Cyrus Ryland didn’t become England’s wealthiest bachelor by being a
pushover, but the mysterious beauty he discovers sneaking around his study during
a grand ball enflames his curiosity. They share one dance, but when the clock
chimes midnight, she’s nowhere to be found. So Cyrus vows to scour all of
London to uncover who she is.
Claire Mayhew is risking it all by forging Ryland’s signature. But the
maddening man won’t lease properties to an unmarried woman. He stands in the
way of Claire’s dream: running her own business. The midtown property fits her
plans perfectly—a place to live as an independent woman of commerce. When she sneaks
into his study and forges his signature, she never expects to be attracted to
the stodgy bachelor. But if he finds out who she is, all of her dreams could go
up in smoke…
Q: Can you tell us one thing we may not know about
you?
A: I would love to spend a summer in Iceland.
“You’re
not warming up sufficiently.” He leaned in and wrapped his coat over her
shoulders, his deep voice like an intimate connection. “Someone needs to take
care of you.”
She
shuddered when his breath tickled her ear. His warmth and nearness was just as
heavenly as what he draped around her. She could tell he found her refusal more
amusing than deterring. Cyrus closed the coat in front of her, his body heat
palpable inside. The collar’s woven broadcloth brushed her rain-misted cheeks,
his pleasant scent on the cloth. The coat was part of an expensive,
well-tailored ditto suit: identical blue fabric with spare gold trim on the
coat, waistcoat, and breeches.
“I’ll
ruin part of a perfectly good suit.” But she pulled the coat tighter, greedy
for the snug feel.
He
added more coal to the blaze. The inferno’s orange light danced across white
cotton stretched over his shoulders. Muscles moved under the fabric,
mesmerizing her while he built a hotter fire. And then there was his offer to
waive her rent and give her a loan, an offer apparently free of unique requirements.
His act of generosity pinched her conscience.
How
dare he be so…nice.
“About
the rent, the loan, I cannot accept your kind offer.” She cleared her throat,
trying to sound competent. “I’ll find a way.”
Ryland
glanced at her but said nothing to counter her refusal. Instead, he dropped to
the floor, kneeling before her. Without asking her leave, he removed one shoe
and then the other, and set the soaked footwear against the hearth’s ash pan.
“What
are you doing?” Her words, like her body, went slack, all of her too worn down.
His head bent close to her
knee. One hand, large and warm, curled around her ankle, rubbing life back into
her foot. A big, masculine palm moved under the arch, creating delightful
friction. She pressed her lips together, holding back a moan of pleasure.
“I
would think a land steward’s daughter would know wet clothes are hazardous for
one’s health.” He flashed a devilish grin. “You ought to remove your wet
clothes, cover yourself with something warm and dry.”
Such as covering myself with you.
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1 comments:
One of my favorite fairytales is Cinderella.
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