Behind the Courtesan's Mask. Marguerite Kaye

man, she was certain of it.

      Not that she intended to allow him to do any such thing! But there was no harm in imagining, any more than there was any harm in teasing him a little further. Constance shook her head. “Paltry,” she said in her best not-interested negotiating voice, the one which she had last used to such good effect when taking her chickens to market.

      Troy got to his feet. In one sense, it didn’t matter how much he offered, for he had no intention of paying up. The idea was to entice her into agreeing, nothing more, suffice to make her see she had been found out, that her vows of fidelity to the poor love-struck boy were worthless.

      He would not actually go through with it. Absolutely not. Every fiber of his being should be repelled at the idea of touching her. Of kissing her. Of sheathing himself in her. She sold her body for money. She was haggling with him over the exact amount right at this moment.

      And yet, as he ran his fingers down the tender skin of her forearm, his erection strengthened. And La Perla shivered. She wanted him.