He was frowning, studying her face as if it possessed the answer to a complex mystery. Now, he was the one who was thinking, and she wondered what thoughts were roiling through his capable mind, causing his brow to furrow.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That I don’t ever remember wanting to kiss a woman as badly as I want to kiss you right now.”
His low, raw confession chased the last of her doubts, filling her with inexorable warmth.
“Then kiss me,” she whispered.
* * *
She didn’t haveto tell him twice.
Torrie took Bess’s lips with his.
And they were silken and full and hot. She responded instantly, tentatively at first and then with greater confidence. He gathered her in his arms, their bodies flush, all her sweet curves melding against him. His cock was painfully hard, and although he’d been doing everything in his power to proceed slowly, he wanted her so desperately that he feared an unhurried seduction would be impossible.
Because now that she was kissing him, the threads of his restraint were fraying fast. Her mouth beneath his felt so very right, her hands on his chest perfection as they glided over his banyan to curl around his neck. She clung to him, her breasts spilling into him, her nipples tight little points he could feel through the thin barrier of his robe. He wanted to lift the hem of her night rail, to carry her to the bed, to bury himself inside her.
He wanted to mark her, take her, make her his.
All the need was boiling inside him, threatening to spill over before they’d even begun. And she was a virgin. God.
He tore his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged and harsh. “You must tell me, Bess, if I proceed with too much haste. Tell me what you like, what, if anything, you don’t like.”
“I’ll try,” she murmured, her breathing as affected as his. “I’ve never…this is all so new for me.”
“We’ll learn together, learn each other.” He kissed the tip of her nose where it turned up. It was positively endearing. The more he looked at her, the more he found to admire.
Kidnapping her that night was gradually proving to be the best mistake he’d ever made.
“Together,” she echoed. “Yes.”
He kissed her temple, her cheek, holding still as he inhaled deeply, drinking in her scent. “Come to the bed with me,” he breathed into her ear.
Without waiting for her response, he withdrew, taking her hands in his. He linked their fingers, before pulling her across the chamber to where her bed beckoned. When they reached the mattress, he drew her against him again, releasing her to cup her nape beneath her unbound hair.
Angling his head, he kissed her again. Slowly, deeply. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened with a sigh, her fingers clenching on the silk of his banyan. He licked into her mouth, and she followed his lead, her tongue sliding against his, wringing a moan from him.
How strange and yet how perfect it was, this kiss, her surrender. The supple give of her body curving into his. He was going to pleasure her until she was wet and breathless and desperate, and then he was going to sink inside her slowly, carefully, and join their bodies just as they were joined in marriage.
He kissed her and kissed her, allowing her to grow accustomed to him. Familiarizing himself with her responses. When he increased the pressure of his mouth on hers, she made a small, needy sound deep in her throat, her breasts rubbing against him in a way that made his cockstand even more painfully rigid. But he had to try to control himself.
He would make the night, their lovemaking, about her.
With his other hand, he allowed himself to explore her body, the only barrier between them her thin night rail. She was soft and warm and lovely. He found the full curve of her hip, the swell of her bottom. His fingertips flexed on the softness with a mind of their own, and as he kissed her, he urged her body more fully against his, so that his cock was prodding her belly.
Not enough, every part of him screamed. He needed bare skin. Needed her out of her night rail, naked and flushed and ready for him. She was wearing far too much fabric. Inwardly, he cursed the white linen keeping him from what he wanted, the high collar thwarting him from creamy curves.
He took his lips from hers, his breathing more ragged than before, his fingers tangling in the well-worn billow of her night rail. “May I take this off you?”
Her eyes, which had been closed, fluttered open, reminding him of how many hues were hidden within their brown-gold depths.
“My night rail?” she asked, eyes widening farther.
Had she imagined she would remain fully clothed while he bedded her?
“Yes,” he told her gently. “I want to see you, all of you. Touch you, kiss you.”
