‘Finished whoring for the night, have you? Come to offer me terms for your surrender?’ he demanded, his gaze lingering insolently on the swell of her breasts as she unhitched her cloak and threw it across the low table. Even dressed as a highwayman, the promise of her easy body aroused him intolerably, a fact which ought to have infuriated Trajan but left him eager instead to break free of his captivity and discover how willing she was to dance with the devil. However, it would not do to rush his planned escape bid. She still held that damned pistol, for a start, as did her man below, and although he felt certain she would not shoot, he had no wish to risk sporting some unsightly hole in his chest. ‘My surrender, sir? The boot, I suggest you’ll find, is on the other foot.’ ‘You expect me to surrender?’ he replied with a question, ironically indicating his bonds. ‘I would gladly accommodate you, my charming harlot, but alas, you have me at a disadvantage.’ ‘I am no harlot, sir.’ ‘Indeed?’ Trajan made his contemptuous disbelief apparent in that one pointed word, but shrugged.
