Page 22 of Crying Wolfe
“Who?”
“Andromeda. The Chained Lady.” She fiddled with a knob, and he saw the edge of the telescope grow in length.
Which reminded him of his own state of affairs.
“In Greek mythology, Andromeda was a princess of Ethiopia,” Rosaline continued, blithely unaware of his present state of abject arousal. “Her mother, Cassiopeia, told everyone she was more beautiful than the Nereids, so Poseidon, the sea god, punished the entire kingdom and demanded sacrifice. The people chained Andromeda to the rocks to sacrifice her to a sea monster, but Perseus saved her life and married her, making her his queen.”
He grunted out a response and turned to retreat to the railing, curling his fingers around it until the knuckles pressed white against the scarred or broken skin. He stayed like that for a moment, willing his libido under control. Doing his best not to wonder if his hands would span her entire waist. If her hair was as silky as it looked. If—
“Mr. Wolfe?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think we should kiss?”
The question stopped his heart for two full beats before he could whirl back around to face her.
She’d abandoned the telescope to stand before him, her hands clasped primly in front of her.
Damned if she didn’t look like a virgin…
Damned if he didn’t find that alluring as all get out.
Damned…was what he was for wanting like hell to corrupt her.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he finally replied, calculating how quickly he could get to the door before she pressed the point.
“Do you…not want to kiss me?”
“No!” He held up his hand. “I mean yes. Of course I do. I just…”
“Have you not done much kissing?” she queried.
He scratched that place behind his ear, again. The one that tingled when he was unnerved. “Can’t say as I have…”
“Me either.” She stepped forward with a shy, encouraging smile. “None, in fact. Perhaps it’s best we’re both new at…relations between—”
“Oh, I’ve hadplentyof relations,” he blurted before he could think better of it. “Just the kind I have don’t generally include much in the way of kissing and whatnot.”
A frown creased her brow and pouted out her lower lip in a way that made him want to nibble the expression away.
Fucking hell, he was in so much trouble.
“Why not?” she asked.
Well, he’d been honest thus far…might as well keep it on the straight and narrow. “Because men like me don’t have time for dawdling. I usually employ women for—for that kind of thing, or take up an offer from a lonely widow or the like. My relations, as you call them, are often just a transaction. More scratching an itch than any kind of kissing situation.”
Her nose wrinkled, but she seemed more puzzled than distressed by his answer. “Why aren’t kisses part of the transaction?”
He plunged his fingers into his hair, scraping his scalp. “Hell. I don’t know. Because kissing is different, I guess. It’s—more affectionate than sex. It’s bonding, you could call it.”
“I see.” She pursed her lips together, pondering his words before coming to a conclusion. “If we’re to be married to each other, doesn’t it make sense that we should bond physically?”
Wait. Was she saying she wanted to fuck? “Miss Goode… Didn’t Morley tell you this would be a marriage in name only?”
“He mentioned the possibility. But my wedded siblings so obviously enjoy their spouses. Even Pru and Morley had to marry under terrible circumstances, and they’re mad for each other now.” The hands in front of her seemed to clench tighter, though she remained outwardly serene. “I know we’ve no time for courtship, per se, but don’t you think a marriage of convenience would make you awfully lonely over the years?”
“I don’t mind lonely.” Lonely was safe. Lonely was freedom. Lonely…was all he knew.
