She had not even reached for her hairbrush before Rob was suddenly standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he waited for her invitation to enter. “May I?” he asked.
Had she not been inviting him all day long with her moon-eyed looks?
She nodded. “I left the door open hoping you would.”
He strode in and shut it behind him.
“Let me help you,” he said in a soft, melt-your-soul, seductive voice that filled her with anticipation.
She gulped.
The air between them suddenly turned incendiary because of those fiery looks he was tossing at her. All at once, she could not breathe.
Nor could he, it seemed.
“Fiona,” he said in an aching whisper as he approached, stopping inches from her to stare at her with her hair down and her gown loosened so that one sleeve slipped off her shoulder. He smiled and gently ran his fingers through her curls. “Silky.”
She wanted to laugh. Her locks had always been too wild for Shoreham’s liking.
She shoved the wayward curls back with her fingers, and hadn’t the time to reply before he kissed her lightly on the one bare shoulder and then drew her into his arms.
Was this really about to happen?
“Fiona,” he repeated, crushing his mouth down on hers. She felt the white-hot press of his lips capturing hers and swallowing her up in a scorching kiss. Pure fire. Every inch of her was now singed.
There were different levels of fire—everyone knew this. Blue being the coolest flame, then red, then blinding white, like a flash of lightning that strikes in an instant and burns you to ashes.
Thiswas his level of heat.
Oh, his mouth felt so good on hers. Crushing. Demanding. Possessive.
But also achingly tender.
Her body combusted as her bosom came into contact with the hard wall of his chest and her hip grazed his thigh. Her blood turned molten and flowed like lava through her veins.
This fiery explosion was to be expected because they had been together all afternoon and into the night, two unlit powder kegs of repressed desire. It took only one of them to set the other off.
He worked the lacings of her gown while consuming her with this first kiss, his fingers nimble despite the quivering urgency both of them were feeling.
She just wanted to rip the clothes off him.
“Slow down, Fiona.” He laughed and then kissed her deeply again, as though reaching for her soul.
He moved her backward to the bed without breaking contact with her mouth. No doubt he had done this before, for he was quite smooth going about it.
She tugged at his shirt, attempting to pull it over his massive shoulders, but this caused them to stumble onto the mattress instead and awkwardly end the kiss. He had to catch himself and roll to the side before he fell atop her.
First he laughed, and then he groaned. Such an aching groan. “I wanted to take it slow with you, Fiona.”
“I know. Much appreciated but completely unnecessary.” She was still trying to peel his shirt of him.
“I’ll do it.” He gave another agonized laugh before shedding it with a quick and careless masculine movement that involved flexing muscles and straining sinews.
Oh. Dear. Heaven.
“Your gown next.” He kissed her neck as his fingers worked the last of her lacings and set off little fires in her body.
Magic fingers. He always did have glorious hands.
