Page 98 of A Story of Love

Her head popped up on the far side of the bed. Before he could ask her what she was doing, her arm moved in a blur and she snarled, “You!”

Fast ducked, narrowly avoiding being struck in the head by the ankle boot that came hurtling through the air.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, barely sidestepping the second boot which followed with impressive speed and accuracy.

She gave him a look of pure venom.

Fast crossed the room toward her once he was sure that she had no more projectiles.

He gestured to her. “Although it is gratifying to see you on your knees and showing the proper respect when you greet me, you don’t need to remain kneeling for the duration of the evening.” He grinned as her expression grew even more thunderous. “I never expected you to prostrate yourself before me, but I could certainly grow to like it, darling.”

***

Lori sneered up at her captor. “I wouldn’t get used to it if I were you. And don’t call me darling,” she retorted, despising the way her belly tightened at the mere sight of him. And then he grinned—which exposed his prominent canine teeth and made him look every inch the wolfish rake he was alleged to be—and the tightness in her stomach sank a bit lower.

She didn’t wait for a response from him before ducking back under the bed and squinting into the gloom. “Aha!” she muttered when a pair of glowing eyes blinked near the wall, positioned in such a way that she’d have to climb all the way under the bed to reach them.

Fast’s voice came from above. “Whatever are you doing down there?”

Lori ignored him and called in a pleasant, but forced, tone, “Here kitty, kitty.” She made kissing noises and crooned, “Good kitty.”

The vile beast just stared at her, slowly blinking its huge eyes.

She cursed under her breath, pulled her head from beneath the bed, and sat back on her heels, glaring up at Severn. “Your fiendish cat is toying with my garter beneath the bed.”

The man had the nerve to chuckle. “Ah, you’ve attracted Mr. Pouncefoot-Jones’ attention, never a good idea. Or at least not a comfortable one.”

“I’ve been around cats all my life, but I have never seen one as—”

“Mischievous?” Severn suggested.

“That is too benign a word. I was going to say evil, or malevolent.”

When she began to get to her feet, he offered her his hand. “Allow me.”

Rather than flail about clumsily, Lori accepted his help and allowed him to help her stand. But she immediately yanked her hand away once she was on her feet.

“You’re welcome,” he said, smiling politely.

Lori ignored his sarcasm and pointed to her right foot. Already her stocking was bagging around her ankle. “I am in need of a garter.” She hated how her face heated at speaking the word garter, as if she were some schoolroom ninny and not a seasoned newspaper woman currently living in a brothel.

“Don’t you have another pair?”

“I had two pairs, but your beast took the others, as well.”

He laughed. “You need to stop leaving such things lying about.” He strode to the door, rapped on it, and said something in a low voice to Rufus, her guard of the day.

Lori collected her ankle boots from where she’d thrown them and dropped into a chair to put them on.

“I sent Rufus to borrow a garter from one of the ladies.”

“Why don’t you be a gentleman and reach under the bed and retrieve mine?” she asked with false sweetness.

He laughed and held up his hands. “Oh, no. What Mr. Pouncefoot-Jones takes; he keeps. I’m not sticking my hand under there.”

“Coward.”

“Yes, and not ashamed to admit it, either.” He showed her the back of his hand, which had four faint white scars. “See these?”