Page 50 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Someone knocked on his door.

“Bloody Peters,” Jonathan moaned in disgust. After spending the morning trying to keep his hands off a beautiful woman, a man deserved time alone to enjoy a harmless fantasy.

He opened his eyes and removed his hand from his lap. “Come in,” he called, his voice husky.

The door opened, and Gen glided into the room, Horatio at her side. Since he’d been expecting a gray-haired butler, the woman strolling to him in a low-cut purple dress was a welcome visitor. Contrary to the character she pretended to be, she was no gutter chit. This woman had a regal bearing. Which again raised the question, who in the hell was Gen?

Probably just her athletic prowess that makes her so graceful.

Or maybe she was a lady’s maid.

He couldn’t stand, cockstand and all, and his greeting caught in his throat.

Towels hanging over her forearm, she carried a bowl of what looked like pastry icing. She came around his desk to stand beside him, then placed the items in front of him.

He peered into the bowl of pink confection. The confounding content had not set yet, so Gen must have recently retrieved it from the kitchen. Odd indeed, unless she truly was an unsophisticated clochard who thought one devoured bowls of icing for an afternoon repast. He’d heard women craved sugary treats when they experienced their monthly courses, not that he had ever inquired about such things.

No matter the reason for her odd choice of refreshment, he had no desire to embarrass her or spoil her fun, and there were far worse snacks than a bowl of sugar and eggs, so he clamped his lips together.

She pointed at his forearm and rolled her fingers.

“I don’t understand.”

She tapped his arm and again rolled her fingers.

“Do you want me to roll up my sleeve?”

She nodded.

“Are you going to decorate my arm and then nosh on it?”

Her brow furrowed, and then she laughed, the pleasant tinkling sound skittered over his cheek, sending his lips into a broad smile, which only lasted until he realized he wanted her mouth on his skin. Licking, tasting, suckling… His cock twitched, and his frown deepened.

Not again,he reprimanded the unruly beast. He conjured an image of horse dung on his boot. It worked, and he reigned in his libido. Curious as to what she was up to, he rolled up his sleeve.

She guided his arm to the desk so that his forearm faced the ceiling. She was so close to him that her breath tickled his cheek, and her rose-scented chignon brushed his shoulder.

Behave, he berated his randy cock.

She dipped her index finger into the icing and then painted a straight line alongside his elbow. He breathlessly watched as she drew a line on top of it, forming what looked like the letterT.

HAN, she added, leaving heated sparks in her finger’s wake.

If her goal was to entice him to throw her onto his desk, coat her with icing, and lick her body clean, she was doing a damn fine job. However, it was far more likely that she was writing a message, even after he’d told her he couldn’t read. Of course, he could decipher the big, pink, rose-scented letters that she was searing into his skin.

K, she wrote.

“K,” he read.

She halted and stared into his eyes. Assuming she was finished, he read the letters out loud. “THANK.”

She must be thanking him. He almost felt guilty for wanting to ravish her on top of his desk.

Smiling, she returned to her task, paintingYOU.

“You are welcome,” he said.

Using one of the towels, she cleaned the icing from his arm, then dried him with the other. She dipped her finger into the icing twice as she drew anF. Apparently, she’d cleaned the slate and was starting over with a new word. He held his breath as she addedOR EVERY THING.