Page 3 of His Brazen Tart
“May I call you Joan?” Piers asked as he led Mrs. Durbin toward the dance floor. He would have preferred the close company of a waltz for the conversation they were about to have, but the band had struck the first refrain of a cotillion.
Her gloved hand rested on his forearm, and he spared a glance while awaiting an answer. Her eyes were situated elsewhere, though from this angle Piers enjoyed an intriguing view of the slope of her slender neck and the swells of plump breasts framed by the low cut of her bodice. His brow furrowed as he realized the design and fit of the gown meant she likely went without proper undergarments.
“I don’t see why you should not,” she replied, her voice light and airy as she continued avoiding his gaze.
Piers deftly slipped his arm out of her hold and caught her hand. He spun her in an abrupt yet graceful turn, then bowed to her—all without ever letting go. Satisfaction heated through his middle as her eyes flared wide and her lips parted on a soft, startled gasp. Joan recovered just in time to match his bow with a curtsy.
“Then you shall call me Piers,” he said.
Her lips curved into a teasing smile as they began circling one another, finding the rhythm of the music and preparing for the first steps. “Shall I?”
The little minx was teasing him already; but then, Piers had suspected she would from the moment he laid eyes on her.
“You will if you wish to be rewarded,” he purred, guiding her in step with the other dancers.
“And if I have no interest in rewards?”
Her quip sent another rushing pulse through his veins, as the potential for this woman as his keeper made itself more apparent with every word out of her saucy mouth. Piers enjoyed obedience, but there was something to be said for being made to work for a woman’s submission. He could admit to having been bored between clients, and a defiant brat was just the thing to break through the tedium.
“Then you can expect to be punished,” he whispered.
She danced away from him, but Piers never took his gaze off her. As a young man, he had spent years learning various ballroom dances in preparation for the grand life he had imagined for himself. Despite rarely having occasion to put his lessons to good use, he was at least skilled enough to execute the steps without letting his partner out of his sights.
When Joan came back to him, she was no longer smiling, but the playful glimmer still radiated from her sapphire eyes. “And just what do such punishments entail?”
“There will be time enough for you to discover that later,” he chided. “For now, we must settle on particular rules of engagement. I never begin an arrangement without doing so.”
“I see.”
“Mr. Sterling was quite clear about your requirements. He told me you wanted someone with my disposition. Wicked and dominating … weren’t those your exact words?”
She lifted one shoulder before he drew her into his side for a promenade. “I suppose they were.”
“Then let me first assure you that I intend to deliver on those specifications. If there is one thing I am, Joan, it is wicked.”
He felt a shudder go through her; proof that she wasn’t as aloof as she pretended. Tightening his hold at the small of her back, he ducked his head and lowered his voice. “All there is left for you to do is inform me of your limits.”
“My … my limits?” she stammered, her cheek brushing his lips when she stared up at him.
Piers offered her a wolfish smile. “Things you might wish me to refrain from doing to your … person. I will adhere to those limits unless you state otherwise.”
The dance separated them again, and Piers was pleased to see he’d caught her off guard. Good. He would hate to have been the only one.
By the time she returned, she seemed more composed. “I don’t suppose I have very many limits,” she stated. “I have yet to experience anything I do not like.”
Piers’ mind filled with all the scandalously filthy things he would like to do to Joan. The possibilities were endless when the woman in his bed was unafraid and adventurous. His bollocks grew tight at the thought of her bent over with her hands and feet bound, all the hidden niches and furrows of her most intimate places exposed and welcoming.
Fuck.
“Then you will inform me when you discover a limit, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“You will need to think of a word,” he added. “One you will call out whenever you wish for me to stop whatever I am doing. It should sound out of place during … the act.”
Piers had nearly referred to it as ‘fucking’ but remembered just in time where he was, and that they were not alone. Whose idea had it been for their initial meeting to take place in public? While there was a certain edge of excitement to speaking of such things while surrounded by hundreds of others, just now Piers found it a nuisance.
“Do you wish me to come up with one right now?” Joan asked, sounding as miffed as she looked.
