Читать книгу The Den Of Iniquity - Anabelle Bryant - Страница 16

Chapter Seven

He waited for the slap. Vivienne. Beautiful, delicate, aristocratic Vivienne. He’d kissed her hard, deep. He’d thrust his tongue into her mouth and rubbed with erotic suggestion like any one of the faceless cads he despised on the gaming floor. He could taste her still. The lingering sweetness, fresh as renewal, her sensual reaction nearly his undoing, and he blinked hard at the sudden conclusion he was losing his mind.

Dammit to hell.

He’d pulled her to the desk because another moment near the door and he would have pressed against her, the desire to touch her skin, feel the weight of her breasts and the curve of her arse chasing away all reason with overwhelming persistence.

He assessed her expression. She too appeared confused, but no strike was forthcoming.

‘Thank you.’ The two words whispered past before she straightened and stepped away.

‘What?’ He shook his head in an attempt to understand. No one thanked him for his kisses. Most women asked for more or took what they wanted, primarily money because they’d never get anything else. Certainly not sincere emotion. He guarded that well.

She appeared shy all of a sudden. ‘I was taught to default to manners when other words escape me.’

In that she was correct. There was no way to describe the intensity of their kiss. ‘You’re welcome.’ He stood and rounded the desk. He needed to put something between them. Furniture, a stone wall, the Thames…or he would pull her into his arms and start their kiss all over again.

‘I should go.’ Her eyes settled on the window of the far wall where the curtains remained open, a voyeur’s opportunity to observe his world. He said nothing and waited, privately pleased when she walked towards the glass to watch the activity below.

‘Go ahead. No one can see you.’ She threw a sharp glance over her shoulder, eyes full of questions, and he promptly explained. ‘The window offers a view of the floor downstairs, but only you and I have the privilege. Once below, the panel appears nothing more than a mural.’

Pleased with the novel consideration her expression altered. She laid one hand on the large pane as if she wished to absorb the energy from downstairs, and he liked her there, a part of the room. A part of his life.