Sinfully Yours (Hellions of High Street 2)

“Grrrr.”

Her feet stilled, her head snapped up.

“Why not simply add a pack of predators?” said Devlin. “After all, you are writing fiction, not fact.” He gave a little wave of the manuscript. “Readers will allow you a little leeway with the truth if it adds to the story.”

Anna’s mouth went through a series of tiny contortions, ending in a perfect “O” of outrage.

Seeing as she had not yet mustered the powers of speech, Devlin pressed his advantage. “Speaking of stories, what an interesting plot twist we have here. Who would have guessed that the angelically prim and proper Miss Anna Sloane is really the wildly adventurous—and aggressively erotic—Sir Sharpe Quill?”

She had the grace to blush. Or perhaps it was fury that was bringing the beguiling shade of pink to her cheeks.

“Not I,” he went on. “Even though I am considered to have a very evil mind.”

A shiver of silence hung between them, as Anna slowly drew in a measured breath. “You are not only evil,” she rasped. “You are wicked.”

“Talk about wicked.” He waved the pages again, setting off a crackling of paper. “Tsk, tsk.”

Teasing her was irresistible. It was delightfully delicious to watch the play of emotions animate her lovely face. Normally, she kept her feelings hidden beneath a mask of polite good cheer, but at the moment, her features were far more expressive.

If those alluring green eyes were daggers, he would be flayed alive.

“You have had your fun, sir. Now hand back my pages,” snapped Anna. “At once.”

He pulled them back out of her reach.

“Do not trifle with me, Lord Davenport,” she warned.

“Or what, Miss Sloane? You’ll shoot me with one of Manton’s pretty little pocket pistols?”

Sparks flashed on the tips of her golden lashes. “I have a deadline to meet. So yes, I’m prepared to cut out your liver with my book knife if need be.”

“I believe you would,” he murmured.

She held out her hand.

“And what would be my fate if I were to make your little secret known to the public?”

“Oh, fie, sir. You wouldn’t dare!”

The challenge stirred some Inner Demon. He felt a devilish smile form on his lips. “Moi? The Devil Davenport.” He lowered his voice to a taunting whisper. “Surely you know by now that I have no scruples. About anythi

ng.”

Anna’s eyes flared wide in alarm and then steeled to a razored stare. “Give. Me. Back. My. Manuscript.”

The demand awoke several more imps of Satan, who promptly joined the Demon in chorusing yet another provocation.

“But I haven’t finished this chapter.” He glanced down at the page and began reading aloud.

At the sound of footsteps on the marble tiles, Emmalina whirled around, clutching her towel tighter to her dripping wet body. Steam rose in vaporous clouds from the sunken bath, and yet she had no trouble identifying that all too familiar smile through the swirling mist.

“You ought not be here,” she said, belatedly aware that the cloth ended several inches above her navel.

“Stop it,” muttered Anna.

His smile stretched wider as he picked up where he had left off:

With a husky laugh, Alessandro put his hand on her quivering breast…