Page 34 of The Devil in Her Bed
Chandler did his best not to investigate the intriguing fabric covering her thighs. She didn’t wear a skirt, but they were like no trousers he’d ever seen. Er—felt. They clung to her legs like a second skin, but stretched and moved as she did. Cotton perhaps? Lord he’d give his left eye to find out. Or maybe his left arm, as he’d need both eyes to see her.
She was magnificent, this woman. Who the devil was she to have been entrenched in Francesca’s life since finishing school? A spy? Did she work for the council?
Gads he hoped not. He’d hate to see a woman he so thoroughly admired hanged for high treason.
“You failed, you know,” he said evenly.
“This ought to be rich. Please tell me which one of us is a success and which a failure under our current circumstances?”
“Whether you intended to kill the Lord Chancellor or rescue him, you have botched both endeavors.”
Her scoff was a short breath that he could feel through her entire body. Tightening it. “Men have such vague imaginations sometimes.”
Chandler could feel every flex of her buttocksagainst his chest, every quiver and clench of her thighs as she maintained her balance, her power, her control.
“Oh, I can imagine plenty.” Right now, his thoughts were conjuring all sorts of scenarios that had had absolutely nothing to do with the Lord Chancellor. And everything to do with figuring out how to get his head deeper between her thighs.
“Now is not the time to be disgusting or disrespectful,” she snapped. “Or must I remind you I’m the one with a knife against your throat?”
Chandler knew he could likely disarm her before she did any lethal damage.
Probably.
However, she’d astonished him more than once tonight with her physical prowess, so it might do him well to be careful.
Just in case.
Besides, he was too aroused to be very agile, and enjoying his position beneath her a little too much.
“I assure you, lady, I have nothing but respect for you. It’s been some time since anyone has been able to disarm me, let alone a scrap of a woman.”
“A scrap,” she huffed. “I’ve had enough of you. I’ll have you know I’m quite heavy enough to manage all sorts of nefarious—excuse me, sir, are youlaughing?”
The abject outrage in her voice did little to help the situation as spasms of mirth overtook him. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “It’s only that I’ve never heard a woman anxious to claim how heavy she is.”
“Well,” she growled. “Now I might just kill you for fun.”
No she wouldn’t. He’d been trained to spot a killer, as murder was rather his expertise.
This woman was many things, but a cold-blooded killer she was not.
“Tell me what you wanted, and I’ll let you go,” he offered simply.
“I’ll tell you this, I got what I wanted, and you’ll let me go, regardless,” she said. “You haven’t a leg to stand on.”
No, but he had a cockstand hard enough to support his entire weight.
“I’ll let you go if you kiss me,” he breathed.
He didn’t see her fist coming at his jaw until it connected with astonishing force.
And then she was gone, as was the front-door key she’d picked from his pocket without him even knowing.
Chandler lay there in a daze. Not because of her blow, which smarted, but because he was an amalgamation of pain and pleasure. A confusion of awe and enmity.
God, she was magnificent. He wished he could think of another word. But there it was. She was a magnificent liar, creature, criminal, and—he was certain—lover. She had physical capabilities so many did not.
And he could only imagine how that interpreted in the bedroom.
