The Harlot (Taskill Witches 1)

Her blood raced. He had enjoyed their tryst in the cell. She thought he had, but afterward, when she’d learned his reason for rescuing her, she wasn’t so sure.

“There is more pleasure in mutual exchange with a woman who knows what she is about,” he added, “than in the corruption of innocence for the sake of it.”

Jessie was beginning to get a better picture of both him and his enemy. Had the man stolen Mister Ramsay’s sweetheart? she wondered. “I’m sorry, sire, I did not mean to interrupt your…instruction, with my question about your preference.”

He laughed softly, and she had the feeling he read her better than she could presently read him, which was rather annoying.

“You are a distraction, Jessie, I’ll admit that, but that is why I sought you out for the task.” With a flick of his wrist, he gestured at the floor. “Imagine that you have secured a position as his servant. I have thought on it, and this seems the best way to gain access to the information I need.” His eyebrows gathered. “Although I’m not quite sure how we will gain you that position. It needs thought.”

“That is no great challenge.”

His expression lifted. “You have an idea?”

It pleased her that she had brought about that change in his mood. “Perhaps. Is it a large household?”

“Yes, I estimate a dozen or so servants, plus stable hands and groundsmen.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “It is easy to make work in such a place, and an extra pair of hands is welcome when chaos occurs. Leave that to me. It will be done.?

??

That requirement would easily be helped along with a touch of magic, and if that hurried the task, it might be worth the risk. She would keep that part to herself, though. For some reason he had dismissed the ousting he had witnessed, and that suited her well. Changing the subject, she asked, “You want me to pretend to polish the floor at your feet?”

“Aye, but do it in a way that I…he, might find alluring.” Ramsay’s gaze lingered on her when she smiled in response to his error.

Each and every time he looked at her that way desire simmered expectantly in the pit of her belly. There was a mighty tug between them. Why then was he apparently able to sit there so easily? Yes, he wanted her for another man, yet the way they had coupled that first night proved they were well matched when it came to pleasures of the flesh. Even though she had her own destiny to follow, she would take anything she received from him along the way. Jessie had never been rescued from the gallows before, and that experience—after such a fine mutual tumble—was beginning to settle well in her memory now. As she lowered herself to her knees before him, she vowed to make him claim her again.

At first she was dazzled by the late spring sunshine behind his head as she tried to see him. His figure, dark and looming, was absolutely still. She put her hand to her eyes to shield them while she grew accustomed to it. Then she took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh.

“Forgive me, sire. I must polish the floor here, Mister Ramsay.” She said his name to let him know she had caught it earlier.

He did not reply. Yet the mood in the room altered.

Something she had said or done had made it do so. Jessie noticed how quiet it was, the only sound a distant bird singing. She went about her chores, pretending to polish the floor, humming to herself. Occasionally she looked up at him from under her lashes, suppressing a smile, and jiggled her hips and torso as she worked, to be sure she caught his attention.

Tension swelled from the place where he sat.

What was he thinking?

He observed her silently. Nevertheless, the rising air of expectancy made her blood heat. The notion that he was sitting there assessing her allure made her want to act very differently—to slink over to him and beg him to pleasure her the way he had before.

A moment later he rose to his feet and stood before her. Reaching down, he put one finger beneath her chin, lifting it. “Your head at this angle, when you are kneeling. It displays your bosom to good advantage.”

The very sound of his voice vibrated along her nerves. Deep and low and seductive—and deliciously demanding—it aroused her, making her want to hear more of it. He had blocked out the sunshine, and she was able to see him. As she looked up at him she was forced to remember her first taste of him, back in the tollbooth in Dundee, when she’d knelt at his feet for an entirely different purpose. Then she’d thought only of him. Now, he would have her think of another man, an enemy.

His finger remained under her chin while he scrutinized her. His gaze was all-encompassing, his handsome mouth slightly pursed while he considered her. It occurred to her that in a roomful of gentlemen, he would be the one who caught attention. Handsome and yet scarred, rough and so darkly secretive, the man lured her in every way.

“Sire,” she whispered, “what else would you have me do?” She wanted him to order her to strip, to bare herself to him. She wanted him to demand she sit on his cock and ride him until he came off.

A curious look flitted through his eyes, and he stroked his thumb over her lower lip. Jessie could not help herself—she shivered with arousal.

“Remain kneeling.” Slowly he straightened up. He did not, however, return to his seat. Instead he walked around her, pausing occasionally to study some detail of her appearance.

Jessie could not resist glancing over her shoulder. With her head cocked she could see him out of the corner of her eye. Even though he did not touch her, her blood raced. She wondered if he was aware of the effect he was having on her.

When he was directly behind her, he inserted one foot between her feet and pushed them farther apart. “Place your knees wider and arch your back.”

She did so, pulling her skirts a little higher to aid the maneuver. With her knees parted that way her thighs were wide apart. He had instructed her into a position that would en able her to be easily taken from behind, should someone choose to lift her skirt. Her cunny prickled with arousal and her core began to throb unbearably.