legs. How exotica ll y beautiful she was, a delicate, golden siren all scented womanhood and desir e — a nd disarming appetites. With what pleasure she ate; what curious pleasure it gave him to offer her that enjoyment.
"You're not eating," she said, licking her finger after scooping up the last morsel of frosting on her plate.
"I'll wait for the scallops." Although he wasn't sure he cared to eat at all.
A tiny silence fell.
"Would you like more Champagne?" Leaning forward, he began to reach for the bottle on the floor beside his chair.
"Not just yet."
Another small hush descended.
And then he noticed her gaze on the cake.
"Would you like another piece?"
"If you don't think me piggish," she said, her tone reminding him of a young child told to mind her manners.
"Lord, no," he quickly assured her, realizing she'd been afraid to ask for more. Placing the entire cake on the bed within her reach, he said, "Eat it all."
"I feel so greedy."
"Darling, you're apologizing to the wrong person. Greed of every kind is a byword in the haut monde and that cake in contrast is the merest small indulgence. Just remember to save some room for the scallops."
She smiled. "You're very lovable."
"I was thinking the same of you, lollipop," he softly said, the husky undertone in his voice irrepressibly sensual.
"How nice," she whispered, dipping her finger in the chocolate icing and slowly bringing it to her mouth. "But Re m y might come in. . . ." And sliding her fingertip into her mouth, she slowly withdrew it frostingless.
Stirred by such lascivious intent, he restlessly shifted in his lounging pose, his erection an instant response. "Why don't I lock the door," he murmured, already half rising.
"Your chef will be furious if his scallops are ruined."
"I pay Remy well enough to overlook a ruined plate of scallops," he said, moving toward the door, "or a month's ruined menus for that matter."
"Won't he pout?"
Beau half turned and smiled. "Better him than me."
"And you don't care to be deterred."
"Not in terms of sex with you."
"How flattering you are, Rochefort."
It stopped him for a moment, her utter candor when so many women preferred sugary euphemisms for lust. Turnin g around completely, he quizzically gazed at her. Have you always been like this?"
"Naked in bed with a virtual stranger, you mean? Just this once, my dear Glory, as you well know. Or do you mean something else?"
"I mean so willing to speak your mind."
"At this stage I don't have much to lose, do I? My other option is starvation on the streets of London. I prefer this," she declared, smiling. "Short of throwing me overboard, you can't chastise me overmuch for my plain speaking. And somehow I've gotten the impression you prefer my company to solitude on this voyage."
"Perceptive woman," he said, half to himself, surprised to f i nd her insight true when he'd always railed against female company on lengthy cruises.
"And who knows ... if you continue playing cards so chivalrously, by journey's end, I may be a wealthy woman as well."
"You're damned good." He grinned. "At cards too . . ." His tone abruptly altered from the overtly seductive. "And chivalry had little to do with your winning."
"I know." She fluttered her lashes at him in flirtatious parody. "I was being polite."
"A game, then, later." He felt a surge of excitement beyond the sexual, gambling one of his passions. "No holds barred."
"You could lose, Rochefort."
His grin was boyish. "I can afford it."
"While I can't."
"You've a stake at least. How much have you won from me?"
"Enough to give me independence from governess duty in Florence," she declared. "I'll never be able to thank you properly," she added, her voice suddenly hushed, a small tremor in her words. "You've saved my life."
"Lord, no," he quickly protested, unfamiliar with such warmhearted female gratitude separate from lavish gifts of jewelry. "Please . . . you'll make me feel guilty for taking advantage of you."
She shook
"You're not eating," she said, licking her finger after scooping up the last morsel of frosting on her plate.
"I'll wait for the scallops." Although he wasn't sure he cared to eat at all.
A tiny silence fell.
"Would you like more Champagne?" Leaning forward, he began to reach for the bottle on the floor beside his chair.
"Not just yet."
Another small hush descended.
And then he noticed her gaze on the cake.
"Would you like another piece?"
"If you don't think me piggish," she said, her tone reminding him of a young child told to mind her manners.
"Lord, no," he quickly assured her, realizing she'd been afraid to ask for more. Placing the entire cake on the bed within her reach, he said, "Eat it all."
"I feel so greedy."
"Darling, you're apologizing to the wrong person. Greed of every kind is a byword in the haut monde and that cake in contrast is the merest small indulgence. Just remember to save some room for the scallops."
She smiled. "You're very lovable."
"I was thinking the same of you, lollipop," he softly said, the husky undertone in his voice irrepressibly sensual.
"How nice," she whispered, dipping her finger in the chocolate icing and slowly bringing it to her mouth. "But Re m y might come in. . . ." And sliding her fingertip into her mouth, she slowly withdrew it frostingless.
Stirred by such lascivious intent, he restlessly shifted in his lounging pose, his erection an instant response. "Why don't I lock the door," he murmured, already half rising.
"Your chef will be furious if his scallops are ruined."
"I pay Remy well enough to overlook a ruined plate of scallops," he said, moving toward the door, "or a month's ruined menus for that matter."
"Won't he pout?"
Beau half turned and smiled. "Better him than me."
"And you don't care to be deterred."
"Not in terms of sex with you."
"How flattering you are, Rochefort."
It stopped him for a moment, her utter candor when so many women preferred sugary euphemisms for lust. Turnin g around completely, he quizzically gazed at her. Have you always been like this?"
"Naked in bed with a virtual stranger, you mean? Just this once, my dear Glory, as you well know. Or do you mean something else?"
"I mean so willing to speak your mind."
"At this stage I don't have much to lose, do I? My other option is starvation on the streets of London. I prefer this," she declared, smiling. "Short of throwing me overboard, you can't chastise me overmuch for my plain speaking. And somehow I've gotten the impression you prefer my company to solitude on this voyage."
"Perceptive woman," he said, half to himself, surprised to f i nd her insight true when he'd always railed against female company on lengthy cruises.
"And who knows ... if you continue playing cards so chivalrously, by journey's end, I may be a wealthy woman as well."
"You're damned good." He grinned. "At cards too . . ." His tone abruptly altered from the overtly seductive. "And chivalry had little to do with your winning."
"I know." She fluttered her lashes at him in flirtatious parody. "I was being polite."
"A game, then, later." He felt a surge of excitement beyond the sexual, gambling one of his passions. "No holds barred."
"You could lose, Rochefort."
His grin was boyish. "I can afford it."
"While I can't."
"You've a stake at least. How much have you won from me?"
"Enough to give me independence from governess duty in Florence," she declared. "I'll never be able to thank you properly," she added, her voice suddenly hushed, a small tremor in her words. "You've saved my life."
"Lord, no," he quickly protested, unfamiliar with such warmhearted female gratitude separate from lavish gifts of jewelry. "Please . . . you'll make me feel guilty for taking advantage of you."
She shook
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