Page 109 of A Story of Love

He rewarded her boldness with a low growl that sounded so much like the purr of a huge cat that she laughed and pulled away.

He grinned down at her. “See what you do to me? You turn me into an animal.” He purred again.

“A larger version of Mr. Pouncefoot-Jones?”

He nuzzled her neck. “But I won’t steal your garters.”

She laughed.

“You don’t need to worry about a lack of skill. Trust me. My cock is hard for you all the time, even when you’re pestering me with questions I’m suffering for the want of you.”

“What a martyr you are,” she accused, a reluctant smile twisting her lips.

He laughed, released her, and pointed to his cravat. “Get back to work.”

Still smiling, she pulled off his neckcloth. For some reason, the action made her think of something else entirely. “I believe Mr. Gregg has designs on my friend Freddie.”

His eyebrows shot up, but something about his surprise didn’t seem real. “You wish to talk about this now?”

“You already knew about his interest in her, didn’t you?”

He shrugged.

“He’s not the right sort for her—not even as a lover.”

“They are both adults, Lorelei. I’m sure Lady Sedgewick can put him in his place if Gregg steps out of it.”

Lori grunted and then reached up and unbuttoned the single button that held his collar closed, an action which caused his shirt to fall open, exposing a delicious expanse of golden-brown skin.

“What is it?” he asked when she stared.

“You’ve got hair on your chest.”

He smirked. “Guilty as charged. Why do you look so startled?”

“The drawings I saw didn’t have hair.”

“What drawings were those?”

“Never you mind.”

“Didn’t your lover have any hair on his chest?”

“That’s none of your concern,” she said, not wanting him to know that Dorian had never bothered to do more than unbutton his fall, as if Lori was a whore he’d encountered in a Covent Garden alley. What had seemed like passion when she’d been seventeen now looked like what it was: selfish haste. Lord, but she had been foolish!

“Lorelei? Is aught—”

“Lift your arms,” she ordered.

When he complied, she tried to tug his shirt over his head.

“Oye! Not so violently or you’ll tear off an ear,” he complained, his voice muffled by the cloth over his face.

“Bend lower so I can reach.”

He obeyed and she pulled off the garment.

Lori did not bother to hide her interest in his torso, which was indeed glorious—hair and all. His body was not as dark as his face and neck, but it was clear he’d spent time in the sun. “Did you go about on your ship without a shirt?”