Page 116 of A Story of Love

He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and smiled. “I’m sorry, you were asking—or trying to ask—something when I distracted you.”

For some reason, Lori was suddenly too mortified to put her question into words. Some newspaperwoman she was turning out to be!

He lightly stroked her sensitive folds before sliding toward that taboo place. “You want to know if I ever put myself in here.” He pressed the damp pad of his finger against the sensitive pucker.

“You haven’t,” Lori said. And then, “Have you?”

“Oh yes.”

“But… why?”

“Because it feels wonderful. For both parties.”

A shocked, scoffing snort slipped from her mouth. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I look forward to convincing you.”

Her jaw dropped. “I would never let you do that!”

He released her sex and slid an arm around her, pulling her close and planting a firm kiss on her mouth. “I think you will change your mind about that, love. But for now, it is time to sleep.” Fast stretched to snuff the candle on the nightstand, throwing the bed into a comfortable half-darkness. “We’ll leave the others burning because I’m too lazy to get up,” he said, and then fitted her back to his front, pulled the covers up over them, and kissed her ear. “Go to sleep, my enchanting lover.”

“I’m not tired,” Lori protested, her eyelids suddenly so, so heavy.

“I know. But I am.”

“Because you’re old and need more rest.”

He gave a startled huff of laughter. “Vixen,” he muttered, his chest a hard wall of heat against her back. “Sleep tight, Lorelei.”

Chapter 25

“Wake up, my lord. My lord!”

Fast pulled Lorelei closer. “It’s not time yet, love,” he mumbled.

“Lord Severn!” a distinctly masculine voice hissed in his ear.

Fast’s eyes flew open. “What the dev—”

Gregg leaned over him and laid a finger over his lips. “Miss Fontenot,” he whispered.

Fast blinked and then nodded, suddenly wide awake. And wondering what the fuck Gregg thought he was doing barging into his bedchamber.

The other man must have seen the anger in his eyes. “I didn’t see anything,” he promised quietly, backing away from the bed.

Fast scowled, checked to see if Lorelei was fully covered—she was, the sheets pulled up to her chin—and carefully extricated himself.

He quickly pulled on his breeches and followed Gregg from the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet snick before saying. “What could be so important that you couldn’t wait until morning?”

Gregg took a deep breath and said in a rush, “The Blue Devil is here. Jensen is dead, my lord.”

Fast sagged against the door. “Good God! When? How?”

“Evidently somebody murdered him not long after we dropped him off in Majorca.”

“Christ! The letter?”

Gregg shook his head. “The woman who operated the boarding house where Jensen lived packed up his possessions and gave them to Captain Evans when he came to collect Jensen for the journey home. I’ve already gone through everything, sir, there is nothing.”