Page 22 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

Then you are broken.

Every part of me tenses. But I push aside the memory as swiftly as it has come.

There is naught to be done about that tonight. Alessandra has already given me the gift of her body, the prize of her passion. Dragging her—and the required witnesses—out to the vicar would be inviting unwanted attention.

There is also my selfish reason.

To extend this magic for as long as I can.

This moment, consisting only of her with me. This ineffable midnight. This enchanted forever. My body, tangled with hers. My senses, filled with her. The silver light suspending the air like winter’s crystalline kiss.

I refuse to move, convinced that I can trick time by simply not moving. But soon, we are groaning together as my softened cock slips from her.

“Boo.” She pushes an entrancing pout into the center of my chest.

“Greedy minx.” I rub my lips along her temple. “Do not think yourself too settled there, hmmm?”

“No, sir.”

She giggles while lowering a hand to my penis. She starts to peel the covering from it. I stay her action with a growling grab.

“I said not to get too comfortable, woman. I meant it.”

“And I believe you.” Her adorable smirk fires my blood anew. “For the record, I’m all-in for that plan too—but let’s throw away this bad boy and get you a freshie.”

“A…freshie.” I scowl. “You have more standing by?”

“As I’m sure you do.” She bats at my hip. “But I still like the fact that you’re blushing about it.”

I grunt again, uncertain what is more troubling—her bald reference to my composure or her poise about removing the sheath herself. I continue the silent debate as she disappears around a corner, muttering something about “being back in a zip.”

Instead of stabbing for her meaning, I instruct, “Just leave the skin near the washbasin for the chamber maid, mon chou.”

“Oh, ha-ha.” The metallic clonk that finishes her quip is stranger than her wry tone. “She’d be really excited about that.”

“The maid?”

I forget what I was going to add to that when the woman reenters the room. Still propped on my side, I take advantage of the view. The play of moonlight across her enticing hips. The curl of her ebony tresses against her high, full breasts. Best of all, the bright confidence in her stunning eyes.

“Her excitement does not interest me, ma jolie chatte.”

“That so, my lord?” Her remark is witty, as if playing me like a courtesan, but I have doubts about that assessment. I cannot ignore her worldly ways, but nor can I disregard the additional evidence. Her white, straight smile. That pure, pox-free skin. Undoubtedly, she is either validated nobility or a kept woman—but I would have remembered a woman like her when visiting Versailles.

She is a complete mystery.

Which, to my combined delight and dismay, only makes her more alluring.

“So,” she quips while sauntering back across the room, “whose excitement does matter to you, Marquis de Generosity?”

“Are you truly standing there and pretending innocence about the answer?”

“Pretending is pretty tiring.” She tilts her head. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Very much so.” The words are rough on my tongue as her cat eyes work their sorcery on my blood.

“Besides.” She slinks back onto the bed. “I can think of more interesting ways to…get tired.”

My gaze drops to the stiff points of her breasts. From there, to the erotic rolls of her hips. A new growl forms in my chest but becomes a moan as she leans in and fully kisses me. With equal elegance, she pushes me to my back.