Escape to Me (1NightStand #131)(6)
Author: Diane Alberts

“Why won’t you marry? I’m sure you can find a man willing to court you.” His gaze took in her bare legs, and his penis jerked in his lap. “You’re perfect.”

Some inner hellion she hadn’t known existed whispered for her to spread her legs a bit more, and she adjusted so he had a full view of her hidden delights. His shoulders tensed, and he clenched his fists.

“I doubt it. I’m on the shelf. I have been since Katrina married Lord Dum—” With a strangled gasp, she broke off and covered her mouth. When his eyes narrowed on her, she dropped the hem of the shirt back down to her lap, dismayed at what she’d gone and admitted. “That is to say, I’ve been there for quite some time.”

Maybe he hadn’t noticed the slip of her tongue. There remained a possibility he’d been too distracted by her body to pay attention….

His face whitened and he stood up. His arm trembling, he pointed at her. “Who are you?”

Chapter Three

Eleanor blanched and rolled off the other side of the bed, seeking to put something between herself and the man whose face turned redder with each passing second. His shoulders were held stiff enough he could have been carved out of stone.

Opening his mouth, he spluttered a few times, and then repeated, “You are…are you…who are you?”

She decided the best course of action was to act clueless and hope to God her plan worked. If worse came to worst, she had her magical watch hidden away in her purse. With the twist of a few dials, she could disappear in a cloud of smoke, if need be. He’d never figure out who she was.

“I…what’s wrong?” She lifted her chin, trying to act as if she were confused by his show of temper. Her voice shook a bit, so she cleared her throat. “Was it something I said?”

“You know very well what’s bothering me. How do you know Lord Dumont?” He removed the condom and tossed it into the rubbish container. Crossing his arms in front of him, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession, he asked, “Who are you?”

Perhaps, when she returned home, she’d do a watercolor of him, just like this. He somehow managed to look even more unbelievable while unclothed and furious.

How unfair of him to be so glorious when she was stuck wearing his shapeless blouse. It might have hugged his muscles like a second skin, yet on her it resembled a potato sack. She wracked her mind for the best course of action and settled for pure denial.

“Oh, him? Henry? He comes into the tavern I work at. He’s a nice bloke.” She smoothed her hair behind her ears, and waved a hand in front of her face. “Do you know him, too?”

He raised a brow and she cringed. She would do better not to lie to men ever again. If the coffers ever ran dry, she’d have to cross actress off her list of possible employments.

Which left…governess, seamstress, or mistress.

“Henry? His name isn’t Henry. It’s George.” He rubbed his chin and watched her. She didn’t even flinch. His name was Ronald.

Nice try, Thomas.

“Nope, sorry. The one I know is Henry. We must have gotten the two confused, somehow.” She smiled and played with the hem of the shirt, allowing it to ride up her legs a bit. His gaze dropped, taking in her actions, and he took a step toward her.

Once again, distraction with body parts equaled success.

Thomas gave his body a slight shake and returned his attention north again. Pity, that. “Even so, why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin? That could have been a good thing to know.”

“Why? What difference would it make? These are current times, and as such—”

“I’m not a modern man, Eleanor.” He pounded his chest and took another step toward her. “I do not make a habit of deflowering innocent girls and marching away.”

Which is why she’d never tell him who she was. She rolled her eyes. “I assure you, sir, I am far from a girl. I knew what would happen when I walked into this room. And I know what I want. I bought a night of danger-free passion with you. And I’m not finished.” She’d saved up a year of pin money for this night, and she darn well planned to enjoy it, thank you very much. Advancing on him, she lifted the shirt higher. “I want more.”

“I can’t,” he insisted with a stubborn tilt to his chin. “You might tempt me as no other woman could, but I refuse to defile you any more than I already have. What if you became with child?”

“You weren’t worried about that happening ten minutes ago!” She let the shirt fall back into place and stomped her foot. “Why would you care now? Besides, that’s what the condom is for, remember?”

He backed away from her. “I had no clue you were pure. It’s different now.”

“I’m no longer an innocent. Problem solved.” Eleanor tossed her hair over her shoulders. “You’ve already relieved me of that unwanted purity, and now I want more of what you’ve shown me.”

“See? I’ve ruined you. I’m despicable.” He sank to the mattress and groaned. “How old are you, again?”

“Twenty-six. Hardly a debutante.” He froze at the familiar word, once again turning to scrutinize her. She kept her face impartial and soft—cursing her slip of the tongue. How many times would she utter a damning sentence in one night? “You have nothing to fear.”

“I still can’t touch you again, in all good faith. I never should have in the first place.”

He crossed his arms across his chest, glowering at her as if she’d somehow wronged him. She knew she had stricken his gentlemanly pride, in turn bringing out the guilt they enjoyed wallowing in.

Men.

“Okay, I understand.” Sheer instinct guided her. She smiled at him and then walked away in slow steps. She made sure to swing her bottom in the way that guaranteed a man would follow like a lost puppy. She stopped in the doorway, leaned on the wood, and glanced over her shoulder at his confused face. “It was nice meeting you, Thomas.”

He stood up, his lips pursed. “Wh-Where are you going?”

“To find someone else to sully me. As you pointed out, it shouldn’t be hard.” She walked out into the sitting quarters of the hotel room, calling over her shoulder, “I paid for a night of fun…and I shall have it.”

One. Two. Three.

Thomas snarled as images of a faceless man rising over Eleanor flashed before him. She writhed in the stranger’s arms, moaning her pleasure for all to hear. Damn it all to hell, enjoying the new man’s attentions even more than she had his. He had no idea when it happened, but she belonged to him. Which sounded insane in and of itself. She lived two hundred years in the future. It wasn’t as if he could court her.