The hood fell away to expose a mass of rich, dark brown hair only partially wrestled into a single braid that plunged down her back and disappeared behind the collar of her cloak.
Her gaze had dropped somewhere in the vicinity of his chest.
“Look at me,” he commanded, squeezing her chin gently.
Her eyes flew up to meet his.
The speed at which she obeyed stunned him. It made him instantly hard. He lost his focus for a fraction of a moment as the erotic images crashed through him once more. When he regained it, he asked softly, reverently, “What’s your name, lass?”
She took a stuttering breath. “Esme.”
He liked it. It suited her, and that made him smile. “I’ve never met a woman with that name before.”
“It…is not very common. My mother…” Her words dwindled.
He waited patiently for a moment then raised one brow, expecting an answer.
She understood the unspoken order, and she licked her lips before answering in a shaky voice. “My mother…she is…eccentric.”
“Ah…I see.” His thumb moved up from her chin to stroke the soft skin of the lower part of her cheek. Her skin there was hot with the flush, and she fairly vibrated with tension.
He released her and lowered his hand, moving it to cover hers, which still held that book against her stomach. “And what’s this?”
“My notebook,” she breathed. Her fingers tightened over it. Clearly she wasn’t ready to volunteer anything more.
“Come. Sit down,” he said, dropping that topic. For now. If she thought she could hide the contents of that notebook behind her delicate little hands, she was grossly mistaken.
He steered her to the settee, noting that the corridor had gone quiet and the grunts and moans behind the door had diminished to murmurs and the occasional giggle. A break in the action, then. Pinfield would start up again soon, no doubt, after taking some time to regain his strength—Cam had enough experience with his habits to know this.
Cam pressed Esme onto the velvet cushion and stood gazing down at her. She rounded her shoulders and clasped the leather-bound notebook to her chest, the posture closing her off completely.
His fingers itched to pry that book away from her. To force her to sit up straight and look him in the eye.
Perhaps someone, somewhere had infused a bit of the gentleman into him, because he was in the mood to be patient. So he did none of those things. Yet.
Instead, he sat beside her, keeping a distance between them that might be considered decent, though he’d never been much of one for propriety and other restrictive nonsense people had always attempted to force upon him.
He cocked his head, listening once again for anything suspicious. Hearing nothing, he turned back to Esme, who gazed down at her lap, her shoulders still hunched.
He stared at her. God. Why was the woman in this place? She didn’t belong here. The wolves would eat her alive.
And he was one of those wolves. Not only that—in most situations he was the leader of the pack. The one who would fight to the death, if necessary, to become the dominant. The one who would be the first to conquer his prey.
He reached out and touched her cheek, gentle despite the predatory instincts that throbbed within him. “Why are you in this place?”
She didn’t look at him. Just pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Why will you no’ look at me, Esme?” His voice rumbled when he spoke. “Why d’ye have difficulty speaking to me? Is it shyness? Or fear?”
He watched her close her eyes in a long blink. Finally, she turned her head to him. “I…am not good with people. Especially…” She swallowed. “Ah…men.”
He cocked a brow, impressed by her candor. But still…“You’ll be in the wrong place, then, if you’re no good with men.”
She winced. “Well, I hope to become better. Oh!” Her flush deepened. “I don’t mean…” For the first time she separated one hand from that infernal notebook, raising it in a frustrated gesture. He watched her. Patience. Finally, she shrugged. “You see? I am hopeless. I cannot help myself. I always say the wrong thing. Always.”
“On the contrary,” he murmured. Because even though she didn’t fit in this place, she fascinated him. He liked what she said. He liked how she looked, though he wished he could see more of her body and her hair loose. He liked her soft, breathy voice. He liked how the flush still pinked her cheeks. He liked those downcast eyes, but how whenever she looked at him they sparkled with a rare vivacity.
She wasn’t one of Mrs. Trickelbank’s whores, so who was she? What the hell was she doing here?
“If you won’t tell me why you’re here, I will be forced to form my own conclusion,” he said in a low voice. Her gaze flickered in his direction, and in that brief glance, he saw the flare of interest. She wanted to know how he saw her.
“You’re a lady come upon hard times,” he told her. “You heard of Mrs. Trickelbank, mayhap you’ve a brother or a father who frequents this place—”
She blew out a breath—half laugh, half gasp. It either meant he’d hit the nail on the head or was very, very wrong. It didn’t matter. He continued.
“You heard of this establishment and came to Mrs. Trickelbank tonight to see if she might have use of your services. If you could sell your bonny self to one of her gentleman patrons who would be discreet about your identity after he took his fill of pleasure from your body.”
“Oooh,” Esme breathed. She gazed at him directly now, clearly fascinated by what he would say next.
Her reaction shocked him. He’d expected her to cry out in denial, perhaps to cover her ears, even if his assumptions were true.
Grinning wickedly, he continued, “Mrs. Trickelbank was giving you the grand tour, in a manner of speakin’, to ensure your commitment to this course of action, when she was interrupted by the unfortunate incident with Mountebank.”
Esme’s lips twitched in the semblance of a smile. A smile! Again, it was unexpected. And it thrilled him. And her lips…God. They were lips that begged for a man’s mouth on them. His mouth.
“You tell a good story, sir,” she murmured in that soft, sweet voice.
“Hmm. Do you ken what I think?”
She bit her lower lip. Lust coursed through him at that glide of teeth over her bottom lip.
“I think,” he said slowly, “ye need to be tried. Mayhap you dinna possess some o’ the subtler attributes required of the ladies of this establishment. I think there was no unfortunate incident with Mountebank. I think Mrs. Trickelbank brought you to me to be tested.”
“Do you?” she breathed. Her eyes were so wide. So bright and clear, with those burning amber flecks…
He’d snared her in the trap of his gaze, and he wouldn’t let her break away. A primal triumph rushed through him.
He had her now. He could loosen the reins on his control. Not all the way…but a little.
He nodded sagely. “Aye. Mrs. Trickelbank allows no lass to join her household until she has passed my test.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. And then…she licked her lips, swiping her tongue over them in a quick motion that left her plump lower lip glistening.
Holy hell. Cam took in a shuddering breath. This woman had no idea how sensual her every movement was to him. She had no idea what kind of a man he was. She had no idea of any of the debauched things he’d like to do to her.
It had been a long time since he had encountered an innocent. And he’d never encountered an innocent who intrigued him like this one did.
He curved his lips, knowing his smile was a feral, hungry one. But he didn’t care. “Do ye think I’ll be kissing you now, Esme?”
She didn’t break her gaze away from his. “I…I don’t know.”
He leaned forward, until he could feel her quick breaths puff over his cheek. “Do ye want me to kiss you? Are your lips tingling with the anticipation of mine pressing against them?”
“Yes,” she whispered
, her voice a mere tremble.
“Good. Because I want a taste.”
Her breath caught audibly, a small choke. He didn’t let her think about it for another instant. He hauled her into his arms and slammed his lips down upon hers.
Love stories you’ll never forget
By authors you’ll always remember
eOriginal Romance from Random House
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Highland Heat Page 24
