Page 74 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

His gaze moves to the bedroom door, and he takes a step that way.

I catch his arm. “You will see them when I model them. I’m simply warning you, in case you are scandalized.”

“I cannot wait to be scandalized.”

“But you will wait. For now, this one must do.”

“It does exceptionally well. You call them brothel wear, but you must have been providing medicines in very different brothels, because I never saw the likes of that.” He pauses. “No, that’s a lie. I have seen it, in postcards and pamphlets purchased by some of the wolves for their private entertainment.”

My brows shoot up. “Do tell.”

He smiles. “Perhaps I shouldn’t scandalize you.”

“I don’t believe I can be scandalized.”

He gives a low chuckle that sends a delicious shiver through me. “That’s a challenge, isn’t it?”

I rest my fingers over his chest. “If you hear a challenge, feel free to rise to it.”

“I believe I already am.”

That gets me sputtering a laugh and I poke him in the chest. “Back to the postcards. Tell me about the postcards.”

“There is a trade in printed materials of scantily clad women. Drawn sketches and, more recently, photographs. Some wearing drawers. Some in nightwear such as that, though from the few glimpses I’ve had of such things, the material—and the fit—was not nearly as good as yours.”

“Trust you to notice the materials and the fit on portraits of half-naked ladies. I presume you noticed more?” I lower my hand to the front of his trousers and the growing bulge there. “Are these postcards like a catalog? Allowing men to peruse before purchasing the lady’s attention for the evening?”

It takes him a moment to answer, as he enjoys my stroking. “No, they are simply for viewing. Which I have never quite understood.”

“You would prefer a catalog?”

A low rumble in his throat.

“A selection of lovely ladies, their goods on display, there for the choosing? I can see the appeal.”

“As would I … before I met you.” He looks at me. “They would no longer suffice.”

“I would make a pretty postcard girl, then?”

“You would make a postcard girl to end all postcard girls.”

I tilt my head. “Then, perhaps if we are ever short of funds…”

He growls. “We shall never be that short of funds.”

I unbutton his trousers and slide a hand in, and he growls again, eyes slitting. “Are you sure? Me on postcards, dressed like this, for men to—”

“Stop.”

I obey, pausing both talking and touching. He opens one eye fully.

“You said to stop. You didn’t specify which.” I lean toward his ear. “I suspect the answer is ‘neither.’ You hate the thought of me on those cards. It sparks the most fearful jealousy.” I put my lips to his ear. “The most arousing jealousy.”

He meets and holds my gaze. “I take it you are skipping your spell practice, then. If so, you are welcome to continue, as long as you don’t mind being thrown to the floor by a very jealous husband.”

I tap his chest. “Perhaps later. I really do need to practice.”

He reaches for me, but I dance out of his reach. When he stalks toward me, I put out my hand. “Patience is a virtue.”