She is good. Now what am I to do?
“I didn’t come here with the intention of discussing money,” he replied.
Having slept with a client before the financial side of things had been finalized made things beyond awkward. Not that he made a habit of involving himself in sexual relationships with his customers. The majority of his clients were men, so the situation rarely presented itself. He was sailing into uncharted waters.
How on earth am I ever going to ask her for money? I wish her brother was back in town. Then again, no I don’t. He would start asking questions.
Questions which Stephen was in no mood to either entertain or answer. Besides, if Tristan Linton settled the account, he would have few valid reasons to call on the luscious widow. That wouldn’t do. She was badly in need of his further instruction.
Bridget closed the distance between. A pair of sweet, teasing eyes met his. “If you didn’t come for money, then what else could it be? Don’t tell me you left a handkerchief behind.”
Her sultry voice had his manhood standing stiffly to attention. As long as he lived, the memory of Bridget crying out his name as she climaxed wouldn’t ever leave him. He swallowed deeply, struggling to maintain the last vestiges of his self-control. “You were gone when I woke this morning. I came to tell you that . . .”
Her fingers brushed against the front of his trousers, back and forth.
For heaven’s sake, woman, take me in hand.
“Tell me what? That I was a naughty girl who should have ridden you again? You were sleeping so soundly, I reasoned I had tired you out.”
Have mercy on me, woman.
“I have tickets for the opera for tonight. A private box. I thought you and I could spend an evening together,” he replied.
Are you insane? Where did that come from?
Her hand settled on his crotch. “I love the opera. But that doesn’t solve the problem of me owing you money. I don’t want to feel like I am indebted to you. It might create expectations, especially in the back of your private box.”
She squeezed his cock, and Stephen’s breath grew ragged.
“If you come to the theater, then you won’t owe me anything. The price of my final bill is your time,” he replied.
And your fingers stroking me.
“Which opera are we going to see?” she asked.
I haven’t the foggiest. It is going to take all afternoon just to find an opera box that is available.
To his relief and frustration, she released her hold on him. Mischief danced in her eyes. His gaze settled on her soft, pink lips. He would never get enough of them.
Stephen traced the tip of one finger across Bridget’s collarbone before bending and placing a soft kiss on her skin. “Does it really matter?”
She flicked open the top button of his trousers and slipped a hand inside. Her fingers wrapped tightly around his erect manhood. “I suppose not.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bridget was a fan of opera and had spent many an enjoyable evening listening to the wonderful music of such greats as Cavalli and Mozart. It didn’t take long, however, for her to realize that Stephen didn’t share her passion for the music.
The curtains had barely opened on the stage before his hand was on her knee. She kept her gaze fixed on the performers, while he slowly pulled up her skirt.
Stephen leaned over and whispered in Bridget’s ear, “Have you ever had sex at the opera?”
Heat raced up her neck. The mere thought of it had her cheeks turning to flames.
“No. I have had moments of great emotional connection but not actually become aroused,” she replied.
Please. Touch me. Do what you did with your tongue this afternoon.
Her gaze drifted from the stage to Stephen as he moved forward in his seat. He dropped to his knees on the floor, which considering his height and size was no small feat.
