An Inconvenient Kiss

By Caroline Kimberly

India, 1820

Georgiana Phillips always conducted herself according to the rules of polite society. So catching Simon Ashford in a compromising position should have been shocking. Instead it was arousing. And kissing him herself was absolutely deliciousuntil it led to her ruination.

That perfect, scandalous kiss has haunted Simon for six years. He doesn't regret it, though he's tried desperately to restore Georgie's reputation. When he's ordered to look after her in the wilds of India, it's an opportunity to finish what he started. But he's no match for Georgie's adventurous spiritshe seems set on getting herself killed, diving in after hungry crocodiles and braving monsoons to hunt for lost treasure.

Georgie wouldn't trade her exciting new life for anything in the world, including marriage. And yet Simon seems determined to rein her in, rewarding her brief moments of propriety with kisses far more exotic than any tribal ceremony or archaeological expedition. How can he convince her that she's so much more than a beautiful obligation?

100,000 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781426898709

Book preview

Chapter One

London, 1814

Georgiana Phillips stumbled, blind with fury, as she ran through the labyrinthine bowels of Mason House. A stray lock of hair flew into her mouth and she cursed silently as she swiped it away. That stupid oaf Lord Rowling! How dare he grope her as though she were a common milkmaid?

It was partly her fault, she supposed, as she scurried faster and rounded another corner. Somehow the pasty-faced baronet had duped her into taking a stroll to escape the heat of the ballroom. As she had met Harold Rowling on several occasions, she’d deemed him incapable of higher thought and taken him at his word. She had no idea he would grab her into a closet and proceed to...to...maul her. The man was a pig! Had it not been for a well-timed stomping with her jeweled heel, who knows how far he would have gone? Her coiffure was falling down and she was sure she looked thoroughly disordered, but at least she’d gotten away with her virtue intact.

Shuddering, Georgiana tried yet another door, chancing a glance over her shoulder. This one was locked as well. There were more people behind closed doors tonight than out on the dance floor, she mused darkly.

Footsteps sounded in the hall to her right and Georgiana clawed desperately at the next handle. Offering up a silent benediction, she turned the knob and held her breath. The tell-tale click sent a wave of gratitude through her and she stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind her and leaning heavily against the solid wood.

Holding her breath, she listened for her pursuer. It was little more than the length of a few heartbeats before footsteps neared. Come out, come out, sweeting, she heard a voice cluck, the words muffled by the heavy door.

The hairs on the nape of her neck bristled at the sound of his voice, and she was vaguely aware that she had stopped breathing altogether. Doorknobs rattled faintly, and she looked down just in time to realize that there was no key in the lock. She grabbed the latch and held fast, planting her feet firmly and pushing against the door with all her strength.

An instant later, the knob twisted in her hands. Georgiana Phillips—the reigning sensation of the last two and half Seasons and a young lady noted for her self-possession as much as her stunning looks—choked down a sob. The handle moved again, just a slight turn, and for a moment she feared it might slip from her grasp. From the other side of the door came a grunt and a hissed curse. Another moment and she could hear footsteps retreating.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Georgiana relaxed her grip and sagged against the door, squeezing her eyes shut as she gathered her senses. She stayed like that for a long moment as she tried to determine whether or not she might actually give in to the temptation to fall apart and weep all over herself.

After what felt like an eternity, Georgiana’s heart settled and her breathing slowed. Once she had her thoughts under control, she opened her eyes and frowned. Most young ladies in this situation, she supposed, would go straight home to their beds with a case of the megrims. Having never been a docile young miss, however, she actually felt more angry than weepy. Rowling should be punished.

Dragging in a deep breath, Georgiana released the handle and turned to survey her sanctuary. In the flickering candlelight, it appeared to be a lavishly furnished sitting room—probably a private retreat for the lady of the house. A small room off to her right was partially blocked from view by a brocade drape. The heavy fabric didn’t completely hide the mirror that hung on the wall, however, and Georgiana drew herself up to her full height.

She would take a moment to fix her hair and gown and compose herself. Then she’d return to the ballroom like a queen, an ice queen, and cut Rowling for the rest of the Season. Georgiana grimaced. In truth, she’d make sure Rowling was considered anathema by the time the Season had ended.

Georgiana crossed the room toward the mirror, pushing aside the curtain. As she did, she discovered something that made her forget about Lord Rowling entirely. Simon! she blurted stupidly.

Georgiana?

Simon Ashford stared at her, shock and embarrassment in his dark green eyes. He was sprawled in an overstuffed chair, and she was so stunned to find him here that it took Georgiana a moment to realize he wasn’t alone. A second pair of eyes, icy blue, glared up at her. At first Georgiana was confused. Simon’s female companion practically had her head in his lap. Why on earth was she on the floor? Especially since Simon was partly undressed—

Understanding washed over Georgiana, and she could feel a bright crimson blush spreading from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

What are you doing here, Lady Georgiana? Simon muttered as he fumbled with his trousers. Flags of color rose on his high cheekbones.

Georgiana couldn’t stop herself from peeking at the curvaceous woman still on her knees in front of Simon. His companion, one Mrs. Octavia Fenimere, huffed in indignation and pulled herself upright. Her thick blond hair was mussed and her gown was pulled low, baring her very large breasts. Georgiana felt her blush deepen.

Simon’s shirt was open, revealing a lovely expanse of smoothly muscled chest. Her own stomach muscles tightened oddly at the sight. Unspeakably uncomfortable with the sensation, she forced her gaze to his face.

Simon looked at her as he pulled on his boots, narrowing his eyes at Georgiana’s mussed hair and ruined gown. He shot to his feet and grabbed her elbow tightly. What in the name of Lucifer happened to you?

When she didn’t answer immediately, Simon shook her elbow, his grip almost painful. What have you been doing, Georgiana?

She glared up at him, suddenly and unaccountably hurt. "Certainly nothing as...as...vulgar as you have! she sputtered angrily. She wrenched her arm from his grasp. And with a married woman, she scolded. You ought to be ashamed!"

He started to protest, but Mrs. Fenimere sauntered up to them and wrapped herself around his free arm, her breasts barely covered. She batted her eyes, but Simon didn’t seem to notice. When it became apparent her charms weren’t working, she turned to glare at Georgiana.

Go back to all the other good little girls, she said haughtily, shooting Simon a sidelong glance. The grownups are playing here.

Georgiana felt her face go hot again as she choked on her indignation. Simon glowered.

Mrs. Fenimere smiled like a cat in cream, oblivious to the storm clouds gathering in the young man’s eyes. Simon, I do believe we have shocked Miss Perfect down to her perfect little toes.

Octavia, Simon barked, his tone warning. Give us a moment.

Glaring at Georgiana one more time, she sniffed and flounced off to fuss with her reflection at a side mirror. Simon turned back to Georgiana, taking her arm again and leading her out of Octavia’s earshot. Well? he demanded.

Georgiana yanked her elbow away from his hand and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. She stiffened her spine and shot him her haughtiest look. If you must know, she stated, I took a short constitutional.

With whom? he snapped.

She set her jaw and glared at him stubbornly. Simon crossed his arms and stared back at her, unmoving, until she huffed, Lord Rowling.

Did he take liberties with you? Simon asked, his voice nearing a growl.

Well I didn’t arrive at the ball looking like this, did I? Georgiana growled back.

Did he... Are you—? he asked, clearly not happy to need to ask the question. In fact, he looked ready to explode.

If you are asking me if he compromised me, Mr. Ashford, the answer is no. Though not for lack of trying on his part, mind you, she added bitterly.

Simon exhaled deeply, seeming oddly relieved. He studied her intently, and Georgiana felt her knees go inexplicably weak at his scrutiny. His shirt was still undone and she forced her gaze to his chin. When his hand reached up to smooth an errant lock from her forehead, she nearly leaped out of her skin. He had never touched her before. Her breath caught, just a little, and she lifted her eyes to his.

Simon shook his head, as though forcing himself awake, and cleared his throat. He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. Georgiana swallowed hard. Simon, oblivious to her racing heart, smoothly started herding her to the door. At the other end of this hall, second door on the right, is a small salon. Go there, lock the door, and fix your hair and gown as best you can. I will find Nathaniel to fetch you home.

And then what? Georgiana snapped, annoyed that he ordered her about like a younger sister. She stopped and faced him. Do you honestly believe I should tell my brother that Rowling accosted me? You know Nath. He’ll make a scene and by tomorrow morning everyone will have caught wind of it and I’ll be forced to marry that...ass!

No, Simon’s lips twitched. "I’m not suggesting you tell your brother. In fact I am quite directly telling you to not say anything to Nathaniel about Rowling."

Georgiana snorted. So Rowling gropes me and gets away with it?

On the contrary. I am going to beat him to a bloody mess, Simon said, clearly relishing the idea.

Oh bravo, Mr. Ashford, she said, rolling her eyes. That way Rowling doesn’t compromise me—you do! Brilliant!

Simon shook his head. I am not going to compromise you, Lady Georgiana. I will quite simply sit down at the card table with Rowling, have a few drinks, and badger him into a fight. I get to punch him senseless, and your reputation remains pristine.

Georgiana considered that for a moment. She wanted to punch Rowling herself, but unfortunately that was impossible. And if her brother did the punching, she most likely would end up leg-shackled to Rowling in sickness and in health, for better and for worse. She balked at the thought. Marriage to the baronet was definitely for worse.

Simon’s offer really was the best solution. Plus, if she were to be completely honest, an alarmingly large part of her was thrilled at the thought of Simon Ashford defending her honor, even if it were done surreptitiously.

Very well, she said pertly. But I expect you to bloody his nose.

This time Simon did smile, something he rarely did and certainly not for her. Behind his full lips, his teeth were as perfect as the rest of him. The effect was as brilliant as the sun appearing on a cloudy day.

It quite stole her breath away, and Georgiana was suddenly fussing with her gown, unwilling to look at him lest she stare stupidly. She felt herself stepping back, as though standing too close to him might simply empty the air from her lungs. After an awkward moment of silence stretched between them, Georgiana blinked and dared to peek at him. He was looking down at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

Mrs. Fenimere chose that moment to insert herself between them and lean possessively into Simon’s naked chest. Stroking his shoulder as though marking her territory, she looked down her nose at Georgiana.

Run along now, Miss Perfect, the older woman purred. Simon and I have some unfinished business.

The other woman’s disdain was just too much, considering everything Georgiana had endured tonight. Something hot pricked at her eyes and she crossed the room hastily, trying to block the images of their earlier business from her mind. She frantically groped for the door handle, hoping to flee before a torrent of tears humiliated her forever.

Simon started to say something, but she cut him off. I do apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Ashford, she said thickly, thankful her voice did not waver. She bobbed a small curtsy. Thank you for your assistance.

She opened the door and turned to flee. A burly figure down the hall, however, stopped her cold. Quickly ducking back into the room, she shut the door as quietly as possible and leaned against it, just as she had done before. She gaped up at Simon.

Mrs. Fenimere, obviously put out that her evening entertainment was irrecoverably ruined, snapped at Georgiana, Oh, honestly, what is it now?

Your husband, Georgiana swallowed.

Simon cursed. Mrs. Fenimere actually yelped in surprise, covering her mouth with her hands to suppress the sound. Angus is out there? Are you sure?

Georgiana could only nod. Simon peeled his companion off his person and joined Georgiana at the door.

Simon, Octavia said, her voice sounding horrified. What do we do?

Compose yourself, he hissed. She had paled, and she appeared to be trembling. Octavia swallowed thickly before rushing to the mirror to properly fix her hair and gown.

Simon, the door doesn’t lock, Georgiana whispered.

Simon blew out a sigh and looked her squarely in the eye. How large would you say Fenimere is? he asked softly.

Close to fifteen stone, I’d guess. At the face he pulled, Georgiana chided acidly, Perhaps in the future you might better choose your dalliances based on the size of a lady’s husband rather than the size of her bosom.

Simon pulled another face at her as he braced his hands against the door. Can you hold this fast?

Yes, she replied, planting her side against the door and grabbing the handle with both hands. The memory of Rowling nearly wresting the knob from her reared up and her confidence wavered. I think.

If you lose the handle, he said calmly, throw your weight into the door. As long as he can’t get in, everything will be fine.

Too soon she heard Lord Fenimere bellow, Octavia! Nearly jumping out of her skin, Georgiana gripped the latch tighter.

Steady, Princess, Simon whispered, somewhere tantalizingly close to her ear. His warm breath caressed her temple, and she was suddenly very aware of the heat of his body. Georgiana had to resist the urge to sink into him. Muttering curses against men in general, she forced her mind to return to the task at hand.

There was a loud banging on the door, then a violent jerking on the handle. Mister Fenimere was much stronger than Rowling, she winced. And much more persistent. In fact, Georgiana began to wonder if he would ever give up. Her hands and wrists were aching from the onslaught and, to her horror, she was actually panting a bit from exertion and fear.

Georgiana knew she was at her limit. She was about to let go, when two strong, warm arms wrapped around her. Large hands enveloped her own, making her rather wobbly. Georgiana wondered at the sensation of Simon pressed so intimately to her back; his shirt was still undone and the feel of his skin against her own bare shoulder blades made her breath hitch.

Before she could really relish the sensation, however, the doorknob shook again, even more furiously than before. Georgiana gritted her teeth and hung on. There was a muttered curse, an angry banging on the door, and another bang low to the ground that must have been a kick. Fenimere finally gave up and moved down the hall to accost another room.

Georgiana exhaled and relaxed. Doing so made her more aware of the half-naked man who still had his arms tightly around her, breathing just as heavily as she was. She turned her head slightly and was shocked to feel his lips against her skin.

That was rather close, wasn’t it? he murmured.

She could barely think, much less respond. Instead she nodded stupidly, causing his lips to caress her temple. Georgiana couldn’t contain the small shiver that ran the length of her spine.

I had no idea you were this tall, he whispered conversationally, obviously aware of the effect he was having on her. We would partner quite nicely on the dance floor.

Gathering her scattered wits, Georgiana tugged gently at her hands. You may release me now.

I should, he agreed, though he made no sign he intended to do so. After a pause, he sighed and breathed in her ear, Your hair smells wonderful. Like lavender.

She could actually feel his smile imprint her skin. In fact, she could feel his voice throughout her entire body, a smooth, low timbre that sounded both cultured and husky, and she smelled the heady combination of brandy and mint and heat and, well, male that seemed to make up Simon’s essence. Her heart fluttered wildly.

At that moment, Georgiana Phillips understood completely why women like Mrs. Octavia Fenimere found themselves alone in a room with Simon Ashford. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rich, not at all like the practiced lisps so many young dandies affected. No amount of hair powder or fripperies could ever mask the fact that he was entirely masculine—not that he bothered with them. Coupled with that stunning smile and that mischievous sparkle in his eyes, it was quite clear why women flocked to him.

Having seen his bare chest, Georgiana decided the rest of him likely wasn’t bad either.

Alarm bells went off in her head. Simon Ashford was dangerous. He was the type of man who could actually make a young lady forget herself. She needed to put space between them. Stop funning me, please, she said softly, pulling at her hands.

This time he let her go. Surprised that she missed his warmth, Georgiana busied herself by smoothing her skirts. Mrs. Fenimere called to him for assistance in righting her gown, and Georgiana did her best to ignore Simon as he crossed in front of her. He muddled her thoughts too much.

Looking up, she found Simon’s companion eyeing at her. Little Miss Perfect may not be so pristine after all, Octavia said with a knowing smile. Don’t fret, dear. It might actually make you interesting. Perfect can be frightfully dull, don’t you think, Simon?

Octavia, dearest, Simon muttered from behind her, she just saved us both from what undoubtedly would have been an awkward moment with your husband. Shut up.

Simon finished with her buttons, and Mrs. Fenimere puffed her skirts. Shooting Simon a pout, she purred, How do I look, darling?

Beautiful as ever, he replied, smiling at her. It is my deep regret that we must part ways so soon.

Georgiana barely managed to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head.

Mrs. Fenimere laughed a throaty laugh and tapped him on the arm with her fan. We could finish what we started.

Another time, Simon said, taking her arm and escorting her out.

At the door, he very properly bid Mrs. Fenimere good evening. She, however, threw her arms around his neck and proceeded to kiss him squarely on the mouth. Georgiana snorted in disgust, and perhaps a bit of jealousy, and stalked to the fireplace. Folding her arms across her chest, she chastised herself again for caring. That a tear coursed down her cheek was quite ridiculous, not to mention infuriating. She dashed it away angrily.

She heard the click of the latch, finally, and then a softly taunting voice. Enjoy your evening, Miss Perfect.

Georgiana whipped around, bile rising in her throat and a stinging retort on her lips, but Simon was already shutting the door.

Leaning back, Simon raked his hands through his dark brown hair. Bloody hell, he said. What a night this has been. He crossed the room to her and took her hand, tactfully steering her around the large chair—the scene of his earlier transgression—and to the settee to its right.

Mrs. Fenimere’s reticule rested on it. Oh look, Georgiana exclaimed innocently. Dearest Octavia has forgotten her reticule. I really should take care of it.

Georgiana took immense pleasure in picking up the other woman’s bag and dropping it to the floor, kicking it soundly as it landed. It skittered halfway across the room.

Much better, she blinked up innocently at Simon, daring him to comment.

Instead, he chuckled as he guided her into her seat. We need to chat.

It really was quite absurd, Georgiana mused. She’d been pining after the sinfully handsome Simon Ashford for the last two years, ever since her brother Nathaniel had introduced them at the Marquis of Deverill’s London ball. Whenever he was around, Georgiana made sure she was her most witty, her most charming, her most irresistible. Simon, however, had barely registered that she existed.

In spite of his aloofness, or perhaps because of it, Georgiana found Simon fascinating. His lack of interest utterly baffled her, as the male species had fawned over her since the day she’d turned fourteen. She knew without conceit that she was striking, though with her unusual violet eyes, full pink lips and clear olive skin, she herself considered her countenance more unusual-looking than beautiful. Her generous bosom and small waist certainly fit the criteria for beautiful, she supposed.

Regardless of her own opinion, she found it ridiculous that men besieged her simply because her features were deemed more flattering than most. Even still, that was how men treated her, so that was what she had come to expect.

It was quite off-putting, really, that the one man she felt any spark of genuine interest in hadn’t fallen at her feet.

In those two years—two years!—Simon had never spoken a full sentence to her under his own volition. Obviously too self-important to bother with a green girl, he usually muttered a monosyllabic answer to whatever inane question she managed to ask him, then disappeared without another word to charm all the other women in the room. They returned the favor by surrounding him like an English harem.

Ironic that tonight he’d finally found something to say to her.

Georgiana warily eyed the large, handsome man waiting for her to speak. What are you about, Mr. Ashford?

You called me Simon earlier, he said, ignoring her question. Twice, actually.

Only under great duress, I assure you, she retorted.

Simon assessed her for a long moment. Finally he said, Considering all we’ve been through tonight, Georgiana, don’t you think we can dispense with the formalities? At least for the moment?

She studied him, telling herself she should leave, but not really intending to do any such thing. The thought of calling him by his given name caused a little thrill of pleasure to dance through her, which was exactly why she shouldn’t.

Instead, she heard herself answer, All right. Simon.

He smiled that devastating smile and Georgiana had to stop herself from leaning closer to him. A small part of her began to panic. Simon, although dressed in the garb of a gentleman, was a bit of a wild thing—reckless and beautiful and predatory. The fact that Georgiana found that appealing both shocked and unsettled her.

Getting too close to Simon Ashford was unadvisable.

She needed to quash the budding rapport between them. So she threw out the most offensive thing she could bring to mind. Whatever were you doing with Octavia Fenimere?

Instead of offending him, the question brought a wolfish smile to his lips. What did it look like I was doing with her?

And with that, Georgiana Phillips, who made it a rule to never blush, at least during the normal course of things, blushed all over again. "I know what you were doing... she scoffed. I meant, why were you doing it with Mrs. Fenimere? She’s married, to start."

"Which means she doesn’t want to marry me," Simon pointed out.

Georgiana pulled a face. Well, she obviously has the morals of a tomcat.

Yes, he agreed enthusiastically. She does.

The image of Octavia Fennimore’s bountiful bare breasts darted across her mind, and Georgiana shook it away. Never mind, she said, disgusted.

Ah. Figuring it out, are you? Simon chuckled.

Georgiana snorted. I am beginning to believe that all men are dissolute.

Speaking of dissolute men, Simon said smoothly, tell me what happened with Rowling.

Stop changing the subject, she scolded.

Simon sighed. I was with Octavia because she has pretty eyes, she has large breasts and she genuinely likes tupping me. If that makes me dissolute, then I suppose I am. I wager most men are dissolute, though, as those are frequently the criteria we use when considering a bed partner. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Georgiana?

No one had ever dared to speak to her using such raw, honest language. She realized she was staring at him with her mouth agape. I think I like you better when you’re ignoring me.

At that, it was Simon’s turn to gape. When have I ever ignored you?

Georgiana sputtered, Every chance you get! You rarely look me in the eye and you barely utter a word in my presence. Now, when you do finally choose to pay me any mind at all, you are completely offensive. This entire conversation is inappropriate and I will excuse myself. Good evening, Mr. Ashford.

She rose to go, but his hands circled her wrists in an iron grip. Glaring down at him, she snapped, Unhand me please.

Simon shook his head, unperturbed. Once we are finished. But first I want to make it very clear that I have never ignored you. I have admired you from an appropriate distance, and when we have spoken I have only ever treated you with the respect and deference a young, unmarried lady of your station and bearing deserves.

Georgiana looked first at her wrists and then at him, her brow raised. Simon conceded, With the exception of tonight.

At her stony expression, he protested. Just because I haven’t joined the hordes of over-powdered, pasty-faced idiots clamoring shamelessly for your attention doesn’t mean I have ignored you.

No, you treat me like I have the pox, she muttered through clenched teeth. Not that I mind, of course, after hearing your list of desirable qualities in a female—large breasts and low morals being your only real measure of a woman’s value. Not to mention the obscene manner in which you comport yourself with those companions you deem worthy of your time.

His eyes danced and Georgiana fought the urge to kick him. Georgiana Phillips, I believe you might be jealous. I must admit, I’m flattered.

Shocked, yes, Georgiana announced, feigning indignation. Jealous? Never.

Simon ran a hesitant finger across her cheek and Georgiana suppressed the shudder that threatened to course through her. Do you know, he murmured, I can name every single occasion we’ve met. And while I am loathe to admit it, I can likely name the color of your gown on each of those occasions, as well as the people with whom you spent the majority of your evening. I have not ignored you. In fact if you are anywhere in proximity, I find it nearly impossible not to attend you.

Even if that were true, Georgiana argued, forcing a note of skepticism to color her tone, "you have barely spoken to me in two years. Two years and we have never discussed anything more substantial than the weather. I doubt you would have spoken to me tonight had I not taken refuge in this room. When you did finally decide to speak to me, you said a number of things I find both personal and improper, even vulgar, and I honestly don’t know what to make of it all."

He was tracing her cheek gently, studiously, as though fascinated by her skin. You have a point, he admitted. I suppose I have never wanted to say anything foolish to you, so it was easiest to say nothing at all. And tonight, well...

He stopped his caresses and gave a self-deprecating shrug. As you have had quite a few encounters with vulgarity tonight, I assumed a bit of plain language would not overtax you. Storm clouds gathered in his eyes. Tell me, Georgiana, what happened with Rowling?

That is none of your business, Georgiana huffed.

It is if I’m punching him, Simon retorted. I need to know when to stop.

Georgiana considered his words, not an easy thing since he’d taken to playing with a lock of her hair. Rowling asked if I wanted to take a walk since the ballroom was rather stuffy. He told me he would invite two of my friends to accompany us. I agreed.

Let me guess, Simon clucked. He went over to speak with your friends, who nodded and smiled at him. He returned to you to say your friends would meet you someplace outside the ballroom. Of course, we both know now he never said anything to your friends about your walk. He probably made some mindless comments about the décor or the music, forcing them to agree out of politeness. Simon shook his head. Really, Georgiana, I thought you were more intelligent than that.

Have you met the man? Georgiana said. He seems completely incapable of thought. I had no idea he could formulate more than a few words at a time, much less a scheme of that caliber.

Likely someone else clued him in to the ruse, Simon agreed.

Ah, I shouldn’t be surprised to learn you are well acquainted with such devices, Georgiana said with as much condescension as she could muster.

Simon rolled his eyes. I prefer to be more direct. Usually I whisper something entirely improper in a lady’s ear.

And that works? Georgiana scoffed, though she was genuinely curious.

I either get lucky or I get slapped in the face. Either way, I know where I stand. Simon grinned mischievously at her. The best nights are when I get both.

Georgiana stifled a chuckle, and when she looked up she caught Simon staring at her intently. She felt tingly all over, as though every nerve in her body had woken up simultaneously. The image of Simon, half-naked and sprawled across the chair flashed across her thoughts, and the memory of his skin against hers swept over her. Georgiana had an inexplicable urge to run her