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He kissed her. A gentle yet urgent pressure that sent warmth spread across her whole body. For a moment, she was lost in the sensation, surprised by the sudden tenderness in his lips.
“I thought you said you’d never kiss a harlot,” she said softly as they pulled apart, her voice thick with emotion.
He looked deeply into her eyes, the hazel flecks shimmering in the firelight. Then, he simply shrugged. “Obviously, I was wrong.”
She loved how easily he changed his mind, especially when it came to her.
A doubt still pressed in the back of her mind, but she didn’t have the time to explore it as he brushed his lips against her once more. Another caress. Firmer now, more insistent.
He licked the seam of her lips, and she sighed, parting her lips. He took that opportunity to slip his tongue inside.
His hands trailed down her back and rested on her hips, then lower still, massaging the soft globes of her buttocks. The pressure of his lips intensified, his tongue sweeping proprietorially inside her mouth. Grace met his tongue with an answering stroke, and they both moaned, melting into each other.
He tasted like whisky and him. The sweet taste of his skin and a bit of salt. Ever since that night in Porter’s house, she’d craved the unique taste. She arched her back, rubbing her hardened nipples against his chest, craving the contact.
She felt a flutter in her stomach that moved lower down her belly.
Ford squeezed her derriere and pressed her firmer against his hardened cock.
Grace stiffened as his movements became more purposeful, his hands moving lower, his kiss becoming more urgent.
He noticed immediately, pulling back. “Have I done something wrong?” Concern glittered in the depth of his eyes.
“You haven’t.” Her voice was strained.
“Really?” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Because I can feel you stiffen in my arms.”
She released a breath. “I don’t appreciate your assumption that we will… copulate, just because I am a harlot.”
He blinked. “Copulate? That sounds rather biblical.”
“What do you prefer?” She huffed a breath.
He paused. “Making love.”
Grace stiffened again, her heart drumming violently in her chest. “Is that what it would be?”
He cleared his throat. “I would like to think so.”
She frowned. “If I were a virgin, would you have behaved the same way?”
He hesitated. “No. But not for the reason you think.”
“And what reason is that?”
He heaved a tired sigh. “Bedding a virgin comes with expectations. A hand in marriage, preferably.”
She swallowed. “But not bedding a harlot.”
“It has nothing to do with you being a harlot.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“I am a fugitive now. I have no prospects, nothing to offer beyond a night of passion. Perhaps a few nights. A woman who has had lovers might be more accepting of these terms. Unless you are looking to marry the man you bed?”
She shook her head.
“If you don’t want me, I shall not push. I am not going to pay for the encounter, either. This is not that kind of an arrangement. I want you. I want to spend a passionate night with you. If you don’t feel the same then it’s fine. But if you do… I don’t see a single reason why we should deny ourselves that.”
