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He put his hands on his shoulders. “I knew this would be torture for me, but I couldn’t resist. But the more I taste of your skin and the more I touch you, the more I want. I told you I wouldn’t take your virginity, and I sure as hell won’t do it on a table in a pub.” He slid one of the shoulder straps of the corset up, and she pulled the top over her breasts.
“And if I want you to take it?” she asked, pulling at her chemise and not looking at him.
He tilted her face up to his. “Then you’d better reconsider. I can take precautions, but there’s no sure way to prevent a babe.”
“And you’re not the sort of man who marries.”
“Even if you wanted to marry me—which you don’t—what kind of match would it be? I’m a thief and you—” He seemed to have no words for her. “I’ve never known a woman like you,” he finally said.
She tightened her laces. “I’m nothing but a secretary. And you are much more than a thief. I believe we make our own destinies.”
“Said by someone who had the privilege of making hers.”
She looked up at him sharply, and whatever he saw in her eyes made him step back. “All I mean is that I’m an Irish bastard. I came from nothing, and I have nothing. I’ll always be nothing.”
She grabbed his hand before he could walk away. “You aren’t nothing to me.”
“Sure and I’ll prove you wrong before this is over.”
