Page 6 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
In a blink, she had twisted her body, so they faced one another. Her green eyes were wide and pleading—anticipation or fear? No, she couldn’t be frightened. Surely, she expected this. Frustrated by her mask, he lifted a hand to remove it, and she stepped back.
“No, I’m not ready to reveal myself yet.”
Simon advanced, and Desiree retreated until the backs of her knees hit the chaise longue. He grinned as he pushed her onto it. “That’s my kitten. We can do this as quickly or as leisurely as you want.”
He knelt beside her, cradling her face in his palm, and brushed his lips across hers. Her breath caught, and he smiled against her mouth. “Do you have any idea how you affect me?”
She smiled and gave him another slow nod. The vixen. Her fingers tiptoed up his chest and around his neck, raking the curls along his collar as she pulled him down for another kiss, leaning against the arm of the sofa. Yet when he tried to slide his fingers under her skirts, she sat up.
“I’m parched,” she said, her tone husky. “Would you?” Her eyes strayed to the table.
Simon fetched both glasses and settled next to her. There was no hurry. He wanted to know her better. “How long have you been—” He paused, not sure what to call her without insulting her.
“Masquerading?” she supplied.
“Yes, how long?” He guessed her to be around twenty, though he couldn’t be sure with the mask in place.
“About a year.” She sipped her champagne, her slender fingers gracefully holding the flute’s stem. The black ribbon dangled from her wrist. “Are you married?”
The answer and the question both surprised him. “No, I’m not. Have you had many… offers?”
“Oh, yes.” Her tongue darted out to catch a drop of liquor on her top lip. “I haven’t accepted anyone yet.”
Simon spit out his drink and coughed. Desiree began slapping him on the back.
“Are you well?” she asked.
“Yes,” he croaked, then frowned at her. “You’ve never been a man’s mistress?”
“I’m not a virgin if that is your concern,” she said quickly.
What was she saying? Meg stared at her lap, wondering what had gone awry, why she hadn’t stuck to the plan. What was wrong with her?
“My last p-protector,” she backtracked quickly, almost choking on that word when thinking of her late husband, “died a year and a half ago.”
“I see,” he said, relief evident in his voice as he leaned back against the couch, eyes narrowed. “So you must be financially solvent if you aren’t in a hurry to procure another protector.”
“Yes, I am.” This was a disaster. The other three men didn’t try to converse with her like this. It had been flirtations, some easy banter, always staying in sight of other guests. She was in dangerous territory. Her mind screamed for her to run, yet her body would not, could not move as this Roman god gently stroked her bare arm and stoked a fire in her core.
“Then why do you need me?” Marcus seemed to catch himself and added, “Why must you be kept?”
Her mind spun. Good question. “Women are often taken advantage of in this world. It is always wise to have a champion, don’t you think?” Happy at coming up quickly with a response, she barely caught herself from letting out a breath of relief.
“So what did you do before, er, masquerading?” he asked, his fingers now brushing her neck, resting against the pulsing center.
Her eyes closed for a brief moment, then flashed open, remembering his question. “I was married. It was a deplorable experience, and I never wish to be imprisoned in that way again.”
His mouth fell open, and she laughed. “I’ve shocked you. Good.” Meg wondered what he looked like without his mask.
His grayish-blue eyes sucked her into their seductive storm. His square jaw was covered with light stubble, but not enough to hide the slight dent in his chin. He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, hard chest, narrow waist. And oh, how the muscles of his thighs stretched the fine material of his trousers.
“What would you want from me, my kitten?” Marcus rumbled in her ear.
Meg jumped when she realized he was now beside her, leg against leg, shoulder against shoulder. She closed her eyes again as his teeth nipped at her earlobe, so close to giving in to desire with this stranger. The first time her body had responded with passion in years.
Run! He is dangerous. How could she extricate herself from this dilemma? Why had she come?
“FIRE!” yelled a muffled voice, followed by more cries of Fire!
