The Proposition by Judith Ivory
By Judith Ivory
No guy, gentleman or in a different way, has ever checked out woman Edwina Bollash the way in which the brash, good-looking guy status earlier than her is doing now. Edwina has accredited the problem to remodel incorrigible Mick Tremore right into a gentleman in precisely six weeks. And even though the linguist is certain she will be able to upward thrust to the duty, she is not in any respect convinced she will not swoon less than his frankly sensuous gaze prior to her activity is done.Mick has lived open air of London society lengthy sufficient to understand that appearances might be deceiving. Edwina may glance all buttoned up-the ideal English lady-but there's unleashed ardour current slightly below her placid facade (not to say an excellent pair of legs!). And as she prepares him to take his position in society, Mick prepares Edwina to take her position in his heart...and in his mattress.
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Additional info for The Proposition
The baroness walked around him to put herself in his way again. Lowering her hand, folding it into her other, she eyed him then smiled. "That was quite a feat, sir. The way you leaped and captured that mouse. " Mick glanced at her, knowing she wasn't impressed with mice or heroism or anything very noble. She said, "You should have a prize. " He stopped. He was a workingman with a lot of family back home who counted on him, so a prize interested him, especially a monetary one. The way her smile sort of softened when she got his attention, though, told him they weren't talking about money.
My name is Bollash, Miss Edwina Bollash. And I merely want to study your speech, do a palatographic, perhaps make a gramophone recording. So if you are interested in—" "Excuse me," said a voice to the side. " She turned to find that the two gentleman brothers had not dispersed with the rest. The slightly shorter one, the one who was generous with his billfold, was addressing her. "I know of no other," she answered. He shot his near-duplicate a smug look, then held out his hand by way of introduction.
He lay there, caught in his own admiration. She was on her toes, dancing a little, nervous, the long muscles of her legs flexing beneath pink stockings with a hole at the knee. Long. Hell, long wasn't the word for these legs. They went for yards and yards—she had to be a tall one, this one. And shapely—her legs were poetry. Balance, muscle, motion. They gave new meaning to fine. Now, normally, Mick was a polite man. He would've protected a woman caught off guard by turning his head. Or at least he thought maybe he would've.