Read Online Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor by Rue Allyn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rue Allyn
Tags: Romance, Historical
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attempt at seduction that Dutch had ever been party to, and as Cerise Duval’s one-time toy he’d been party to a great many. The Smithfeld woman kissed like a child. Lips together and almost no pressure, suction, or movement of her mouth, as if mashing faces was all she knew about the process.
Still, Dutch kissed her back. Kissed her like he was starved for it. His lips moved over hers, sampling her tenderness, tasting her sweetness. His hands skimmed along her soft curves to cup her buttocks and urge her closer. The pressure of her breasts against his chest stirred his senses. His manhood hardened, and he ground his hips against her softness. He hadn’t lain with a woman in more than six months. Abstinence alone could explain his body’s response. He waited for her to open her mouth. For a whore, she sure didn’t seem to know what to do. She just hugged him and pressed inward with both her mouth and body, but she didn’t move. Didn’t rub. Didn’t do anything else. She might as well have been a stick of wood were it not for her heat and heady female scent. The spicy odor of daisies engulfed him. No working girl ever smelled like daisies.
His cock surged, straining toward that eager, inexperienced, feminine warmth. No! He put his hands on her shoulders, pushed her to arm’s length, and stared into her puzzled, hugely dilated, green eyes.
He recalled her approach when he’d entered the room. She’d swayed from side to side in the oddest way. Was she drunk? When he considered her rapidly changing moods and the sudden flush of her skin above the sinking neckline of her dress, he knew drugs to be the cause.
Not every woman who ended up in a cathouse wanted to be there. The auction had been for a willing virgin, but it wouldn’t be the first time that willingness was forced. Plus he had personal experience of Duval’s penchant for exotic aphrodisiacs. On the other hand, plenty of whores used stimulants voluntarily, so maybe she wasn’t an innocent. Regardless, he should follow his instincts and leave. But footsteps still sounded beyond the door. He could not allow himself to be seen leaving so soon, or word would spread like wildfire that Dutch Trahern had welched on a deal. How to find a way out?
He dropped his arms and stepped away.
The woman pouted at him. A whore wouldn’t pout, would she? If a client didn’t want a particular service, most whores would shrug and wait for the client to say what was wanted.
Her lower lip trembled.
He nearly tasted those lips again, but he refused to yield.
He walked past her to the window embrasure that she’d recently vacated.
“Um.” She tapped his shoulder as he passed. “What are you doing?”
He ignored the breathy question and studied the view from the window. No balcony. The drop was a straight two stories into a back alley. Not fatal, but injury was a real risk. He turned and surveyed the room. Ah, the bed sheets and curtains. With a little effort he could be safely out of here and on his way home. He went to work stripping the bed.
A soft touch on his arm made him pause. He turned his head to find her standing next to him. He almost regretted that she’d retrieved her bodice and covered herself. He inhaled sharply. His head filled with fresh daisies and woman.
“Excuse me … but I think … that is … we need to discuss the services I’m paying you for.”
He shifted to face her straight on and gave a bitter laugh. Drunk, drugged, or simply crazy, the woman was out of her mind. “You’re paying me? That’s real funny lady, when I just paid $2,000 for the privilege of telling you I don’t sleep with whores. Listen carefully. We aren’t getting into this bed or having sex together anytime, anywhere.”
She frowned prettily, as if wishing for some sort of treat that he denied her. She was being coy. Whores were too business-like to be coy. She couldn’t be a whore, could she?
“What do you mean you paid for the privilege? If you wanted the
Still, Dutch kissed her back. Kissed her like he was starved for it. His lips moved over hers, sampling her tenderness, tasting her sweetness. His hands skimmed along her soft curves to cup her buttocks and urge her closer. The pressure of her breasts against his chest stirred his senses. His manhood hardened, and he ground his hips against her softness. He hadn’t lain with a woman in more than six months. Abstinence alone could explain his body’s response. He waited for her to open her mouth. For a whore, she sure didn’t seem to know what to do. She just hugged him and pressed inward with both her mouth and body, but she didn’t move. Didn’t rub. Didn’t do anything else. She might as well have been a stick of wood were it not for her heat and heady female scent. The spicy odor of daisies engulfed him. No working girl ever smelled like daisies.
His cock surged, straining toward that eager, inexperienced, feminine warmth. No! He put his hands on her shoulders, pushed her to arm’s length, and stared into her puzzled, hugely dilated, green eyes.
He recalled her approach when he’d entered the room. She’d swayed from side to side in the oddest way. Was she drunk? When he considered her rapidly changing moods and the sudden flush of her skin above the sinking neckline of her dress, he knew drugs to be the cause.
Not every woman who ended up in a cathouse wanted to be there. The auction had been for a willing virgin, but it wouldn’t be the first time that willingness was forced. Plus he had personal experience of Duval’s penchant for exotic aphrodisiacs. On the other hand, plenty of whores used stimulants voluntarily, so maybe she wasn’t an innocent. Regardless, he should follow his instincts and leave. But footsteps still sounded beyond the door. He could not allow himself to be seen leaving so soon, or word would spread like wildfire that Dutch Trahern had welched on a deal. How to find a way out?
He dropped his arms and stepped away.
The woman pouted at him. A whore wouldn’t pout, would she? If a client didn’t want a particular service, most whores would shrug and wait for the client to say what was wanted.
Her lower lip trembled.
He nearly tasted those lips again, but he refused to yield.
He walked past her to the window embrasure that she’d recently vacated.
“Um.” She tapped his shoulder as he passed. “What are you doing?”
He ignored the breathy question and studied the view from the window. No balcony. The drop was a straight two stories into a back alley. Not fatal, but injury was a real risk. He turned and surveyed the room. Ah, the bed sheets and curtains. With a little effort he could be safely out of here and on his way home. He went to work stripping the bed.
A soft touch on his arm made him pause. He turned his head to find her standing next to him. He almost regretted that she’d retrieved her bodice and covered herself. He inhaled sharply. His head filled with fresh daisies and woman.
“Excuse me … but I think … that is … we need to discuss the services I’m paying you for.”
He shifted to face her straight on and gave a bitter laugh. Drunk, drugged, or simply crazy, the woman was out of her mind. “You’re paying me? That’s real funny lady, when I just paid $2,000 for the privilege of telling you I don’t sleep with whores. Listen carefully. We aren’t getting into this bed or having sex together anytime, anywhere.”
She frowned prettily, as if wishing for some sort of treat that he denied her. She was being coy. Whores were too business-like to be coy. She couldn’t be a whore, could she?
“What do you mean you paid for the privilege? If you wanted the
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