"Shssh. Listen."
Balanced against him, she strained her ears.
"Let's see if I got this straight."
That had to be the jockey; the voice was clear, not scratchy.
"You'll give me three ponies the day before the Stakes, an' two ponies the day after, if I bring Cyclone in out o' the places. That right?"
"Aye-that's the deal," Bletchley grated. "Take it or leave it."
The jockey was silent, presumably ruminating; Demon looked down at her, then his arm slid further around her, better supporting her against him.
"Relax," he breathed. His lips brushed hers in the lightest of caresses, then the jockey spoke again.
"I'll take it."
"Done."
"That's our cue," Demon said sotto voce.
The next instant, he laughed aloud; his arm tightening about her, he swung her around and stood her on her feet. He grinned. "Come along, sweetheart. Wouldn't do for the local gabblemongers to start wondering where we've got to. Let alone what we've been doing."
He spoke loudly enough for Bletchley and the jockey to hear. Flick blushed and ignored their audience completely; locking both hands about her parasol handle, she turned back to the Heath with a swish of her skirts.
With another demonic laugh-one of triumph-Demon, his hand lying proprietorially on her back just a little lower than her waist, ushered her around the stable, back into the safety of the racing throng.
The instant they rounded the corner of the stable, Flick wriggled to dislodge his hand. It only pressed closer.
"We can't drop our roles yet." Demon's murmur stirred the curls above her ear. "Bletchley's following. While he can see us, we'll need to preserve our act."
She shot him a suspicious, distracted look; her bottom was heating.
He smiled, all wolf. "Who knows? An established disguise might come in handy in the following days."
Following days? Flick hoped she didn't look as scandalized as she felt; the laughing, teasing look in Demon's eyes suggested otherwise.
To her consternation, Bletchley returned to stand under the oak beside the Heath-and proceeded to watch the exercising strings for the next hour.
So they watched him, while Demon lived up to his nickname and exercised his rakish talents, using ploy after ploy to ruffle her composure. To make her blush and skitter, and act the besotted miss.