“You are foxed.” He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair.
“Oh, I only had a little.”
“It only takes a little.”
“That’s not what she said.”
His face flushed. She offered his empty glass to him. “Did I drink all that?” A bubble rose from her belly and she made an unladylike sound. “Pardon,” she said quickly, suddenly mortified. But the feeling only lasted for a moment. She put the glass in his hand. “I want my magic. What would you like in exchange?”
Four
Claire arched a playful brow at him, her green eyes darker in the waning light of the room. They were rimmed in brown, flecked with gold, and green around the center. They were striking. Like limpid pools he could drown in if Finn wasn’t careful of his footing. He poured himself a drink to replace the one she’d just downed. She looked longingly toward the glass. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
She lifted her elbow to the tabletop and rested her chin in the palm of her hand. A smile hovered around that pretty mouth. “You have no idea what I’m thinking about.”
Her gaze traveled down his body. He suddenly knew what the courtesans felt like when men leered at them. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “I would dare to wager on what you’re thinking about.”
She held her hands out to the side in a motion of surrender. “No need to wager. I’ll just tell you. I was thinking about how handsome your arse is in those breeches. Why don’t you stand up and spin around so I can take another look?”
Finn jumped to his feet. He had a sudden and confounded urge to cover his arse with his hands to keep her from looking at it. How had he gotten into this mess? A mere mention of his arse and how much she liked looking at
it, and he was getting as hard as the tabletop. He would have to take drastic measures. He pushed his glass in her direction. “Here. Drink this.” Soon she would pass out and then he could tuck her into bed and stand guard over her all night.
She drank the contents of the glass in one large swallow that was loud enough for him to hear. “That gets smoother and smoother the more I drink.”
He filled one for himself and did the same. He could do no more than nod in response to her comment. His lack of the ability to speak wasn’t a big problem. The chances of her remembering anything that she said tonight would be slim to none.
“Is it safe for the both of us to be foxed?” she whispered dramatically, her hand curved around her mouth as though she wanted to impart a secret.
He couldn’t keep from smiling. He tried to be stoic and proper. And failed. Miserably. “Only one of us is drunk.” Thank God.
She lurched to her feet in a quick motion that had her grabbing for the back of her chair. “Goodness,” she breathed.
“You should sit.”
“You should sit.” She mocked his tone. Poorly. But she didn’t sit. She began to wander around instead. She ran her finger down a row of books on his bookshelf. Then she spun the globe on its stand beside his desk. She hitched her little bottom up to sit on the edge of his desk.
“Have you lost your mind?” He shot to his feet.
***
She would get to him. She was certain of it. But she wasn’t at all certain how. He thought she was inebriated. And she had drunk a little bit much, but not as much as she pretended.
She forced herself to slur her words. “What? You told me to sit.”
“I didn’t mean on my desk.”
She lifted one side of her bottom and looked down. “I don’t think I’m hurting it.”
He scrubbed at his forehead. Then he pointed toward the settee. “Go sit over there.”
“Don’t want to.” She forced herself to hiccup. “I’m fine right here.”
“You are going to regret this tomorrow.”
“You’re probably regretting having brought me here already.”
“I certainly am.” He glared at her a moment. Then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the settee. He tried to drop her onto the velvet surface, but she clung tightly to his neck when he would have dropped her. The result was that she tugged him down on top of her. He stilled. Completely.