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Authors: Gaelen Foley
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slightly starry-eyed.
“Whatever are you doing?” she asked in a deliciously flirtatious purr.
He met her smoky gaze. He couldn’t believe he was letting the chance to make love to this angel slip through his fingers.
He released her curls. “Just… playing,” he murmured in a husky voice. Her curls bounced back up toward her shoulders, perfectly reforming in their natural spiral shape. He returned her smile, feeling drunken and tender. He took her small, delicate hands in his. “You are,” he whispered, raising her knuckles to his lips, kissing each pretty hand in turn, “the most luscious, outrageously lovely thing I have ever seen in my life. Including the Canaletto.”
She smiled again, gratitude shining in her magnificent eyes. Such eyes. Dark and sparkling like a starry night.
“However,” he continued, “it occurs to me that I have been shockingly remiss in offering you my hospitality.”
“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”
He narrowed his eyes with a wry smile at her saucy answer. “ You’re a bit of a hellion, aren’t you?”
“Never. Just ask my governess.”
Though sorely tempted to kiss that vixenish smile on her lips, somehow he resisted. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered, leading her over to the secretaire. He pulled out the wooden chair, offering it to her.
She sat, her every movement graceful and ladylike, even the way she crossed her ankles and tucked her dainty feet under the chair. He just stared at her for a second, dazed to realize how she had let him touch her. He couldn’t believe it.
She likes me
. The shock of it sent a jolt of wild joy through him that stole his breath and robbed him momentarily of his common sense. He, Blade, who stared down cutthroat thugs in the meanest streets of the city, who laughed at death and snapped his fingers in the hangman’s face, found himself nervous and jumpy in the presence of a pretty girl.
How utterly stupid
. He felt like an ass.
He didn’t care.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Uh, no.” He jerked himself out of his daze, casting about for the proper care and feeding of a lady. “Let’s see. Perhaps you would like some, er, tea?”
She looked at him dubiously, possibly surprised that he had ever heard of the stuff. “I’m sure that would be lovely, thank you.”
“Right.” His mission clear, he strode to the fireplace and promptly discovered he had used all the hot water to cleanse his wound.
Bloody hell
. He turned around again, chagrined.
She lifted her eyebrow at him quizzically.
“Perhaps… wine?” he attempted.
She smiled, trying and failing to hide her amusement at his efforts. “Even better.”
He marched over to the storage trunk at the foot of his veiled bed, opened the creaky lid, and pulled out his best bottle of claret. The sight of his clean shirts lying balled in one corner of the trunk reminded him of his state of undress. He yanked one out and shook out the wrinkles, then quickly pulled it on over his head. What she must make of him and his tattoos, he barely dared think—but that thought itself was alien, for it was a policy of his never to give a damn what any living soul thought of him.
I am out of my element
, he reflected as he poured out two glasses of the purplish-red wine. If he were with Carlotta, they’d have already finished their primal coupling by now and would be sharing a cheroot.
He brought the wine over to “Miss Smith.” She accepted it with a nod. Taking a drink from his wineglass, Blade sauntered over to his bed a few feet across from her and sat down.
He watched her sample a few sips of his mediocre wine, then smiled as she politely lied to save his feelings. “It’s…very good.”
She was the worst liar he had ever seen, but he was amused by her attempt to reassure him. He lounged back on his bed, leaning on his elbow. “So, Miss Smith, if you refuse to reveal your true name, won’t you at least tell me why you’re running away?”
She looked into her
“Whatever are you doing?” she asked in a deliciously flirtatious purr.
He met her smoky gaze. He couldn’t believe he was letting the chance to make love to this angel slip through his fingers.
He released her curls. “Just… playing,” he murmured in a husky voice. Her curls bounced back up toward her shoulders, perfectly reforming in their natural spiral shape. He returned her smile, feeling drunken and tender. He took her small, delicate hands in his. “You are,” he whispered, raising her knuckles to his lips, kissing each pretty hand in turn, “the most luscious, outrageously lovely thing I have ever seen in my life. Including the Canaletto.”
She smiled again, gratitude shining in her magnificent eyes. Such eyes. Dark and sparkling like a starry night.
“However,” he continued, “it occurs to me that I have been shockingly remiss in offering you my hospitality.”
“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.”
He narrowed his eyes with a wry smile at her saucy answer. “ You’re a bit of a hellion, aren’t you?”
“Never. Just ask my governess.”
Though sorely tempted to kiss that vixenish smile on her lips, somehow he resisted. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered, leading her over to the secretaire. He pulled out the wooden chair, offering it to her.
She sat, her every movement graceful and ladylike, even the way she crossed her ankles and tucked her dainty feet under the chair. He just stared at her for a second, dazed to realize how she had let him touch her. He couldn’t believe it.
She likes me
. The shock of it sent a jolt of wild joy through him that stole his breath and robbed him momentarily of his common sense. He, Blade, who stared down cutthroat thugs in the meanest streets of the city, who laughed at death and snapped his fingers in the hangman’s face, found himself nervous and jumpy in the presence of a pretty girl.
How utterly stupid
. He felt like an ass.
He didn’t care.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Uh, no.” He jerked himself out of his daze, casting about for the proper care and feeding of a lady. “Let’s see. Perhaps you would like some, er, tea?”
She looked at him dubiously, possibly surprised that he had ever heard of the stuff. “I’m sure that would be lovely, thank you.”
“Right.” His mission clear, he strode to the fireplace and promptly discovered he had used all the hot water to cleanse his wound.
Bloody hell
. He turned around again, chagrined.
She lifted her eyebrow at him quizzically.
“Perhaps… wine?” he attempted.
She smiled, trying and failing to hide her amusement at his efforts. “Even better.”
He marched over to the storage trunk at the foot of his veiled bed, opened the creaky lid, and pulled out his best bottle of claret. The sight of his clean shirts lying balled in one corner of the trunk reminded him of his state of undress. He yanked one out and shook out the wrinkles, then quickly pulled it on over his head. What she must make of him and his tattoos, he barely dared think—but that thought itself was alien, for it was a policy of his never to give a damn what any living soul thought of him.
I am out of my element
, he reflected as he poured out two glasses of the purplish-red wine. If he were with Carlotta, they’d have already finished their primal coupling by now and would be sharing a cheroot.
He brought the wine over to “Miss Smith.” She accepted it with a nod. Taking a drink from his wineglass, Blade sauntered over to his bed a few feet across from her and sat down.
He watched her sample a few sips of his mediocre wine, then smiled as she politely lied to save his feelings. “It’s…very good.”
She was the worst liar he had ever seen, but he was amused by her attempt to reassure him. He lounged back on his bed, leaning on his elbow. “So, Miss Smith, if you refuse to reveal your true name, won’t you at least tell me why you’re running away?”
She looked into her
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