“Of all the names that could have come to me,” she said. “Buttons. Boots. Even Pocket would have been better. But no. I had to blurt out Breeches. Do you want to know why?” “I don’t know how you expect me to give a damn right now.” He’d moved on to memorizing every contour of her thighs. “Because that’s where I’d been looking at the moment, you see. At breeches. More accurately, your breeches. Admiring how you . . .” She cleared her throat. “. . . filled them.” He lifted his head. Now he gave a damn. “Admiring,” he echoed in disbelief. “Yes. Perhaps even lusting.” That settled it. None of this
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