you’ve done this a hundred times with a hundred other women . . . all very beautiful and very demure and all of whom wore undergarments designed for—”
She stopped, her eyes going wide at her words.
He dropped the towel to the floor, not taking his eyes from her. “Don’t stop now, Hattie. Tell me more about the undergarments.”
He was challenging her, this man whom she would loathe if she did not like him so much. She narrowed her gaze. “I’m sure they’re beautiful. All frill and frippery. Mine are . . . not.”
What was she doing?
“No?” He turned away to fetch a fresh pair of trousers from a low chair nearby.
She looked away as he pulled them on, the words pouring out of her mouth. “Mine serve a different kind of purpose. I mean, when I wear them.”
He looked over his shoulder, that almost-smile playing on his lips again.
She closed her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“I swear I don’t.”
“I mean, I’m wearing them, but it’s a different sort of thing when one is wearing . . .” She waved a hand over her body.
He tracked the movement and his eyes went hooded for a moment, as though he was considering all the possible undergarments available to Hattie while she was in men’s clothing.
Dear God. Men’s clothing did not exactly recommend her, did it?
She cleared her throat. “At any rate, I’m sure you do this often and with far more qualified people.”
And, like that, he was coming for her, all long strides and perfect muscles, and his trousers not even fully buttoned, stalking her backward across the room, all predatory grace, until she came to her senses and realized she did not want to escape.
She stopped. Wonderfully, he didn’t.
He barely stopped when he reached her, knocking the cap from her head, taking her face in his hands, dipping down to kiss her without hesitation, his lips firm and impossibly soft, stealing her gasp as he tilted her chin up and took her lips, his tongue coming out to stroke along her top lip, coaxing her open with the promise of it until she was on her toes, meeting him, aching for him.
When he knew he had her—how could he not, as she clung to his warm shoulders, her hands sliding over the thick muscle of his arms—he smiled against her lips, offering her a little growl as he hauled her close, realigning their mouths and finally, finally, stroking deep, giving her everything she wanted, again and again, until they were both panting from the caress.
He let them up for air, and Hattie opened her eyes, feeling kiss-drunk, making an effort to focus on him.
“I am happy you brought up qualifications,” he said, his voice soft and low and delicious.
“You are?”
“Mmm.” He stared into her eyes for a long moment, as though he were searching for something. “Because I am afraid I don’t meet yours.”
What?
Before she could ask, he leaned down toward her. When he whispered the next, he was so close, she could feel the words on her lips. “Shall I get the list? I can’t make myself medium height or medium build, love . . . nor can I make myself fair-haired.”
Heat raged on her cheeks at the reference to the list she’d provided the brothel what seemed like an age ago, but she refused to let embarrassment stop her from taking this moment. She lifted a hand to settle on his shoulder, bare and smooth and hot like the sun. They both sucked in air at the touch. “You’re far too handsome, as well. But I suppose I shall have to make do.”
He grunted, one hand coming to her cheek, his thumb stroking over the flush there. “I’m not charming, either. Or affable.”
She didn’t care. She tilted her face to his, and he pulled back, refusing her the kiss she desperately wanted. “But you don’t want any of that, do you?”
“No,” she said softly, aching for him to kiss her.
His fingers tightened in her hair. “What do you want?”
She went up on her toes and whispered against his lips, braver than she’d ever been, “I want you.”
“And I want you,” he said, meeting her kiss with his own, long and lush, his thumb tracing over the soft skin of her cheek as he licked at her mouth, stroking slow and lingering, a delicious taste of what might come. And then, at her lips, “Shall I tell you what I can promise?”