“Not yet,” she told him, a sudden fit of nerves making her hand tremble on the latch.
Could she do this?
“My God.” He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it charmingly ruffled in his wake, the lack of perfection so at odds with the handsome symmetry of his face. “What a beast I am. I’ve torn your chemise. I’ll buy you a new one. Two. Three. Half a dozen. Hell, I’ll buy you a whole bloody chemise store.”
A chuckle escaped her. “I fear there is no such thing as a chemise store.”
“Wherever a lady makes such purchases,” he elaborated. “I’ll buy you an entire new wardrobe to replace them, at the establishment of your choosing.”
It wasn’t new chemises she wanted from him, although she did appreciate the proposal. Nor was it the small fortune he had offered her to be his mistress for a month.
“That is kind of you, but I’m not concerned about the garment just now.” She stepped back. “Would you care to join me?”
“I thought you’d never ask, kitten.” He crossed the threshold.
His light, teasing tone vanquished some of her nervousness. It wasn’t every day she propositioned a gentleman. Indeed, she had never done so, not in truth. The pretense of an affair with Waring had been his idea, the means of finally forcing Ammondale’s hand. But they had never even shared a kiss. Their friendship was strictly platonic, and although she harbored a deep sense of gratitude for his intervention on her behalf, she had never been even slightly tempted to invite him into her bed.
“It was most considerate of you to arrange for a bath to be brought up for me,” she said, moving back across the room toward the steaming tub. “But unfortunately, I need someone to wash my hair, and Green wasn’t able to assist me this evening.”
That was because Miranda had sent her away. But tonight, she was challenging Rhys at his own game, which meant she wasn’t opposed to a bit of subterfuge. And he didn’t need to know the full truth. No, Miranda fully intended to taunt him and tease him as he did to her this night.
She stopped before the mirror and began to pluck the pins from her hair, leaving them on a small silver tray. Miranda felt him approach, a frisson of awareness traveling up her spine to make her skin prickle.
And then he stood behind her, tall and golden-haired, dropping a kiss on the nape of her neck. “I would be more than happy to play lady’s maid for you. It’s the least I can do as atonement for being a ravenous monster earlier and tearing your chemise.”
As he spoke, his hand settled on her chest, in the space between the rent ends of her undergarment, directly over her bare flesh, his fingers splaying above her madly thudding heart. She swallowed hard at a rush of longing, allowing herself to lean into his solid frame. The undeniable prod of his cock against her made an answering ache pulse to life deep within her. If she had any lingering doubts, they were banished by the rightness she felt, his warmth and strength radiating into her.
“Thank you,” she said. “Your assistance is most appreciated.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, his face buried in the side of her throat now as he inhaled deeply. “I love your scent.”
She smiled, thinking that although she had added some scent to her throat that morning, it had likely dissipated. If she smelled of anything, it was likely the kitchens. But she wouldn’t argue, because she liked the way his mouth felt on her skin, openand seeking, as if each part of her was a wonder that required exploration.
Feeling bold, she reached for him, sifting her fingers through his hair. There was something intimate and deeply…cozy about him in her chamber, both of them in varying states of undress, his face buried in her throat. What a luxury it was, to have him here without allowing in any of the guilt that threatened, the worry, the fears.
“I have been thinking about your proposition,” she ventured, needing to get the words out before they proceeded.
He stilled, his head lifting though he remained as he was, one hand on her waist and the other flattened over her heart. His gaze met hers in the looking glass, his fingers dipping ever so slightly to slide inside her corset and curve around the slope of one bare breast. He brushed the edge of her nipple lightly once, twice.
“Oh?”
“Yes.” She wetted her lips, unable to keep from arching into his touch. “I have.”
His hand slid deeper, his thumb strumming over the sensitive peak. “And I hope that you have reached the only conclusion there is for you to reach.”
“I don’t want to be your mistress,” she blurted.
CHAPTER 15
Rhys stilled. “You don’t?”
“No.” She shook her head slowly, then rested it against his chest, relaxing into him even further. “I want to be your lover.”
“Silly.” He kissed the shell of her ear, still holding her gaze. “You can be both.”
“Not whilst maintaining my self-respect,” she protested firmly. “I don’t want ten thousand pounds. I don’t want to be your kept woman. All I want is to be your lover. For the next month and no more.”
There. She had said it. Now that the words had left her, the last of her trepidation slid away as well, replaced by desire as he swirled his touch over her breast, somehow finding the space within her loosened corset to further torment her.
