Page 84 of To Love A Spy
“But not as magnificent as you,cherie.” His lips nuzzled the nape of her neck. “Your breasts are even more luscious. When do I get a taste?”
Valencia dodged the question. “I see you have quite a collection of allegorical paintings here.” She gazed up at the scene of Zeus shedding his disguise as a swan in order to ravage Leda. “The Greeks gods were certainly a randy lot.”
“They possessed the power to take what they wanted. Why should they play by the rules of mere mortals?” said Rochambert.
“An interesting observation, monsieur.” She moved on to the next canvas. “Do you see yourself as being above other men?”
“Moi?” The reflection from the gilt frame played over his face. “Like Napoleon, I believe that some men are destined to rise above their compatriots.” He winked, setting off sparks from his gold-tipped lashes. “The ladies do call mele beaux ange.
The handsome angel.
“Because you transport them to heaven?” Turning, Valencia spied a marble plinth, half hidden in the shadows of a leering sculpted satyr. On it sat a brass box, decorated with an intricate interweaving of copper and silver latticework. The design was distinctly Arabic . . .
Her heart skidded and lurched up against her ribs.Steady, steady, she warned herself.
“What an unusual pattern,” she remarked. “It looks like something out of Aladdin’s treasure cave. Or perhaps it’s Pandora’s Box. Shall we dare to have a look inside?”
“No need to bother. It’s quite empty.” Rochambert was quick to steer her away. “Indeed, it’s just an old curio left over from a trip to Cairo. I have been meaning to have it moved to cellars.” He leaned in to nibble at her earlobe.
Valencia allowed herself to be distracted.
“You have the most exquisite eyes,” he murmured. “They are a compelling, shade of green—like liquid emeralds, shimmering with the depth of a seagreen ocean.
She slid a teasing hand around his neck, and let it trail down his spine to his derriere. “La, and you, sir, have a golden tongue. Tell me, are all Frenchman such lyrical poets as well as incorrigible flirts?”
“Oh, I think you will find that I am quite unique.”
“You are very sure of yourself,” she said, tapping a finger to his chin.
He caught it and slowly suckled its tip. “Oui, and with good reason.”
“What a provocative answer.” She rubbed her thigh against his, and then pulled away with a breathy sigh. “I should like to hear why, but alas, we had best return to the other guests. I wouldn’t want to provoke my husband into making a scene.”
“Should I be afraid of the old man calling me out? Sabers at dawn?” Rochambert’s laugh was a low, leering scoff. “In ashow of swordsmanship, Monsieur Daggett would not show to advantage.”
Valencia hid her disgust with a flutter of her lashes. “You consider yourself quite a dashing blade?”
“The best on the Continent,” he replied. “I have cut a rather large swath through the boudoirs of Europe.”
“Leaving a trail of broken hearts, no doubt,” she murmured.Not to speak of severed throats and shattered limbs.
His mouth pursed to a preening purse. “What can I say? Women seem to find me irresistible.”
“Some might call that arrogance, Monsieur Rochambert.”
“Perhaps.” He stepped closer and captured his wrist. The feel of his bare flesh made her skin crawl. “But I assure you,ma belleValencia, a night in my bed would be well worth it.” The champagne sweetness of his breath was growing hot and heavy with lust. “The word ‘pleasure’ does not begin to describe what you would experience in my arms.”
Indeed, it did not. For an instant, she saw naught but a scrawl of red letters spelling out ‘revenge.’ However, they disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Redemption.A chance to prove herself worthy of Lynsley’s trust.
Yet it took all of her resolve not to recoil when Rochambert pulled her hand down and pressed it against his arousal.
Forcing a suggestive smile, she tittered. “You make quite a convincing case for yourself, monsieur?—”
“Pierre,” he interrupted. “Seeing as we can consider ourselves intimate friends.”
“Pierre.” Valencia mouthed it softly, hoping it sounded seductive, rather than as if she were spitting out a mouthful of rancid wine.
