Good Christ,Rosie’s lips.
She should be an inexperienced kisser, and Bull had never had any interest in the hesitant dance of approval around virgins. Rosie might not have a clear idea of what she was supposed to be doing, but by God, she was doing it enthusiastically.
Bull felt his lips curl over hers—completely unbidden—as his hands rose to cup her cheeks, holding her in place as he took control of the kiss. Gently, slowly, his tongue showed hers how to play, how to tease, and when she moaned against his lips, he swallowed her cry down and deepened the kiss until he could feel her heartbeat pulsing frantically against his fingertips.
It matched his own.
Her fingers curled into the material of the not-quite-a-waistcoat he’d designed, clutching him, trying to hold him close, and the realization made him want to crow. He’d given up on trying to hide his erection and now his cock throbbed against the stomach of her bejeweled gown.
She was the one to pull away, lowering herself back to the slippers he’d chosen. Was she shaking? Was he?
Bull stared down at her, wide-eyed, trying to process what had just happened, and noted that Rosie was breathing as heavily as he was.
What…?
Why had they…?
Och, aye. “Is—” Bull croaked. He swallowed and tried again. “Is Eliza—Lady Mistree still looking at us?”
Rosie blinked once, twice, as if trying to remember herself why they’d kissed. Then her green gaze flicked over his shoulder, and she shook her head just slightly. “She is speaking to her parrot friend again. Do you think she is here for the auction?”
They could speculate all they wanted, but at that moment, Bull just knew he had to get her away from this. Away from this depravity, where a half-naked bastard like him could paw at her. Could sink into her sweet taste, could tease her tongue, could…
Bull closed his eyes briefly, trying to swallow his groan.
“Well…” She exhaled, then loosened her hold on him to smooth his waistcoat. “I have said it before, but no one doubts I am your mistress now,Baron.”
He opened his mouth to throw blame, to explain, to excuse, to beg forgiveness—when a new, bored-sounding voice interrupted them. “Baron von Trapped?”
Bull didn’t do anything so crass as startle, but hedidcurse himself—yet again—for his inattentiveness. Why the hell was he finding it so hard to concentrate?
Och, aye. The hardness between his legs.
Still, years in this business, years of playing characters other than himself, had given him good instincts.
One blink, and he slid into the role of Baron von Trapped.
Bull took his time turning to face the man—the servant who was, in fact, dressed as a penguin. “Ja?” he murmured in irritation. “Vat is it zat you vish?”
The penguin gave an abbreviated little bow. “My mistress will see you now, Baron. You and your…ahem,ladyare to come with me.”
As he turned on his heel and waddled away, Rosie slid her arm through his. “Told you no one would think you my uncle,” she murmured under her breath.
Who would, after that kiss?
“For fook’s sake, Rosie, I need to focus.”
She chuckled, likely at what she considered his weak cursing ability.
He should have been focused on the job, on protecting Allison and Rupert and solving the puzzle, but her laughter made him feel…lighter. As if they were in this together. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, as he hustled her after the penguin-man andawayfrom anyprying eyes.
Ahead of them, the penguin-man ducked behind a curtain and they followed. Bull breathed a sigh of relief when it swung down behind them, blocking them from outside eyes. He needed to focus on the game, therole…not on the people behind him. Not on that kiss.
That life-shattering kiss.
He’d spent two decades playing roles, but even before then…He’d been playing a role most of his life, hadn’t he? Who evenwasBull Lindsay anymore?
Was he the child delinquent desperately afraid of being left behind and ignored, who’d perfected the art of sleight-of-hand and general indispendibility in order to hide the doubt of his own self-worth?
