Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“Interesting,” she repeated. The sight of a penis wasn’t at all shocking. She had seen plenty of them before—though mostly in drawings or statues such as these, not in the flesh. Her father, a noted scholar of primitive cultures, had written extensively on tribal rituals for the Royal Society. His notebooks had been filled with graphic sketches, and he had not hesitated to explain his research to his three daughters. Men, he had lectured, held an unfair advantage by keeping women ignorant of the ways of the world. So he was determined that his girls learn about Life.

Much to the chagrin of his far more conventional wife. Who had nearly had a fit of apoplexy when, several years ago, Olivia had enthusiastically agreed to accompany her father to Crete for a season and serve as his expedition secretary.

Thank you for such a priceless gift, Papa…though leaving us with a few more material assets would have made our current situation a trifle less worrisome.

But for the moment, Olivia decided to put her practical anxieties aside. She nudged the naked pawn—whose monstrous erection looked more like a battle sword than a fleshly appendage—forward two squares, then reached for the opposing ebony pieces. Playing a solitary game against herself was always an intriguing challenge and would help pass the tedious minutes until it was time to take leave of the ball.

A second nudge moved the black pawn over the checkered tiles.

The game had begun.

Lost in thought, Olivia was not aware that someone else had entered the study until she heard a sudden whooshing exhale, followed by a satisfied sigh.

“A room free of simpering ladies. Thank God.”

She froze as a pale puff of scented smoke swirled in the shadows. Flint scraped against steel and a candle flame flared to life.

“Lord Almighty,” intoned the same deep masculine voice, though this time he didn’t sound quite so pleased with the Heavenly Being.

Slowly releasing her hold on the ivory Queen’s voluptuous breasts, Olivia looked up and squinted into the silvery vapor. For an instant there was naught but an amorphous blur. Then, as the gentleman took another step closer, the flickering light brought his features into sharper focus.

For an instant, she couldn’t b

link. She couldn’t breathe. Sharp lines, chiseled angles—an aura of strength seemed to pulse from every pore of his face, holding her in thrall.

But then, willing herself to break the strange spell, Olivia quickly regained control of her wits.

“Have you never seen chess played before, sir?” she asked calmly, ignoring his gimlet gaze. Honestly, one would think that a man would not look so shocked at seeing a graphic depiction of the male sex organ. Granted there were rather a lot of them, but still…

“Actually, I am very familiar with the game.” As he lifted his gaze from the checkered board, the undulating flame lit a momentary spark in his dark eyes. They were, noted Olivia, an unusual shade of toffee-flecked brown.

A powerfully mesmerizing mix of gold-flecked sparks and burnt sugar swirls that seemed to draw her in to a deep, deep vortex of shadowed spice…

She made herself look away.

“However,” he went on, “I have always been under the impression that it is not an activity that appeals to ladies.”

“Then you think wrong.” Olivia moved the ebony knight, putting both the ivory bishop—who in this set was depicted as a wild-eyed whirling dervish—and a pawn in danger.

The gentleman didn’t answer. Drawing in another mouthful of smoke from his glowing cheroot, he studied the arrangement of the remaining pieces for several long moments.

His reaction was a little unnerving, as was his aura of calm concentration. Olivia wasn’t quite sure why, but her fingertips began to tingle.

“Which one will you save?” he asked gruffly.

“The pawn, of course,” she replied.

A look of surprise shaded his face. Looking up through her lashes, Olivia watched as the low, licking light accentuated the chiseled cheekbones, the long nose, the sun-bronzed skin. It was an interesting face, made even more intriguing by his oddly expressive mouth.

Sensuous. That was the word that popped to mind.

And like the sinuous coiling of a serpent, her ribs suddenly contracted, squeezing the air from her lungs.

With an inward frown, she shook off the unwelcome sensation and quickly shifted the pawn out of danger. “It’s easy to see why if you look three moves ahead.”

“Strategy,” murmured the gentleman. “You seem to have”—a tiny cough—“a good grasp of the game’s strategy,” he went on as she picked up the whirling dervish bishop by its phallus and placed it aside.

“Do you think that ladies are incapable of conceiving a plan of attack that requires thinking three or four steps ahead?” She knew the answer of course. Most men were predictable in their prejudices, assuming the fairer sex had naught but feathers for brains.