Max blinked, his eye peering through the small chasm into what remained an empty room.
Caroline’s hands gripped his wrists now and he wasn’t sure if she did it for balance or to keep him from stopping.
He desperately hoped the latter, and desperation wasn’t a feeling he was used to.
“You like that?” he asked.
“Yessss.”
Holding her like this, Max would learn all her secrets.
Only… this woman didn’t really keep secrets. She was precisely who she showed the world. She was, in fact, the same woman who’d chased down her dog in the park. Open and honest. Intelligent and determined.
Opinionated.
Exasperating.
Stubborn.
Max nudged her bodice using his chin and then nipped her shoulder.
She squeezed his wrists tighter.
“Oh, I like that.” Her voice came out a little garbled-sounding. “I like almost everything you do.”
“Not everything?”
“I don’t like when you’re grumpy.”
Max chuckled under his breath. He didn’t like himself when he was grumpy, either. “What else?”
“I like calling you my lord, but that annoys you.”
“You can call me whatever you want.”
He pinched the tight buds, not hard, but enough to make her squirm. What would they feel like in his mouth? His heart raced.
He couldn’t tear her bodice like he wanted. Any moment he might have to catch a criminal.
And eventually, she’d have to return to her mother’s house.
So instead he fisted the material of her skirts, gathering, gathering… until he could feel her stockings.
“Are they blue?” He very nearly groaned.
“Yes,” she didn’t hesitate to tell him. No, this amazing woman shifted, widening her stance.
His hand caressed the sensual garment, over the little ridge they made, around the curve of her thigh.
“Silk.” Max breathed the word.
“It makes the best stockings.”
“Not the fabric, your skin.” He traced his fingertips along the top of the material, rationalizing away all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this. He brushed his hand over her center, finding it wet with her arousal.
“I like… that.” Her voice sounded in the darkness.
“I know.”
