Claiming the Courtesan

“Oh, Kylemore.” Her smoky laugh brushed like exquisite torture across every nerve.

Despairingly, he thought he’d give her everything he owned if she’d only once call him Justin.

“Why are you doing this?” he grated out even while his arms tensed to keep her in his embrace. “Why, Verity?”

Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape. “Don’t you know? Can’t you see?” Her eyes were clear as they met his. “The war is over. I’ve laid down my weapons. The victory is yours.”

“So easily?” He didn’t trust her capitulation. In spite of the kiss. In spite of the fact that she offered this sinner a paradise he thought he’d never attain. “You told me you hated me. You should hate me for what I’ve done to you.”

Her expression darkened at the reminder. “Yes, I did hate you. But I can’t hate you any more. I nearly died yesterday. And I don’t want to die before I give myself unreservedly to the man I want. You’re the man I want, Kylemore.”

He was speechless with wonder. She was brave, braver by far than he. She was beautiful. And despite his crimes against her, she committed herself to his keeping.

His heart contracted within him. After all the misery and violence and pain and anger, he could hardly believe safe harbor beckoned. Safe harbor where the woman he yearned for wanted him in return.

The concession seemed so simple. The concession changed his life.

She gazed into his face. Tears glittered in her eyes, and her expression was stark with need. “Do you want me to beg, Kylemore? I will if that’s what it takes.” Her voice cracked.

“For pity’s sake, no!”

How could she doubt him after his years of ceaseless hunger? He clutched her to him, so close her tears flowed damp against his shoulder.

His voice shook with turbulent emotion. “Don’t cry, mo leannan. I’m yours for the asking. I’ve always been yours. You could give me no more precious gift than yourself.”

She drew away and wiped a shaking hand across her face before, surprisingly, she gave a broken laugh. “What are you waiting for, then?”

She’d told him she wanted him, and he most definitely wanted her. What, indeed, was he waiting for? He reached out to untie her robe and slide it from her shoulders.

“My God,” he breathed. “What have you got on?”

She glanced down at her sheer ice-blue silk negligee. The intensity seeped from her expression, and she smiled with sudden humor.

“Don’t you recognize it? I suspect it cost you a fortune at Madame Yvette’s.”

“It was worth every penny,” he said hoarsely.

In the candlelight, the slippery material hid, then revealed, the curve of a hip, the jut of a breast, the shadowy apex of her thighs. She moved, and silk jagged on one puckered nipple. His breath caught in his throat at the sight.

He hauled her down and kissed her again.

He’d never been a man who’d taken much interest in kissing. He’d always considered it a distraction from earthier satisfactions. Now he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her, the succulent lushness of her mouth.

When he rolled her beneath him, heat flared along his body. He lay between her legs, poised for joining. His arousal clamored for him to take her, but he prolonged the moment. He intended to savor his happiness before a malign fate snatched it away.

“We should adjourn to your room if you’re feeling particularly adventurous, mo cridhe.” He laughed softly. “This cot won’t allow much more than the traditional relief.”

He thrust his aching sex against her belly. He fervently hoped she didn’t plan an elaborate seduction, or he’d never last the distance.

“Mo cridhe?” he prompted.

“What?” she asked in a dazed voice.

“Your room. Shall we go?”

She looked around, and he saw her take in the cramped space.

“One of us will end up on the floor if we stay here.”