He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. ’ Melusine’s voice petered out. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. ’ ‘Was it yours?’ Insulted beyond bearing, Melusine lost her temper. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints.
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