No Ordinary Gentleman

“So you’ve said. But we’re taking a break from physical activities. That was your idea.”

“A man of my years—”

“Has plenty of fuel left in the tank.” She’d traced a finger up my chest and over my chin, though snatched it back as I’d made as though to bite.

“You are very . . . bite-y.”

“I think it’s more to do with the meal.” My gaze meandered once more along her curves, just to be sure she was aware of the exact source of my hunger. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“It wasn’t a complaint. It was an observation.”

“Then observe how I find myself revigorated.” I’d growled as I’d stretched along the bed, a stretch that became one fluid motion as I’d moved onto my back.

Holland’s gaze dipped to where the sheet tented over my erection, her eyes suddenly dark. “So shameless.”

“So says the woman staring.” I’d run my hand over the sheet-covered head with a groan. “I do so appreciate a brazen woman.”

“So, your father doesn’t work in finance.” Her voice was an octave or two higher, and as I’d turned my head, her gaze lifted from where I stood hard.

“You don’t really want to talk about my father.” Neither did I. Ever if I can help it. “Not when you’re staring at my cock.” I’d sent her a look that suggested she think less about my position in life and more about my position in this bed.

“You’re . . . living off an inheritance?”

I’d barked out a laugh. On my father’s death, lots of things were left to me in trust, but of money, there was very little.

“You run your own business,” she suggested next, smiling and warming to her distraction tactics.

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“Telling.” Her gaze narrowed speculatively. “I can’t imagine you taking instructions.”

“I can take instructions. When the conditions are right.”

“What conditions are they?”

“I should’ve said it takes the right incentive.”

“Y-You’re not from London.” Red-cheeked, she’d glanced away while fighting a smile. “But you live here.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I guess because there’s something not entirely English about your accent. Something that blurs some of your words around the edges.”

“A foreign spy,” I’d drawled, even as I was struck by her attention to detail. She had an unusual ear for accents.

“Who? You or me?” she asked.

“You blush too much to be a spy.” I’d settled my hands behind my head. I’ve always preferred, where I can, to be anonymous, so I brought the conversation back to her again.

“Or do I?” she said in some approximation of mysterious.

“Oh, you definitely do.” I’d pointedly glanced at the inevitable flush of pink highlighting her cheeks.

“It could be part of my disguise.” Her reply was a touch defensive as she’d turned onto her side. Heat licked through my belly, my balls drawing tight as her lush figure was bared to me again. At least until she pulled the sheet over her breasts, catching the edge securely between her arms and ribs

“I think the point of a disguise isn’t to draw attention.” As though anyone would fail to notice her kiss-plump lips or be captivated by her gorgeous colouring.

“Oh. Come look at the pink-cheeked freak?”

“I thought I was the freaky one.” That had been one of her mid-orgasm compliments when I’d gotten a little too close to . . . I push away the thought. I’m never going to get to explore that part of her. Noticing the papers still in my hands, I straighten them, then rap them sharply against the top of my desk. But Holland’s voice whispers to me from my memories again.

“Your turn.” She’d pushed herself up to sit, her arm still clamped over the sheet. Not for the first time, I’d noticed her gaze skate over the small tattoo on the inside of my bicep. Roman numerals recording the date my life changed forever. A tattoo to remind me of the responsibilities that fall to me under the heavy chains of my dukedom. But she didn’t ask for an explanation, and I would never have uttered the truth.

“So, it’s my turn to . . .?” Before the words were out of my mouth, she’d whipped the sheet away from my cock. It settled parachute-like around my shins. The gust of cool air, her expression, and a world of possibilities made my cock pulse. I’d groaned. It was my turn to do whatever the fuck she’d wanted.

“I can’t believe you’re hard again.” Her whisper sounded a little awe-filled.

“You’re suggesting there could be too much of a good thing.”

“Only if it falls off, I guess.”

I might’ve laughed but for the fact that she was climbing over me. Her knee twisted in the sheet, but she’d fallen forward, though caught herself against my thigh. Five hot points of contact branded my skin, my thighs and abs tensing, my hands under my head clenching tight against the instinct to reach out. I needed to see how far she’d planned to take this.