The Virgin Proxy by Georgia Fox

her and know every inch, inside and out.
    “That would do neither of us any good. My lord.”
    He forgot, for a moment, that he knew what was best for everyone. “Why not?”
    “Because I will never be your leman. Looking at me will only frustrate you, because you cannot have me.” She sighed. “It would be cruel to tempt you. Poor man.”
    He would have thought she was serious, if not for the poor man . This wench felt no sympathy for him and he knew it.
    “Cannot have you?” he growled.
    “I would not let you put your over-used, pompous Norman prick in me if you paid me a thousand silver pieces. Your wife told you how much I despise your kind, did she not?”
    It seemed the wine had increased her bold mouthiness. “You’re making me angry, woman.”
    “Because you want me and cannot have me? Just like a spoiled little boy.”
    Still she kept up the pretense, as if she was not the wild cat in his bed last night. Saucy chit! Desire filled his veins, pushed him upright from that lounging pose. “I only want to look at you. You assume I cannot control myself, wench—that your body is so exquisite I will fall upon you and ravage you like one of my marauding Viking ancestors?”
    She laughed suddenly. “I am almost tempted to challenge you to a wager. It must be your Norman wine.”
    Aha! A softening in her demeanor. She was growing at ease with him. For a woman she was curiously brave and he’d noted it before with frustration. Now he found himself admiring her for more than her body and her pretty face. “You like wagers, Saxon wench?”
    She nodded, eyes shining.
    “And you think I cannot resist laying hands on you if you stand naked before me? Very well, let me prove it.”
    “What will you give me if I win?”
    He grinned.
    “Not that,” she said crisply.
    “Either way you win, don’t you, wench?” he purred.
    “I do?”
    “I’ve never yet met a woman who would object to my hands on her naked body.”
    While he expected her to pout and act prim again, she simply laughed. “You are the most arrogant man I ever met.” Then she paused. “But I suppose I can show you one breast. That is all.” She shook her finger at him. “You must not touch.”
    The wench was teasing, enjoying the sense of control she had because of his lust for her. But she was also heated under her skin, rapidly becoming mischievous. He saw the slight quiver in her lower lip, watched her pupils expand, darkening her beautiful brown eyes until they were almost black. He’d let her blame it on the wine, if that made her feel better; if she must pretend not to feel the flames of desire licking between them.
    He glanced over her head then and saw Thierry standing behind her, watching intently. Carried away himself he’d almost forgotten his friend’s presence.
    He lay back again. “Both tits. And I wager you one horse that I don’t touch you.an s
    “A horse?” she sputtered.
    “That’s right, wench. I’ll give you a horse, if I give in to temptation.” He didn’t tell her she would only ride it in his presence, even if she won; under no circumstances would he let her leave his gates without him.
    She agreed to the wager for a horse, spitting on her hand and holding it out. Amused again, he slowly took her hand and shook it. If he gripped harder, he could have tumbled her to the floor, but for now he enjoyed her playful mood.
    His balls ached. He stroked himself with one hand and she looked down. “No touching!”
    “No touching you,” he corrected. “I said nothing about touching myself.” He cupped his balls defiantly and she rolled her eyes. Sweeping her hair back, she slid her shift down over her shoulders.
    He swallowed, staring. Those were the breasts he’d pressed to his chest last night when he filled her with his cock the first time. Did she truly imagine he wouldn’t know her body from any other? It was almost insulting, this ignorance she attributed to him. He closed his hand around the root of his shaft