He couldn’t help the surge of pride. The bloody grin that came to his lips.
She glanced up. “You would smirk, wouldn’t you?”
“I like to hear that I pleased you, Grace.” Her curls fell about her neck, and he brushed them aside to put his lips to her damp throat. He had not had enough time with Grace.
He wanted days with her. Weeks with her.
With a shudder that went to his soul, he remembered the last time he had been unable to live without a woman. What a bloody mistake that had been.
Grace pulled away, stealing her luscious vanilla-scented skin from his hungry mouth. “You did,” she muttered. “How you must know that you did.”
“I am your champion, Grace, and my world is about sexual pleasure. Free, unfettered carnal exploration. Anything you desire, any way you wish—no judgment, no pain.”
“For you perhaps. It would never be that way for me.” She shut her eyes and groaned. “And my coach was waiting to leave! What will they think?”
Skimming his hand up, he pushed up heavy skirts and lace-trimmed petticoats. Grazing his thumb lazily around her quim, he said, “With me as your champion, Grace, you do not have to worry.”
“But you cannot be my champion, Mr. Sharpe. I can never see you again.”
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