Page 18 of Cocky August Rake

Yes, The Domus was a brothel. And she was, in fact, a courtesan.

Which meant she was not powerless.

She knew men. Furthermore, she knew something about this one.

He held himself with restraint now, but she’d seen how fiercely he responded when it slipped.

That, joined with everything The Domus had taught her, gave her an advantage.

Stepping closer, she extended her hand in a gesture not unlike the one he’d offered her several weeks ago, beneath a moonlit sky from behind a mask.

She had taken his hand then because she wanted to know where he might lead her.

This time, she was the one doing the leading.

Or attempting to do so, anyhow.

“That is true, we are a brothel,” she said lightly. “But are all ships the same, my lord?”

For one suspended moment, he simply looked at her hand.

Then his gaze lifted to hers.

Memory flickered there. A hint of embarrassment. Perhaps annoyance that she had reminded him they’d ever touched at all.

“Touche,” he said at last.

He stood from behind the desk.

Rose had seen this man half-undone, his formal coat mussed, his expression stripped of the careful control he wore now. She had felt the breadth of his chest against hers. The powerful line of his thighs. The tension that had gathered in him with such startling speed.

She ought not to remember it so clearly.

Nor ought she to have noticed the hard, unmistakable outline pressing against the front of his trousers now.

Ordinarily, Rose noticed such things only as a matter of practical assessment. It was her business, after all.

But there was nothing practical about the warmth that curled low in her belly now.

At the sight of her masked gentleman.

No…

He made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t her anything—masked or otherwise. He ignored her hand and instead gestured toward the door.

“After you, Miss Darling.”

It was sensible, really. Safer than touching him.

Rose lifted her chin and swept past him, half expecting to find Nell and Mr. Huxley waiting outside the office with their ears pressed to the walls.

Instead, it was empty.

Voices drifted from somewhere below. Rose registered them only vaguely. Most of her attention had fixed upon the man walking behind her—and the unmistakable weight of his gaze between her shoulder blades.

She could feel him watching her, but resisted the urge to glance back.

She needed to focus.