Lack of a maidenhead gives a woman the same freedom as a man.”
Quinn was apparently the sort to rush in where angels fear to tread. He didn’t heed the warning sign she was sure must be affixed to her forehead.
“After the first one, another bed partner more or less”—he sopped up the gravy from his pie with the bread—“doesn’t do any further damage.”
“Then you think I’m damaged.”
“I didn’t say that.” He looked up sharply and seemed to suddenly realize he teetered on the edge of a verbal precipice. She could almost see him dig in his heels to keep from tumbling off. He dragged a hand through his dark hair. “I think we’re all damaged, one way or another. Some types are just easier to guess at than others.”
“Really.” She laid her fork aside. “How are you damaged, Quinn?”
He refilled his wineglass and drained it in one long gulp. “I find excessive conversation interferes with digestion, don’t you?”
“Not particularly.” She popped the bite of pie into her mouth. Now that she had him on the defensive, she found she could eat the food before her with relish. “Would you like me to guess?”
When he didn’t answer, she plowed ahead.
“Since you seem to intensely dislike your sire, I can only assume something happened with your father. A secret. Something no one else knows.” She tried the cheese and found it sharp and crumbly, just as she liked it. “But you know. And it’s eating you up.”
Quinn pulled his napkin from his neck and dropped it across his plate. He pushed back from the table and stood. “I typically take a walk after the evening meal. Please do not feel the need to wait up. If you will excuse me—”
“No, Quinn, I won’t. I won’t excuse you. Why do you expect me to share your bed if you won’t share the least bit of yourself with me?”
He gave a puzzled shake of his head. “If we shared a bed, you may be certain I would share myself.”
“Your body, perhaps.” She rose to her feet. “But that’s not all there is to you.”
“You’re muddying the issue,” Quinn said. “I suppose I can’t blame you, given your history with that cad. He never should have given you those expectations.”
“So you imagine I would bed you with no expectations?”
“Of course not.” He came around to her side of the table and looked down at her. “You should expect pleasure.”
He lifted a lock of her hair to his lips and kissed it. “Reams of pleasure.”
His fingertips brushed her cheek, traveled down her neck and feathered along the top of her bodice. “Bliss.”
He circled her nipples with both hands through the velvet and they rose to meet him, aching for his touch. “A full measure of bliss. Abundant. Pressed down and running over.”
He kissed her, open-mouthed, his tongue making love to hers. One hand left a breast and skimmed over her ribs, past her navel and settled on her sex. Then he slipped his hand through the slit in her robe and cupped her vulva through her thin nightgown.
Oh, God . He’d feel how wet she was.
“You should expect ecstasy, Viola,” Quinn said as his fingers stroked her through the silk, leaving a damp spot. “Not once, but many times. You may plead for me to stop, but I haven’t a drop of mercy in me. I’ll drive you to joy till you’re screaming my name. What do you say? Shall I take you there?”
She closed her eyes, aching to let him. He kissed her again and began hitching her nightgown higher. When his hand slipped under her hem and his fingers invaded her, it took every ounce of strength she possessed to grasp his wrist.
“No,” she whispered.
He flicked a fingertip over her sensitive spot and she shuddered.
“No.” She pushed against his chest. “I can’t do this. Not without knowing who you are.”
“You knew who your fiancé was, didn’t you?” He removed his hand and let her nightgown’s hem billow to her feet. “By your own admission that didn’t end well.”
“No, as it
Quinn was apparently the sort to rush in where angels fear to tread. He didn’t heed the warning sign she was sure must be affixed to her forehead.
“After the first one, another bed partner more or less”—he sopped up the gravy from his pie with the bread—“doesn’t do any further damage.”
“Then you think I’m damaged.”
“I didn’t say that.” He looked up sharply and seemed to suddenly realize he teetered on the edge of a verbal precipice. She could almost see him dig in his heels to keep from tumbling off. He dragged a hand through his dark hair. “I think we’re all damaged, one way or another. Some types are just easier to guess at than others.”
“Really.” She laid her fork aside. “How are you damaged, Quinn?”
He refilled his wineglass and drained it in one long gulp. “I find excessive conversation interferes with digestion, don’t you?”
“Not particularly.” She popped the bite of pie into her mouth. Now that she had him on the defensive, she found she could eat the food before her with relish. “Would you like me to guess?”
When he didn’t answer, she plowed ahead.
“Since you seem to intensely dislike your sire, I can only assume something happened with your father. A secret. Something no one else knows.” She tried the cheese and found it sharp and crumbly, just as she liked it. “But you know. And it’s eating you up.”
Quinn pulled his napkin from his neck and dropped it across his plate. He pushed back from the table and stood. “I typically take a walk after the evening meal. Please do not feel the need to wait up. If you will excuse me—”
“No, Quinn, I won’t. I won’t excuse you. Why do you expect me to share your bed if you won’t share the least bit of yourself with me?”
He gave a puzzled shake of his head. “If we shared a bed, you may be certain I would share myself.”
“Your body, perhaps.” She rose to her feet. “But that’s not all there is to you.”
“You’re muddying the issue,” Quinn said. “I suppose I can’t blame you, given your history with that cad. He never should have given you those expectations.”
“So you imagine I would bed you with no expectations?”
“Of course not.” He came around to her side of the table and looked down at her. “You should expect pleasure.”
He lifted a lock of her hair to his lips and kissed it. “Reams of pleasure.”
His fingertips brushed her cheek, traveled down her neck and feathered along the top of her bodice. “Bliss.”
He circled her nipples with both hands through the velvet and they rose to meet him, aching for his touch. “A full measure of bliss. Abundant. Pressed down and running over.”
He kissed her, open-mouthed, his tongue making love to hers. One hand left a breast and skimmed over her ribs, past her navel and settled on her sex. Then he slipped his hand through the slit in her robe and cupped her vulva through her thin nightgown.
Oh, God . He’d feel how wet she was.
“You should expect ecstasy, Viola,” Quinn said as his fingers stroked her through the silk, leaving a damp spot. “Not once, but many times. You may plead for me to stop, but I haven’t a drop of mercy in me. I’ll drive you to joy till you’re screaming my name. What do you say? Shall I take you there?”
She closed her eyes, aching to let him. He kissed her again and began hitching her nightgown higher. When his hand slipped under her hem and his fingers invaded her, it took every ounce of strength she possessed to grasp his wrist.
“No,” she whispered.
He flicked a fingertip over her sensitive spot and she shuddered.
“No.” She pushed against his chest. “I can’t do this. Not without knowing who you are.”
“You knew who your fiancé was, didn’t you?” He removed his hand and let her nightgown’s hem billow to her feet. “By your own admission that didn’t end well.”
“No, as it
Similar Books
