Little Red Writing by Lila DiPasqua Page B

bringing her mouth to his. “Later. Not now,” he murmured against her lips. “No confessions during sex. Just mutual pleasure.”
    “I am not a virgin,” she blurted out.
    He jerked his head up. Merde .
    “I’m not sure if you’ve guessed it or not, but I wanted to tell you just the same.”
    “Fine. Good. It doesn’t matter.” But the voice inside him screamed otherwise, more suspicions about Leduc rushing through his mind. He crushed his mouth to hers, desperate to drown them out with a fresh wave of lust.
    She cupped his face between her soft hands and pulled away again, her breathing as quickened as his own. “There’s been only one other man, and he never bestowed the pleasure you have. I wanted you to know the truth.” Then, she was back to kissing him, trailing hot wet kisses along his neck.
    Nicolas closed his eyes. And even though his prick was as stiff as wood and his body achingly aroused once more, his mind balked. Fuck . Not now! He wanted carnal gratification. He wanted her. Not thoughts about the man she’d been with and what that may mean. Not thoughts about what he’d have to do if she turned out to be Leduc. Or how she’d react if instead he had to bring one of her beloved sisters before the King.
    And especially— most especially —not the guilt over his lies.
    He wanted to lose himself in the sweet sensations of her mouth, her touch. He took her hand and brought it to his cock. Her fingers immediately curled around him and gave a little squeeze. The sound of bliss escaped his lips. But as hot pleasure rippled through him, his mind refused to quiet, growing more insistent. Getting louder. And louder.
    The next thing he knew, he was staring at her surprised expression; his hands were on her shoulders—and to his astonishment—he was holding her at arm’s length.
    Jésus-Christ , he’d just pushed her away.
    “I need a moment,” he tossed out, climbed off the bed, marched into the antechamber, and closed the doors.

Chapter Eight
    In the antechamber, fire crackled in the hearth, the sound mingling with Nicolas’s ragged breaths. Choking on his frustration and rage, he wanted to smash his fist against the wall. What the hell are you doing? What is the matter with you ? She’s so damned desirable . She is hungry for it . This is no time for a crisis of conscience!
    He couldn’t believe he was with a gorgeous woman. Naked. Painfully hard. And was actually hesitating to bed her.
    Something caught the corner of his eye. The fire from the hearth cast an orange light into the two rooms that stemmed from the one he was in. In one of those rooms, he could clearly see a small writing desk. Some books were on it. As was a crystal inkwell. The desk had several drawers.
    “Nicolas?” Anne’s voice grabbed his attention. She stood at the door, and to his disappointment, she’d placed her chemise back on. “Is everything all right?”
    No. Never, not ever in his life had he become discomposed—and certainly never during an intimate encounter. He was highly disciplined. Trained in combat. Skilled in weapons. And when he wasn’t working toward his next ambitious promotion, he was participating in his favorite pastime—recreational sex.
    He liked women. Loved a good tumble.
    He didn’t think he could be unraveled—by her or anyone. It horrified him that she had.
    Anne approached and, by her expectant expression, was awaiting his response.
    “I . . . uh . . .” Dieu , he was actually flustered . He gnashed his teeth.
    Something flickered in her eyes. “Say no more. I know what you’re after.”
    He tensed. “You do?”
    “Yes. It’s rather obvious.” The knowing look in her eyes made him uneasy.
    “It is?” It couldn’t be. How could she possibly know a thing about his mission?
    “Of course. It’s why you came in here.” She stepped between him and the rectangular wooden table in the middle of the room. “I know what you’re looking for.”
    His eyes narrowed. “And