best efforts, his blood stayed on a low simmer. “Our expectations of each other.”
“Oh dear, this sounds too serious.” She placed the glass to her lips and took a sip. Then she stopped and grimaced.
He froze with his glass at his lips. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s too sweet.” She went to the sideboard, her breasts bobbing with her every move, and filled her glass to overflowing with claret.
“Oops.” She licked her wet fingers.
His erection swelled and lengthened, pressing painfully against his pantaloons. He wanted to escort her to the bed and put that little pink tongue to better use. However, the refined gentleman in him regained control and he blinked in disbelief. “What the devil are you doing?”
“Improving it.”
“That’s first-rate champagne.”
“I like the taste of claret with the bubbles.”
He couldn’t stop staring at her glass—at the abuse of the fine champagne. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “But no one drinks it that way.”
She shrugged. “I do. In fact, I have great preference for it.”
Wait. Her family was poor. So they couldn’t afford things like imported champagne, given all the embargoes in the past few years. Something twisted through his guts, something burning and yellow-green. “Who gave you champagne before? A lover?”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not bore each other with our pasts.”
Her airy tone grated in his ears like sand in gears. He set his glass down, untouched.
“Why are you scowling at me?” she asked.
“I am not scowling.”
She came close and tugged on his waistcoat. “It’s hot today. You’d be in a better temper if you shed some clothes.”
She laughed up at him, her blue eyes wide and her rosebud mouth soft. So innocent-looking yet so bold.
Then she glanced down, focusing on his erection straining against his fall. The shift of her attention to his arousal made his rod strain all the more desperately against the confines of his drawers and pantaloons.
Definitely it was too hot today. The temperature seemed to be increasing by the moment. And her point about the desirability of shedding his clothes was certainly valid. But not quite yet. They still had too many things to discuss and settle between them.
He opened his mouth, prepared to change the topic back to his expectations of her and what he planned to provide in return for her meeting them.
She trailed her fingers over his pale-gray silk waistcoat, moving lower until they flirted down over his pantaloons.
He found himself fascinated by the sight of her pale little hand over the dark wool. His mind suddenly went blank. His vocal cords refused to respond.
Her touch singed his flesh, each brush of her fingers like sparks of fire penetrating the cloth. The muscles in his abdomen went rigid. He caught his breath and held it as she continued to tease him with a barely-there touch. It required all the self-discipline he could muster to resist taking her hand and pressing it harder. He released his breath in a slow exhalation.
A quick flash of those blue eyes through her silver-gilt lashes hit him with a renewed bolt of lust.
She returned her attention to his groin and let her tongue slide over her upper lip.
“Does it please you?” he asked.
She gave a breathy laugh and glanced up again. “It does.”
Another breathy, wickedly womanish laugh. Her gaze smoldered with desire. Or was it simply mirroring his own?
“Oh, it pleases me quite well,” she said. The rapid drop of her gaze gave him little warning before she grasped his erection, quite firmly despite the tight cloth.
He forced back a groan, watching the opening and closing her hand as she worked him with well-timed skill. Someone had taught her very well. His cock was leaking and leaking. It took all of his control to remain calm as he traced a fingertip over her collarbone. “Who kept you, Beth?”
“No one has ever kept me.”
“What about your lover who gave you champagne?”
Of course he
“Oh dear, this sounds too serious.” She placed the glass to her lips and took a sip. Then she stopped and grimaced.
He froze with his glass at his lips. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s too sweet.” She went to the sideboard, her breasts bobbing with her every move, and filled her glass to overflowing with claret.
“Oops.” She licked her wet fingers.
His erection swelled and lengthened, pressing painfully against his pantaloons. He wanted to escort her to the bed and put that little pink tongue to better use. However, the refined gentleman in him regained control and he blinked in disbelief. “What the devil are you doing?”
“Improving it.”
“That’s first-rate champagne.”
“I like the taste of claret with the bubbles.”
He couldn’t stop staring at her glass—at the abuse of the fine champagne. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “But no one drinks it that way.”
She shrugged. “I do. In fact, I have great preference for it.”
Wait. Her family was poor. So they couldn’t afford things like imported champagne, given all the embargoes in the past few years. Something twisted through his guts, something burning and yellow-green. “Who gave you champagne before? A lover?”
She rolled her eyes. “Let’s not bore each other with our pasts.”
Her airy tone grated in his ears like sand in gears. He set his glass down, untouched.
“Why are you scowling at me?” she asked.
“I am not scowling.”
She came close and tugged on his waistcoat. “It’s hot today. You’d be in a better temper if you shed some clothes.”
She laughed up at him, her blue eyes wide and her rosebud mouth soft. So innocent-looking yet so bold.
Then she glanced down, focusing on his erection straining against his fall. The shift of her attention to his arousal made his rod strain all the more desperately against the confines of his drawers and pantaloons.
Definitely it was too hot today. The temperature seemed to be increasing by the moment. And her point about the desirability of shedding his clothes was certainly valid. But not quite yet. They still had too many things to discuss and settle between them.
He opened his mouth, prepared to change the topic back to his expectations of her and what he planned to provide in return for her meeting them.
She trailed her fingers over his pale-gray silk waistcoat, moving lower until they flirted down over his pantaloons.
He found himself fascinated by the sight of her pale little hand over the dark wool. His mind suddenly went blank. His vocal cords refused to respond.
Her touch singed his flesh, each brush of her fingers like sparks of fire penetrating the cloth. The muscles in his abdomen went rigid. He caught his breath and held it as she continued to tease him with a barely-there touch. It required all the self-discipline he could muster to resist taking her hand and pressing it harder. He released his breath in a slow exhalation.
A quick flash of those blue eyes through her silver-gilt lashes hit him with a renewed bolt of lust.
She returned her attention to his groin and let her tongue slide over her upper lip.
“Does it please you?” he asked.
She gave a breathy laugh and glanced up again. “It does.”
Another breathy, wickedly womanish laugh. Her gaze smoldered with desire. Or was it simply mirroring his own?
“Oh, it pleases me quite well,” she said. The rapid drop of her gaze gave him little warning before she grasped his erection, quite firmly despite the tight cloth.
He forced back a groan, watching the opening and closing her hand as she worked him with well-timed skill. Someone had taught her very well. His cock was leaking and leaking. It took all of his control to remain calm as he traced a fingertip over her collarbone. “Who kept you, Beth?”
“No one has ever kept me.”
“What about your lover who gave you champagne?”
Of course he
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