Page 65 of The Rakehell of Roth
“Clarissa and Oliver?” Though he’d assumed as much at the previous ball.
She laughed with a nod, twisting the fabric of her cravat between her fingers. “Apparently.”
“They detest each other, no?”
“Well, love and hate tend to walk the same path. Perhaps they have found some common ground.” She pursed her lips. “You haven’t asked why I stole the invitation and paid such an exorbitant amount for you.”
“Why?”
Winter watched as she put her gloved palm to her mouth and pulled the tip of each finger with her teeth. His body throbbed as each slender finger loosened from captivity. He was instantly and viscerally reminded of the time she’d removed her glove beneath the table…and the indelicate torture his cock had experienced from her bare hands. Did she intend to do the same now? His breath reduced to pitiable pants.
“The reason is simple,” she went on, tugging off the glove and discarding it, and then repeating the action with the second hand. “You wagered that I would flee London with my tail between my legs. And yet, here I am with nothing between said legs but a soaked pair of trousers.”
Lust drove him straight up from his chair, evidence of his bulging erection be damned. “Isobel, you’re—”
“Starting a dangerous game? Playing with fire? Biting off more than I can chew?” Her smile was pure seduction as it slid to his distended crotch. “You knew a girl, Roth, from three years ago who was unsophisticated in every possible way. Practically asleep. She’s not anymore.” She crossed her arms over her chest and licked her lips. “Now close that sinful mouth of yours, strip like a good lad, and show your mistress what she’s won.”
…
Isobel nearly toppled off the desk at his astonished expression. Half of her brain was excited by her boldness and the other was worried he’d see through her efforts. The racy books and whips in his collection had roused her to play the role of the provocateur. She might be innocent in body, but she had more than enough food for fantasy in her brain. In fact, her entire performance had hinged on the inner chant:What would Lady Darcy do?
“Isobel, what do you think you’re doing?” Winter growled.
Don’t back out now, she told herself firmly, even though every instinct was screaming at her to flee like the terrified kitten she was.You’re not a kitten! Or a cat or any foolish feline. You’re a woman. Now act like it.
She arched an imperious brow. “Did I stutter? I said strip. Show me what my five thousand pounds are worth.”
Isobel pinned her lips, nerves coiling. Oh God, he was going to see right through her. Call her bluff. Laugh in her face. Call Matteo and have him escort her out, back to Vance House. Only hewasn’tlaughing.
His handsome face was tight with desire, his eyes pools of onyx and silver. Those long, lean fingers of his manhandled the edge of his desk. Isobel suddenly wanted them gripping her with equivalent ferocity, sinking into her flesh in carnal need. His broad shoulders bunched as he braced his weight against the mahogany, and his hips… She gulped at the sight of those grotesquely protruding breeches that didnothingto hide the mouth-watering, erotic outline of him.
Whyher mouth watered, she did not know.
“This won’t end as you hope, Isobel.”
A beat of panic flickered through her. No, it probably wouldn’t, but now wasn’t the time to waver or worry about what she had to lose. In this moment, he was hers. She would take her pleasure, use him thoroughly, and walk away, leaving him wanting.
At least, that was the plan.
“I’m not paying you to talk, Roth,” she drawled, shaking out her loosened cravat. “And unless you wish me to tie this over your mouth, you’ll do as you’re told.”
Shock crashed through his heated eyes, his cheekbones darkening from golden to berry. Dear God, the great Winter Vance was blushing.Good. She needed to keep him off-balance, to not see through her charade, though with each minute that passed, she grew bolder and more confident. Reassured by his obvious attraction to her, Isobel was reasonably sure that she could seduce him. And she was willing to wager her pride that Winter would not say no. Shehoped.
Now she just needed to keep her wits about her and not become the seduced. She was mortifyingly aware of how sodden her trousers were between her thighs and how scratchy her shirt had become, the fabric abrading the sensitive buds of her nipples. Her feminine arousal equaled his, it seemed. She was wild for him.
But she also had a wager to win…which required patience and strategy instead of mounting him like an animal in heat. Her husband needed tobeg. Isobel reached up and pulled the pins from her hair, letting the loosened locks tumble down her back. His subsequent groan was loud in the silence. If he clenched that jaw of his any harder, she was sure it would shatter.
“I’m waiting, Roth,” she said, her voice low and husky.
“Isobel—” Her name was a cross between a warning and a desperate plea.
Undeterred, she flung the cravat at him. “Disrobe and put that over your eyes, or so help me, I’ll put some of your wicked toys over there to good use.”
A tremor rolled through those wide shoulders, and then he pushed off the desk, his eyes holding hers as he did as asked. His coat went first. Then his cravat, followed by his waistcoat. With every popped button and each discarded article of clothing, her pulse escalated. By the time he slid his shirt over his head, Isobel’s mouth was so dry that she was ready to leap over the desk and gulp down that entire bottle of whiskey. But not before getting her greedy little palms all over that moral-smelting masculine body.
“More?” he asked in a low growl.
She could only nod, temporarily silenced by the overwhelming display of muscles. Lady Hammerton’s portrait had not done him a lick of justice, because Winter was sculpted to god-like perfection. Her hitherto dry mouth flooded with moisture. Holy hell, he wasedible, and she was going to consume him. After she got him to yield, of course.
