Page 30 of Pride: The Rogue
Grinning, he held her stare. Then, lifting the lady’s tankard of ale to his lips, he took a long swallow.
At the unexpectedness of the contents, he promptly choked.
The minx lowered her book. “Never tell me milk is too strong for you, Mr. Latimer?” she asked pertly.
Latimer set her glass down hard. “I was expecting somethingstronger,” he muttered.
“Such as what, Mr. Latimer?” She batted her extraordinarily long, silken, eyelashes. “Lemonade, perhaps?”
All the lady’s attempts at guileless innocence were ruined by the devilish amusement that danced in the sparkling blues of her eyes.
The wicked little chit. She couldn’t have hidden her feelings had she slapped a blindfold on.
Without taking his gaze from hers, he grabbed the tankard, and took another long, swallow of her milk.
When he’d finished, he swiped the back of his sleeve across his mouth.
“Hmm,” the lady mused. “You’d thrown such a fit when you believed I stole from you and yet here you sit, stealing a woman’s milk.”
Righting his chair so it sat on all fours, Latimer dropped his elbows on the table and set the tankard down between them. “Ah, and here I thought we were sharin’ tonight, darlin’?”
“Sharing?”Mrs. Lovelace leaned in and rested her arms in a like position as Latimer’s. “Isthatwhat you’d call kicking me out of my rooms.”
This time, he couldn’t muster any of his earlier anger and annoyance. “My rooms.” He dropped his voice several decibels. “Though,” he said suggestively, “I’d be all too happy to share my bed with you,Mrs. Love—”
She gasped. “You sir, arenogentleman.”
Latimer laughed. “Now, on that, we can agree, darlin’. I’m not a ‘sir’, either, as that would imply I’m a gentleman. Don’t let my fine garments and speech fool you.”
The anticipated horror at finding herself besieged by a lowly commoner never came but instead a peculiar softening of the lady’s features.
She moved her gaze over his harder ones in a way that unnerved the hell out of Latimer.
Me? Unnerved? By this cheeky, young, miss?
Mrs. Lovelace motioned to her mouth. In so doing, inviting Latimer to feast his eyes upon that pillowy-soft flesh.
Bloody hell, how he wanted to teach her how to use that mouth on him. Her lips would get even puffier as she stretched wide to take all of his cock, and—
“Your upper lip,” she murmured.
Her murmuring interrupted his dangerously lustful imagining.
His upper lip?
“You have some white here, from my tankard of milk,” she instructed, making another general circular sweep of her mouth.
Then, with a mischievous grin, she picked up her book and resumed reading.
Startled, Latimer snatched a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped at the remnants.
“To the left,” she said.
Silently cursing, he scrubbed—
“Your other left, Mr. Latimer,” she added.
His neck heated. “You didn’t specify.”
