his blade out from between their bodies. She stepped in close, so close he could see the beads of sweat on her brow, the damp tendrils at her temple curling so enticingly—
Her foot shot out behind his ankle, pulling, while at the same time her free hand pushed on his shoulder. Even distracted, Quint saw her intention. Subtlety had never been Sophie’s strength. With a smirk, he shifted his weight to counterbalance her effort, which caused her to lose her equilibrium. He wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from tumbling to the ground.
“A nice effort—for a woman,” he taunted, attempting to infuriate her.
He failed miserably. Something sparked in her eyes—but it was not anger. Instead, it was hot and wicked, and her gaze dropped to his mouth.
She was thinking of kissing him. He had no doubt. With her lips parted, the rate of her breathing significantly increased, and her stare locked on his mouth, she had one thing on her mind.
And he wanted nothing more than to oblige her.
They were close, hips aligned, with their legs melded together in a tangle. His body stirred, a purely physical reaction he could not hide, and he itched to touch her. To taste her. The problem was, he didn’t want to be a “momentary fancy” this time. If he kissed her, she could still say she hadn’t wanted it. He needed her to be sure. Needed her to kiss him of her own free will.
It was the same reason he’d never had a mistress. Yes, most every man he knew kept a woman tucked away in a small house somewhere convenient, but Quint could not see the logic in it. He did not want a woman to pretend, to allow his advances only because she coveted his coin. Not that he hadn’t ever paid for a tumble in his youth, but honest passion, true desire between two willing people, was a hundredfold more satisfying.
He wanted Sophie willing.
But what then? A mad husband was a terrible burden for a wife.
Suddenly, she used her free palm to push his chest. He dropped his arm to release her. Springing forward, she wasted no time advancing, her blade high and fast as it slashed toward him, and he convinced himself he’d been mistaken about the interest in her eyes. Perhaps a result of the fencing? She attacked him logically, precisely, and he countered with a combination she did not expect. Her muscles shook from the effort, exhaustion on her face. He could nearly taste the victory.
“Wait!” she cried. “There is something in my boot.”
Panting, Quint lowered his foil and watched as she turned, presenting him with her backside. She bent over, slowly, and he could not tear his eyes away from those lush, gentle swells encased in tight fabric, not even if the ghost of Newton himself suddenly sprung up from the floor.
They were perfect. Each just the right size for a man’s hand. He swallowed, his groin tightening. Breasts drew some men, legs others. Quint had always loved a woman’s buttocks. Soft, plush, and ideal for cushioning a man’s hips. And right now, Sophie’s were poised high as she played with her boot, positioned exactly as if a man might take her from behind.
His cock filled, blood rushing at the mental picture. It would take little effort to free himself, lower her breeches, and bury deep—
In a blur, she pivoted, blade up and ready. Before he could blink, the tip landed square on his chest.
He glanced down, frowned, and tried to shake the lust from his brain.
“You lose .” She grinned and straightened. “Not bad—for a woman.”
Chapter Five
“You tricked me,” he accused.
“Yes, that’s true,” Sophie readily admitted, bouncing on her toes. The thrill of the victory coursed through her veins.
“I thought you had something in your boot,” he said unhappily, like a petulant child.
“Unlike you, I am not bound by any gentleman’s code. I may fight as unfairly as I wish. And you lost.” She couldn’t help but grin. “You cannot think I’ll apologize for it.”
His gaze narrowed. “You are
Her foot shot out behind his ankle, pulling, while at the same time her free hand pushed on his shoulder. Even distracted, Quint saw her intention. Subtlety had never been Sophie’s strength. With a smirk, he shifted his weight to counterbalance her effort, which caused her to lose her equilibrium. He wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from tumbling to the ground.
“A nice effort—for a woman,” he taunted, attempting to infuriate her.
He failed miserably. Something sparked in her eyes—but it was not anger. Instead, it was hot and wicked, and her gaze dropped to his mouth.
She was thinking of kissing him. He had no doubt. With her lips parted, the rate of her breathing significantly increased, and her stare locked on his mouth, she had one thing on her mind.
And he wanted nothing more than to oblige her.
They were close, hips aligned, with their legs melded together in a tangle. His body stirred, a purely physical reaction he could not hide, and he itched to touch her. To taste her. The problem was, he didn’t want to be a “momentary fancy” this time. If he kissed her, she could still say she hadn’t wanted it. He needed her to be sure. Needed her to kiss him of her own free will.
It was the same reason he’d never had a mistress. Yes, most every man he knew kept a woman tucked away in a small house somewhere convenient, but Quint could not see the logic in it. He did not want a woman to pretend, to allow his advances only because she coveted his coin. Not that he hadn’t ever paid for a tumble in his youth, but honest passion, true desire between two willing people, was a hundredfold more satisfying.
He wanted Sophie willing.
But what then? A mad husband was a terrible burden for a wife.
Suddenly, she used her free palm to push his chest. He dropped his arm to release her. Springing forward, she wasted no time advancing, her blade high and fast as it slashed toward him, and he convinced himself he’d been mistaken about the interest in her eyes. Perhaps a result of the fencing? She attacked him logically, precisely, and he countered with a combination she did not expect. Her muscles shook from the effort, exhaustion on her face. He could nearly taste the victory.
“Wait!” she cried. “There is something in my boot.”
Panting, Quint lowered his foil and watched as she turned, presenting him with her backside. She bent over, slowly, and he could not tear his eyes away from those lush, gentle swells encased in tight fabric, not even if the ghost of Newton himself suddenly sprung up from the floor.
They were perfect. Each just the right size for a man’s hand. He swallowed, his groin tightening. Breasts drew some men, legs others. Quint had always loved a woman’s buttocks. Soft, plush, and ideal for cushioning a man’s hips. And right now, Sophie’s were poised high as she played with her boot, positioned exactly as if a man might take her from behind.
His cock filled, blood rushing at the mental picture. It would take little effort to free himself, lower her breeches, and bury deep—
In a blur, she pivoted, blade up and ready. Before he could blink, the tip landed square on his chest.
He glanced down, frowned, and tried to shake the lust from his brain.
“You lose .” She grinned and straightened. “Not bad—for a woman.”
Chapter Five
“You tricked me,” he accused.
“Yes, that’s true,” Sophie readily admitted, bouncing on her toes. The thrill of the victory coursed through her veins.
“I thought you had something in your boot,” he said unhappily, like a petulant child.
“Unlike you, I am not bound by any gentleman’s code. I may fight as unfairly as I wish. And you lost.” She couldn’t help but grin. “You cannot think I’ll apologize for it.”
His gaze narrowed. “You are
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