“Whatever feels good for you,”Pippa had added,“is likely to feel good for him.”
Following her instincts now, Fiona reached up and wove her fingers through Hawk’s hair, enjoying the feel of the thick waves. He deepened the kiss, and the fire in her leapt higher. She kissed him back with equal fervor. He made a low sound in his throat, the demanding thrust of his tongue weakening her knees. When she stumbled, he swept her into his arms.
“Am I too heavy?” she asked breathlessly.
“You’re not as heavy as a computation engine.”
She laughed. “You do know how to flatter, my lord.”
“And you seem to have a low opinion of my physical abilities, my lady.” He lay her on the canopied bed, his eyes gleaming down at her. “You have conveyed your surprise at my prowess on several occasions.”
She took in the way his black dressing gown molded to his broad shoulders and lean hips.
“I do not doubt your physical prowess one bit,” she breathed.
“I plan to make certain of that tonight.” He nuzzled her ear. “Shall I dim the lights, my sweet?”
“And make me miss everything?” She furrowed her brow. “No, thank you.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. His lips curved in a slow, approving smile that made her heart thump with furious longing.
“I should have known we would be of one mind on this,” he murmured. “As we are with everything else.”
Then he was kissing her again. Slowly, deeply until she was gasping. Desperate for air and even more desperate for him. His lips meandered along her throat, and she clutched the coverlet, overwhelmed by the sensations he roused in her. How good he made her feel. How much more she needed. When he strung a necklace of kisses over her collarbones, she arched her back with a whimper.
He tugged on the belt of her robe, pushing it off her shoulders. Fi trembled as he raked a smoky gaze over her. In Mrs. Q’s dressing room, she had felt sophisticated trying on the long, sleeveless gown, graced with high slits on each side. Now, doubt assailed her as Hawk went completely still.
“Do you, um, like it?” she dared to ask. “I thought it was more interesting than the usual nightgown.”
“Interesting is one word for it,” he said thickly. “Christ, one look at you could set a man afire.”
Her confidence returned. Teasingly, she said, “I take it that is a good thing?”
“A very good thing.”
He traced a long finger along the vee of the negligee, which was filled with a triangle of golden lace. Her respiration quickened as his blunt fingertip neared the swell of her right breast.
“Did I ever tell you that you remind me of Sól?”
She had to force herself to focus. To pull her awareness away from his fingertip lazily circling toward the tip of her breast. The stiff bud was visible, jutting against the silk.
Recalling he’d mentioned something about a soul in the alleyway, she asked, “Whose soul?”
“Not soul—Sól. The name of a beautiful goddess from Norse mythology. She rides a chariot, pulling the sun across the sky and lighting up the heavens. At the same time, she is pursued by snarling wolves, which she manages to outrun.”
Flattered, Fi said, “She sounds very brave and bold.”
“Very bold,” he agreed.
Her breath stuck in her throat as his touch spiraled closer and closer to her throbbing peak. Her lower belly tightened; when he finally brushed his thumb over the aching point, the shock of bliss pushed a breath from her lips.
“Do you like that, Fiona? Like me touching you here?”
She bit her lip against a moan as he gently rolled her sensitive bud between finger and thumb. She wasn’t certain how to respond to the direct question. Would he think her brazen if she told him the truth? While Hawk had made it clear that he wanted a passionate marriage, she wasn’t sure exactlyhowpassionate she was supposed to be.
“It feels very…very nice,” she managed.
“I think I can do better than nice.”
