He picked his hat up off the floor and tossed it to the bed.
Theodosia watched it land atop the pillow. The hat was black, the pillow was white. The hat was Roman’s, the pillow was hers.
Her senses spun again.
Roman didn’t miss the sensual play of emotions in her eyes as she looked at his hat. God, he thought. It sure didn’t take much to get her going. “I know about Madame Sophie and her kind. Miss Worth, because unlike you,Ididn’t have the advantage of a chapter-by-chapter sex-treat book. Since I didn’t, I had to learn by hands-on experience. It doesn’t bother you that I’ve known a few painted ladies in my lifetime, does it?”
She marched to the cracked mirror that hung on the opposite wall and smoothed back her hair. “Why should it trouble me that you choose to while away your evening hours with those demimondaines?”
He joined her across the room. Stopping directly behind her, he placed his hands on her hips and his chin on top of her head. He might not ever be her lover, he mused, but he was sure going to enjoy making her wish he was. It was only fair. She drove him insane with her genius…
And he would retaliate by rendering her senseless with desire.
Keeping those ends in mind, he pulled her closer.
She tried to brace herself for the flood of heat his nearness caused, but she failed. Unaware that she was slowly licking her bottom lip, she stared at his midnight hair, which curtained the sides of her face and fell over her breasts. She could smell the sun in it, and leather, and the musky odor of hard work, and some other potent fragrance that she instinctively recognized as that of the very essence of masculinity.
Only after a long moment did she notice her tongue on her bottom lip. She almost bit it in her haste to get it back into her mouth.
Roman curled his arms around her waist and caught her startled gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “About my whiling away my evening hours, Miss Worth. Maybecoituscan be performed only at night, butlovemaking…”
He paused just long enough to give her a slow and easy smile. “Lovemaking feels good anytime. In fact, the best time is in the morning. Make love at night, then go to sleep, and you can’t remember the pleasure because you’re asleep. Make love in the morning, though, and you have the whole day to think about it.”
She hadn’t realized that couples had sexual relations during the day. For some odd reason, she’d always believed such activities were performed at night. “And is the pleasure truly memorable?”
He knew she’d asked the question in all innocence, but he simply couldn’t resist using her sweet curiosity to his best advantage. “We could make a few memories for you right now.” He slid his hand up her torso, stopping it only when his fingers touched the underside of her breast. “Later, you could think about them and decide for yourself whether they’re worth remembering.”
The warmth of his hand seeped into her breast while his sensual intentions flowed through her thoughts. She closed her eyes for a moment, marveling over the power of desire. How she longed to experience the full measure of its strength!
But of course, she couldn’t. With every shred of effort she possessed, she raised her own hand to keep his still. “I was merely wondering about the pleasure. It is only natural that I would reflect upon that which I do not comprehend. However, as I told you once before, the pleasure doesn’t matter.”
“It matters, Miss Worth,” Roman said huskily. “It matters very much, and if the circumstances were different, I would do everything I could to help you realize that.”
“The circumstances are what they are, and I shan’t forget that.” She stepped out of his embrace and turned to face him. “Please understand that I cannot allow my physical attraction to you to defeat my purposes. I must concentrate all my efforts on finding the perfect man to sire the child, Mr. Montana.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. That tall, dark-haired, blue-eyedgeniusof a man. What happened with the perfect Dr. Wallaby? Wasn’theable to concentrate allhisefforts toward giving you that child? Or maybe he got so excited over what he read in your sex-treat book that he fainted before reaching chapter two?”
The amusement she saw dancing in his blue eyes prompted her to recall that he’d once doubted Dr. Wallaby’s ability to perform the sexual act. She decided not to give him the pleasure of gloating. “Dr. Wallaby did not meet the requirements.”
“Which ones didn’t he meet? What—”
“I will discuss Dr. Wallaby no further, Mr. Montana,” she snipped. “Now, if you will excuse me, I—”
John the Baptist’s loud squawking cut her short. “Ain’t got no tea, ma’am. Bugs got in it. Oh, poor, poor Dr. Wallaby.”
Roman looked at the bird. “‘Poor, poor Dr. Wallaby’? Why did he say that?”
Theodosia had never yearned for her parrot’s silence more so than now. “I’m sure I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Liar.” Roman crossed to the cage. “Talk to me, bird.”
The parrot spat a stream of water at him. “Lovemaking feels good anytime. You don’t really think I’m going to let you hurt the girl, do you, Red Bandana?”
Roman wiped water off his chin. “What else, bird?”
“Mr. Montana,” Theodosia said as she joined him by the cage and prepared to cover it with a cloth, “he has heard nothing at all that would be of interest to you. And even if he had, he would not respond simply because you wanted him to. He does not communicate but only mimics.”
Roman snatched the cloth from her hand. “Mimic something else, bird. Go on, mimic away.”
