Free Pure Sin by Susan Johnson Page B

seductive smile, his responses automatic with beautiful women. "Good conversation is rare."
    She didn't suppose most women were interested exclusively in his conversation, Flora thought, as she took in the full splendor of his dark beauty and power. Even lounging in a chair, his legs casually crossed at the ankles, he presented an irresistible image of brute strength. And she'd heard enough rumor in the course of the evening to understand he enjoyed women—nonconversationally. "As rare as marital fidelity, no doubt."
    His brows rose fractionally. "No one's had the nerve to so bluntly allude to my marriage. Are you speaking of Isolde's or my infidelities?" His grin was boyish.
    "Papa says you're French."
    "Does that give me motive or excuse? And I'm only half-French, as you no doubt know, so I may have less excuse than Isolde. She apparently prefers Baron Lacretelle's properties in Paris and Nice to my dwelling here."
    "No heartbroken melancholy?"
    He laughed. "Obviously you haven't met Isolde."
    "Why did you marry, then?"
    He gazed at her for a moment over the rim of the goblet he'd raised to his lips. "You can't be that naive," he softly said, then quickly drained the glass.
    "Forgive me. I'm sure it's none of my business."
    "I'm sure it's not" The warmth had gone from his voice and his eyes. Remembering the reason he'd married Isolde always brought a sense of chafing anger.
    "I haven't felt so gauche in years," Flora said, her voice almost a whisper.
    His black eyes held hers, their vital energy almost mesmerizing; then his look went shuttered and his grin reappeared. "How could you know, darling? About the idiosyncracies of my marriage. Tell me now about your first sight of Hagia Sophia."
    "It was early in the morning," she began, relieved he'd so graciously overlooked her faux pas. "The sun had just begun to appear over the crest of the—"
    "Come dance with me," Adam abruptly said, leaning forward in his chair. "This waltz is a favorite of mine," he went on, as though they hadn't been discussing something completely different Reaching over, he took her hands in his. "And I've been wanting to"—his hesitation was minute as he discarded the inappropriate verb—"hold you." He grinned. "You see how blandly circumspect my choice of words is." Rising, he gently pulled her to her feet "Considering the newest scandal in my life, I'm on my best behavior tonight."
    "But, then, scandals don't bother me." She was standing very close to him, her hands still twined in his.
    His fine mouth, only inches away, was graced with a genial smile and touched with a small heated playfulness. "I thought they might not."
    "When one travels as I do, one becomes inured to other people's notions of nicety." Her bare shoulder lifted briefly, ruffling the limpid lace on her décolletage. He noticed both the pale satin of her skin and the tantalizing swell of her bosom beneath the delicate lace. "If I worried about scandal," she murmured with a small smile, "I'd never set foot outside England."
    "And you do."
    "Oh, yes," she whispered. And for a moment both were speaking of something quite different.
    "You're not helping," he said very low. "I've sworn off women for the moment."
    "To let your wounds heal?"
    "Nothing so poetical." His quirked grin reminded her of a teasing young boy. "I'm reassessing my priorities."
    "Did I arrive in Virginia City too late, then?"
    "Too late?" One dark brow arched infinitesimally.
    "To take advantage of your former priorities."
    He took a deep breath because he was already perversely aware of the closeness of her heated body, of the heady fragrance of her skin. "You're a bold young lady, Miss Bonham."
    "I'm twenty-six years old, Mr. Serre, and independent."
    "I'm not sure after marriage to Isolde that I'm interested in any more willful aristocratic ladies."
    "Perhaps I could change your mind."
    He thoughtfully gazed down at her, and then the faintest smile lifted the graceful curve of his mouth. "Perhaps you