She didn’t strike him as one who would be satisfied unless she was pleasured at least three times.
Three times.
Well, he could manage that.His manhood obviously thought so, too, for it had begun to throb.He was glad for the long skirt of his top coat, for his erection would have been quite evident given the tight fit of his pantaloons.
Whore.
Once again, the word had him gaining control of himself.At some point, he would have to discover why his housekeeper would say such a thing about Armenia.
He returned his attention to her face, struck by his inability to guess her age.He saw no wrinkles but for a few lines that radiated from the sides of her eyes.“You would have made an excellent model for Botticelli,” he remarked.
She made an odd sound in her throat.“No one has ever said anything like that to me before.”
He turned and fished the corset from beneath a petticoat.“I’m sure they thought it,” he offered, secretly pleased he seemed to have scored a point in his favor with the compliment.Once she had the corset in place, he saw to tightening the strings before tying the ends into a bow.
“You have seen Italian art?”she asked.
“Not as much as I’d like.Perhaps you can be my guide here in Rome,” he said, arching a brow.“Stockings next?”he guessed, holding out the pair of black knit garments.
“I can finish the rest on my own,” she said, motioning to the sitting room.
“You’re sending me away?”he asked, pretending offense.
“You passed the test,” she said, arching a brow.
“Oh.”Chuckling softly, he dipped his head and made his way to the sitting room to wait for her.
He exhaled a breath of relief as he took a seat even as he knew what he had to look forward to later that afternoon.
Some Italian artistry at its finest.
