Page 14 of His Savage Sweet

Surprisingly, despite my nervousness and generally out-of-my-elementness, I managed to relax before the first course was through. Petite Chou-Fleur served multiple courses, each complete with a wine pairing, and each course was a perfect little morsel of deliciousness.

Wulf ordered two servings for himself, and that—more than anything else—was what set me at ease.

The man was built like a Greek god—maybe Hephaestus—and he certainly did love to eat. His enjoyment of food—those little growls of pleasure he was making when the poached salmon with mousseline sauce came out—were adorable enough to make me fall in love all over again.

At first, the conversation revolved around the food we were eating, and I was surprised how interested he was in my opinions and suggestions. I supposed I shouldn’t be, since I did know all about food, but it was surprising that a prince could care what I thought, no matter how much he enjoyed the topic.

By the eighth course, conversation had turned more intimate. It turned out he already knew all about me.

When I mentioned my father’s stint at Petite Chou-Fleur, he nodded as if he knew.

“We have files on all our servants,” he said, shrugging as he sipped the burgundy which paired with the roasted squab. “But even if we didnae, I would’ve hired someone to find out whatever they could about ye. I wanted to ken everything.”

Well, he was a prince. I supposed violating privacy on his subjects was just one of his rights. “Are ye always this thorough when ye’re trying to get some woman to—ah.” I remembered we were in public. “Be yer companion for the evening?”

He stared at me over his wine glass, those blue eyes turning stormy and sensual. Finally, he said, “Nay. But ye’re no’ just some woman.”

I blushed. Surely what we’d done in the kitchen hadn’t been so unusual to him? Surely he fooked women in passing all the time?

Or had our immediate attraction been proof of something…something more on his part?

“Tell me what ye ken of A Harlot’s Guide,” he suddenly barked, his gaze intense over the rim of his glass.

My blush was immediate, and I glanced around to see if any of the waiters had heard the question. But we were seated in an alcove, and the staff were giving us maximum privacy.

Still, I lowered my voice and my gaze. “What do ye mean?”

“It’s the only book I’ve read since I finished school, and I’ve read it forward and backward.”

I peeked up at him, and he grinned like his namesake and set down his glass.

“Some nights I’ve read it multiple times, if ye ken what I mean.”

I felt myself growing breathless. Was he…was he admitting to touching himself while he examined the ancient catalog of sexual positions?

“So, what I’m asking, Anna, is how ye ken it. Do ye own a copy?”

“Yes, Yer Highness.” I found myself answering with an impish grin as I reached for my own wine glass. “Although sometimes I just read it for the pictures.”

I could tell from the way his nostrils flared that he was picturing what exactly I did while looking at the pictures, so I decided to tease him a bit more.

Taking the time to carefully cut a piece of the squab, I popped it into my mouth and savored the burst of flavors.

He watched my lips.

After I swallowed, I dragged my tongue across them, then grinned. “Sometimes,” I whispered, leaning toward him, “I only use the illustrations for general guidelines. I like to imagine my face on the women. And as for the man in the illustrations…”

His knuckles had whitened as his hand—casually resting against the white tablecloth—curled into a fist. “Who?” he rasped, as if he couldn’t quite make his voice work.

My grin grew. “Why, ye, Yer Highness. For many years now, I’ve imagined yer face on that man, the man I was imagining doing things to me.”

In other words, I’d spent the years since I’d become a woman imagining him fooking me breathless, please and thank you.

His gorgeous eyes widened slightly as he stared at me. Stared in a way that made me wonder what he was thinking; it made me hot and cold and deliciously tingly all at once.

Made me want to skip the best meal of my life just to get him back into the carriage and take our clothes off.

Finally, he dropped his gaze to his wineglass. “Ye’ve been…interested in me?”

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