Incomparable
The Improper Ladies 2

“This room is not what I expected, Monsieur de Comte,” she said caustically. “Given your reputation, I thought somehow there would be mirrors and red velvet hangings, like an expensive bordello.”

He glanced around at the spare interior, the space large, the furnishings plain and simple, as he liked them. “The bed is huge and comfortable,” he pointed out mildly, tugging his stickpin from his cravat. “I just sleep here. I cannot imagine needing a jumble of fancy furniture. And I believe my reputation, Countess, is a bit exaggerated.”

“I suppose I am going to find out. Shall I take off my clothes?” It was impossible to miss the sarcasm in her tone.

“It’s best that way in my opinion,” he responded, a little amused at her hostility. “I will be happy to help.”

“I’m sure.” She took a small sip from her wine glass, her gaze steady as she watched him discard his cravat. “Does it not bother you that I am here under duress when there are literally dozens of Parisian belles who would gladly warm your sheets?”

“Ever since your arrival in Paris, you have avoided me, chérie, have you not? Even when I exerted myself to charm you, you immediately walked away. At first, I was puzzled, but then I decided it was because you were a little bit afraid you might find me …irresistible, shall we say? I am uncertain of your level of resistance, even now. The truth is, I am making it easy for you to have what you secretly desire.”

He must have struck a chord, for two spots of color came up into her cheeks. “You are very arrogant, monsieur.”

“And you are very beautiful, madame.” Shrugging out of his jacket, Anton smiled lazily, his fingers going to unfasten his shirt. That movement seemed to fascinate his lovely guest for she continued to stare, her glass suspended in her fingers.

When he pulled it off and tossed it on the floor, she convulsively set aside her wine and stood. Presenting her back, she said curtly, “You will have to undo my dress, but I can do the rest.”

His erection was already rigid, bulging in his tightly fitted trousers, stretching the confining cloth. Obliging her request, he unfastened her gown, smoothing his hands over her pale shoulders as he pushed it off and it pooled around her feet. He pulled the pins from her hair immediately, letting the silken strands drift over his hands, the heavy mass falling to her waist in ebony waves.

Urging her to turn around, he said, “Allow me,” and tugged the tie loose on her chemise, letting it fall open, his gaze going to the enticing exposed flesh there, her breasts visible. They were firm and high, the nipples, a tantalizing coral color.

Reaching between that open cloth, he cupped them both with his hands, savoring the luscious weight of her flesh, rubbing his thumbs over the soft crests. “How long has it been, Countess, since you’ve lain with a man?” He watched her expression as he stood there and fondled her, gauging her reaction.

Like a lush, young maiden from some naughty fairytale, with her tumbled dark tresses and creamy skin, to his surprise she answered easily, “Since my husband’s death, several years.”

“Do you miss it?” He already had his answer, her nipples puckering under his gentle ministrations, turning into enticing small hard buds in his palms.

“I am flesh and blood.” She swallowed, her heavy-lidded gaze focused on where his tanned fingers molded and stroked her mounded fullness.

“It will be my honor,” he said truthfully, “to be the one to remind you of the joys of the flesh.”

“I am sure no one could do it better,” she murmured cynically. “Women do nothing but whisper about you and your…prowess. You are the most celebrated lover in France, my lord. It becomes tedious conversation if you want the truth.”

“Aren’t you very curious to know if they are right?” He felt the evidence of arousal in the heaviness of her breasts with triumph. He’d spoke the truth earlier. He had always known Lara Moore wasn’t indifferent to him. At least after realizing her insurgent activities, he knew why she didn’t dare let him get close.

Tilting her head back, she gave him a challenging stare. “You have made it clear I have no choice but to be here.”

“I would never force you, which you know, so the truth is, you had a choice. You just made the correct one.” Anton swept her up in his arms, laying her on the bed and stripped off her chemise, also removing her shoes and stockings.

Once she was nude, he studied her body with undisguised, thorough inspection, taking in everything from the top of her dark shining head to the delicate arch of her instep. Her breasts, slightly flushed and erect from his handling were full but not overblown, her stomach flat, her legs long and slim.

She was, in a word, exquisite. “You are even perfect here,” he said, skimming a finger over the dark pubic hair at the juncture of her thighs, his gaze salacious. “A trim equal triangle, so small and inviting, the hair soft and perfumed with your scent.” His fingers dipped lower, slipping between her legs, finding the warmth of her cleft, feeling the betraying moisture of beginning sexual arousal. “You are already damp, my sweet. Do not tell me you don’t wish to be here.”

Superimposed on the white linens, the English countess he had desired for the past year looked at him with eyes that held both a glimpse of magnificent fury…and unmistakable need.

“Perhaps we should proceed then if I am so eager,” she said sardonically. “Let me pay my debt of silence like a Marseilles whore, by spreading my legs and giving you what you want badly enough to stoop to blackmail.”

She didn’t wish to want him. He knew that already. So with unruffled calm, he merely replied, “Very well.”