‘Can’t you trust me a little?’ His touch sent shivers running through her, but Melusine did not withdraw her hand. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. “Not like it’s your fault if you wake up one day and decide you hanker for a nice piece of ass, a ten-minute tumble. ” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. ’ ‘Parbleu, but I find you excessively rude,’ she snapped, marching to meet him. ’ Shock spread across her lovely features.
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