“Since you are still awake, you may as well play valet for me.” His brooding gaze was still upon her lips. “Help me with my shirt, will you?”
She swallowed. “You seem more than capable of disrobing yourself.”
“Perhaps.” His dark stare flicked back to hers, searing. “Or perhaps I merely want your hands on me.”
Her heart pounded. “I do not want to play games with you. The hour is late.”
“Who said anything about games?” His eyes lowered, settling upon her breasts. “Why the devil are you buttoned to the neck?”
She fidgeted with her night rail, acutely aware of his nearness and knowing gaze. “Why should you care, my lord?”
“Sin.”
He was only saying his name, and she knew it, but she could not seem to quell the effect that wicked word, spoken in his deep voice, had upon her. “I prefermy lord.”
“You even sound like a bloody governess,” he said, pushing away from the bed and sauntering toward her.
She stifled the instinctive urge to move backward and maintain the distance between them. “What is wrong with governesses?”
“Not a cursed thing.” His hands settled on her waist, and he yanked her into his tall, hard body. “Except when you frown at me and you get all proper and stubborn and you are wearing that virginal white nightdress, it makes me want to do wicked things to you.”
Wicked things.
Her hands settled on his chest, but she could not, for the life of her, make herself push him away. What if shewantedhim to do those wicked things to her? His warmth and sculpted muscle were deliciously tempting with only the thin layer of his shirt to keep her from touching his bare flesh. His scent invaded her senses: citrus, musk, and the faintest hint of spirits.
“What wicked things?” she dared to ask, though she knew it was a dangerous question to pose at this time of night when she was alone with her new husband and he was watching her as she imagined a predator did his prey.
The grin he gave her did strange things to her insides. “Help me with my shirt like a good little wife, and mayhap I will show you.”
“I am not your valet,” she protested weakly.
But something—some part of her that was entirely foreign and previously unknown—made her want to pull each button from its mooring. Made her want to divest him of his shirt.
Made her want to kiss him.
Oh dear.
“But youaremy wife now.” The hands on her waist caressed, then slid to her bottom.
Filling his hands with her, he pulled her more firmly against him. She could feel the thick ridge of his manhood against her belly. An answering surge of molten heat pooled in her core.
“What are you doing?” she asked, irritated with herself for the breathlessness in her own voice and the way she could not seem to control her reaction to him.
“Persuading you to undress me,” he said, and then his mouth was upon hers.
Chapter Fifteen
I am a wicked, sinful man, dear reader. A man you should never, ever trust.
~fromConfessions of a Sinful Earl
Her lips wereso soft and giving and warm beneath his. Her rump was two delicious handfuls. Her curves melted into him.
Kissing her should not feel so good.
Sin had been determined to avoid his new wife for the entirety of the day. Decker’s taunts had kept him from returning. Instead, he had spent his time dining, drinking, and playing billiards with his old friend. Keeping himself from returning to his wife’s side like a well-trained mongrel.
Hewasa mongrel.
