Page 2 of Four Promises to Love

“Nothing exotic,” he muttered. “Just the usual.”

“Then we have an understanding?”

Disarmed by the hand she held out, he took it. His hand engulfed hers entirely, and he noted the fraying edge of her glove. Yet her grip was firm and confident.

“Come with me,” she said.

Her sultry summons made resisting impossible. He followed her to the tavern. Inside, they headed up a flight of stairs to the second floor, where the narrow corridor smelled of hops and roasting meat. Sarah took him past several doors, stopping at the last room. When she removed a key, Owen took it and opened the door for her.

“Such civility, sir,” she murmured.

He found himself flushing again. After the atrocities he’d committed, he didn’t consider himself a gentleman. Yet some courtesies were ingrained, and he’d been raised to treat a woman with respect—even when he was paying for her company.

“My name is Owen,” he heard himself say.

Usually, he chose anonymity; his coin was sufficient introduction. Yet with Sarah he wanted…well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Other than the obvious.

For God’s sake, you’re here to tup her, not court her. Get on with it.

As she closed the door, he took stock of her lodgings. The chamber was sparsely furnished but clean and welcoming. A fire crackled in the hearth, blanketing the nearby bed with a cozy glow. Reminding himself not to get too comfortable—this was a transaction, after all—he took out his purse.

He lifted his brows. “Fifteen shillings, you said?”

She nodded. When he gave her the coins, she slipped them smoothly into her skirts. Her eyes took on the color of the firelight, glittering like faceted topaz.

“Let us have a drink first.” Going to a small table cluttered with bottles and glasses, she inquired over her shoulder, “Wine or gin?”

“Neither. Thank you.”

She gave him an arch look. “In a rush, are you?”

“No.” He hesitated. “It is not my habit to partake of spirits.”

At least, not any longer. He’d learned that imbibing caused more problems than it solved. But his desire to discuss the topic rivaled his wish to get a flaming poker in the eye.

“How about tea?” she asked.

Relieved by her easy acceptance, he nodded. “Please. With sugar, if you have it.”

As she prepared the tea, he clasped his hands behind his back and tried not to fidget. He wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into. He had strayed from his usual habits, something he avoided doing. Yet he couldn’t deny that Sarah was a treat—from all angles. Her profile revealed the slight upward tilt of her nose and the delicate point of her chin. She had a beauty mark just below the corner of her mouth, and he wanted to lick it. To nibble his way down the graceful curve of her neck and draw his tongue over her skin. He wanted to taste and smell and feel her.

She brought him a chipped cup.

“To new friends,” she said.

Clicking his teacup to hers, he drank the brew. She’d added too much sugar, probably to mask the bitterness of the cheap tea. Collecting their cups, she deposited them on a table. When she approached him in a saucy, hip-swaying stride, his blood heated.

This is more like it. The sort of distraction I need.

She looped her arms around his neck. “What would you like to do next?”

“Allow me to show you.”

He slid a hand into her hair and kissed her. Her lips parted readily, and by God, she was as delicious as she looked. Her mouth was soft and lush, her tongue tangling with his. Her flavor was more intoxicating than spirits: like candied peel, she was sweet with a sharp and addictive tang. She also smelled divine, like verbena and rosemary mixed with wildflowers.

He fisted her silky locks, pulling her head back and plundering her mouth. She yielded with a soft moan, and their kiss caught fire. He gloried in the shared heat and wet friction, the way she made his blood pound and his cock swell against his trousers. He thrust his tongue deep into her cavern, and when she sucked on his offering, pleasure tingled across his scalp.

Hell’s teeth, I must have more.