Free Her Quicksilver Lover: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 6 by Lynne Connolly

he said. “It begs me to touch it. It has from the beginning. Like the ripest, plumpest peach.”
    She should not allow him to do this, or say such things, but the lonely core deep inside her body opened and blossomed at those words. Men passed her by. It went without saying that she had no dowry, nothing to offer a man in marriage, so she had closed the door on such thoughts, except for dreams she could not control. She made a last effort. “You should not do this, sir.”
    “I know. I do not make a habit of it. But you—you intrigue me, Joanna Spencer. I want to know more about you. Like why you did not tell me, or anyone else in this house, that your father owns the Argus .”
    A sharp gasp escaped her and she spun away, intent on reaching the door. She would leave and never come back, and pray that he didn’t follow her.
    He lashed his arm around her waist and turned her back to him.
    They were pressed chest to chest, the fabric of her coarse gown meeting his smooth, fine silk waistcoat. Her mind racing, she said nothing, but met his gaze boldly. “Everyone has to earn a living,” she said when she had finally worked out what to say.
    He watched her, waiting for something, she did not know what. His cheekbones were tinged with colour, his eyes back to their light silver, disconcerting and beautiful. They were both breathing deeply, as if they’d run up St. James’ Street and back.
    “Would you rather I earned it another way?” Without allowing him to speak, she went on, anger sparkling through her. “Oh yes, I see you would.”
    Something in his eyes flared, and then she could see no more as he closed them and dragged her closer, bringing his head down.
    Then he kissed her.
    His scent was of lemons, a tinge of the sea, and pure, wild, masculinity. It wreathed around her, its intensity overwhelming her efforts to remember who she was, who he was, and pull away. His lips pressed against hers, firm and full, pressing so she had to tilt her head back.
    Flattening her hands on his chest, the metallic threads of the embroidery rasping against her palm, she shoved. He did not move, didn’t even seem to register her protest. He continued to kiss her, but kept his hands around her waist, holding her close, but not roaming. His fingertips dug into the fabric of her jacket, the pressure insistent, into the flesh beneath, burning as if they were naked and he was claiming her.
    One kiss, what harm would that do? She couldn’t pretend she did not want it, had not lain awake in her narrow bed dreaming of this, but he should not, she was a respectable woman…the protests became mere echoes in her mind.
    He touched her lips with his tongue, and as if he’d commanded it, she let him in.
    A low growl vibrated through her mouth as he licked in, touching her tongue with the tip of his, plunging deeper, then tracing the roof of her mouth so delicately. Responsive tingles shivered through her whole body, reaching the very tips of her toes.
    God help her, she was lost in him. Clutching his shoulders, she gave herself up to what she wanted, his mouth on hers, marauding her.
    When he released her, all she could do was rest in his arms, panting, eyes wide. Moving one hand up to her shoulders, he supported her, watching her, his eyes glittering. “You were saying?”
    “I don’t sell my body,” she managed, through a haze of scrambled thoughts.
    “I see. In that case, what do you sell?”
    That glitter held anger, but she had no idea why. Unless he disliked being thwarted, of course. Most gentlemen felt that way. Well, he was not the only one.
    Her anger simmered under the arousal she had no idea what to do with. Her nipples tingled and her most secret parts felt swollen and wet. Nobody had evoked that instant response from her. He’d played her like a puppet, and that knowledge added to her anger.
    How dare he assume she could be bought? “Servant girls are the recipient of many insults, my lord, but none as egregious as