Gorgeous as Sin by Susan Johnson

thought shouldn’t have been that Edward never could have carried her up the stairs so effortlessly. Or at all. He wasn’t tall and powerful like Groveland, nor corded with muscle. Shameful thought; why was she comparing her husband to Groveland? And then, as if the devil were whispering in her ear, she heard Mrs. Beecham’s voice saying, You’re not getting any younger , and she found herself thinking, I deserve this.
    “Penny for your thoughts,” Fitz murmured, aware of the lady’s reflective silence.
    “Do you think I’m old? Oh Lord, pretend I didn’t say that,” she quickly declared, blushing furiously.
    In the dim stairwell lit by a single electric light sconce at the top of the stairs, he glanced down and was charmed to see the most fetching, rosy-cheeked mortification. Mrs. St. Vincent was a rare delight; no aristocratic lady he knew would have called attention to her age. “I think you’re absolutely gorgeous,” he murmured, smiling, “and what—eighteen or so?”
    She laughed, a bright silvery sound. “You’re a darling.”
    “Wait,” he said with a grin. “It gets better.”
    “So I’ve heard. Sofia tells me you’re celebrated for your expertise.”
    “Hardly,” he modestly replied. “But I’ll contrive to amuse you in whatever fashion you prefer.”
    “Is this about amusement?”
    Uncertain of her tone, he gracefully replied, “It’s about whatever you want.”
    “Because you’re versatile.”
    There was that trifling pettishness again. “No, because I very much wish to please you. You’re quite exceptional; this evening is exceptional. Nothing about this — us —is about versatility or amusement. I apologize for my choice of words. You’ve been a constant in my thoughts today.”
    Her expression turned guarded. “Because you want my store.”
    “No.” He didn’t even take issue with her comment. “Because I find you fascinating.”
    “And you want what you want.”
    “Good God, don’t fight with me.” He smiled. “You don’t know how much I’m out of my element.”
    She drew in a small shaky breath. “We both are.”
    “Then we’ll navigate this unknown terrain together. You lead and I’ll follow.”
    She couldn’t help but smile at his flattering candor. “It might be wiser if you lead and I follow.”
    Since he rarely contradicted a lady when it came to making love, he whispered, “Whatever you say.” Although, he rather thought she was right. Having reached the top of the stairs, he crossed the small landing, walked through the open door into a parlor illuminated by another simple light fixture, and halted. “Which way? Over there?” He nodded toward a closed door on the far side of the sparsely furnished room.
    “Oh dear.”
    Looking down, Fitz met her wide-eyed gaze. “Is something wrong?” There was no mistaking the doubt in her voice.
    “I don’t know—maybe . . . probably. Oh Lord, now I’m not sure.”
    Faced with such tremulous reluctance, he debated his course of action. Toying with a squeamish woman could turn out to be a disaster. Sophisticated females with a flair for the game were more his style—like Miss Baldwin. She’d been more than willing.
    And yet, there was no question it was Mrs. St. Vincent he wanted.
    Notoriously self-indulgent, and highly motivated, he decided the lady’s uncertainties were open to interpretation. She clearly hadn’t ordered him to put me down this instant and leave . A good sign.
    So, attuned as he was to the nuances of female acquiescence, he carried her toward what looked to be a bedroom door. Crossing the small parlor in a few strides, he shoved open the door with his shoulder and stepped over the threshold.
    Rosalind shivered—in anticipation at this point, Groveland’s celebrated reputation was one of excess.
    “Are you cold?” he gently asked, coming to a halt, although he knew better. Aroused women were not without precedence in his life.
    “No, quite the opposite.”
    “I’m delighted to hear it,” he said.
    A brief flash of amusement shone in her eyes. “I’m hoping you delight