Page 31 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Her lips were so damn close to his. All he had to do was pucker and lift his head an inch.

“I won,” she declared.

“How do you figure that?” he asked, his voice husky with need, even to his own ears. Didn’t she hear it? She must have known…

“Because I am on top,” she said.

So she was. But not for long. He wrapped his arms around her waist and rolled both their bodies quickly before she had a chance to hammer him.

“Seems I am the winner now,” he said, his lips brushing her ear, his cock pressing into her belly.

She shivered, and her body softened.

What kind of cad kissed a woman while he was half-naked and lying on the floor of his best mate’s coach house?

A lucky as hell cad, that’s who. And since he was now on top, he had finally won something. Not that a winner mattered at this moment, with the air charged with the scent of their sweat and the overwhelming need zinging between them. Yes, indeed, he’d finally been tossed a handful of good fortune.

“Josephine,” he whispered.

“Nicolas,” she whispered back.

God, yes. He was going to kiss her, and he had not a single doubt, she would kiss him back.

“Hello! Is someone in here?” A man peeked around the corner.

“Bollocks,” Nicolas whispered.

Josie groaned.

Ivan, Davenport’s coachman, took them in, and his eyes widened. “I…I am sorry, sir.”

Nicolas popped to his feet. “We were just having a boxing lesson.”

“If you say so, sir,” Ivan said.

“We really were,” Nicolas said as he offered Josie his hand.

She slapped it away and climbed to her feet without assistance. Snarling, she stomped to Ivan. “We were boxing, and if ye say otherwise, I’ll give ye a taste of this.” She shook her fist in his face.

Ivan winced. “You were just boxing,” he agreed compliantly.

Without a glance in Nicolas’s direction, she marched out of sight.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Ivan said.

Nicolas held up a staying palm. “I’d appreciate it if you did not discuss this with anyone. Miss Martin needs to train while she is here, and word of this might ruin her reputation.”

“Of course, sir.”

Nicolas slowly dressed and then shuffled inside the house and then to the dining parlor, his vigor defunct, his mind berating his libido. He never lost control like that. This stubbornly infuriating woman was killing him, and after his untoward display, he’dnevertaste her perfect lips.

Served him right for imagining that Lady Luck had smiled on him.

Chapter Thirteen

Backboard in place,clad in a clean, lavender dress, and with her hair neatly braided, Josie sat at the breakfast table, prim and proper as could be. She nibbled at her breakfast, barely tasting the food she wasn’t allowed to eat or enjoy anyway.

Meanwhile, Agatha nattered on about etiquette, and Jonathon sipped his coffee, a gleam in his eyes and a twisted grin dominating his countenance.