She turned so the buttons that ran down her spine faced him. “Please remove it.”
She held her breath as his big hands caressed her shoulders first. But that same breath gasped out when he leaned in and touched his lips to the side of her throat.
“This isn’t going to be quick, Mrs. Wilde,” he assured her between kisses that tasted her skin. “It isn’t going to be perfunctory.”
She shuddered and leaned back against his chest. “What will it be then?”
He lifted his fingers to the top button of her gown and unfastened it, letting his fingers slide into the gap he’d created.
“A night to remember,” he vowed. “For both of us.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. The idea of a night to remember, a night just for her, a wicked thing she could recall at her darkest and loneliest hours…
Oh, she would take that.
He parted three more buttons, and now there was a significant opening in her dress. She blushed as she realized just how worn out her chemise beneath was. Her grandfather refused to allow her to buy new things anymore. Her punishment for her “bad decisions”, along with a great many other punishments.
But Mr. Gray said nothing about it, just leaned down to sweep the tip of his tongue on the flesh just above the torn lace of the undergarment.
“You taste as sweet as you smell,” he whispered. “I wonder if that is true everywhere?”
She wasn’t quite certain what he meant, but the low, seductive tone of his voice was undeniable. When he unhooked her last button, she let out a long sigh and he chuckled.
“You sound as though you’ve been waiting for that for a long time.”
She stared straight ahead, pondering her response. If he was correct that this was a stolen night out of time, that it was an alignment of wicked stars which had forced them to this moment, wasn’t it her duty to be honest?
“I have been waiting for that since the moment you approached me in the hall downstairs,” she admitted, feeling blood heat her cheeks. “Since the first moment my body betrayed me by making me ache for you, by letting me know how much I wanted you.”
He said nothing, but placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly turned her to face him. He searched her gaze for what felt like an eternity, and then said, “I wanted you from the first moment you stepped into the inn. Desire is something I have tried to stifle for a long time. But now we’ll both have what we need at last.”
She nodded, though she wondered what he meant by his statement that he had stifled his needs for a long time. The question left her mind when he tugged on her dress and it fell forward around her waist.
Heat flooded her cheeks as he shimmied the fabric away until it pooled at her feet. Then he stared. Juststaredat her.
“You are truly lovely,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to her.
He reached up and threaded his fingers into her hair, plucking away the pins Gertrude had so meticulously placed there hours before. Her locks fell around her shoulders, covering her partially, and he smiled as he glided them back to look at her again.
“Much better,” he drawled.
“And what about you?” Rosalinde asked, her hands shaking as she lifted them. “Wouldn’t you like to be more comfortable as well?”
He chuckled, but didn’t argue as she slid her hands beneath his jacket. She hissed out pleasure at the body heat she found trapped there and the muscles that were present beneath his shirt. If she was going to be wicked and take a lover, she had certainly been gifted with a remarkable specimen of a man. Whatever fairy godmother had placed her on this path, Rosalinde intended to write her a long note of gratitude the moment she had time.
With a shiver, she shoved his jacket away, letting it fall to the floor in a pile with her discarded dress. She met his eyes as she began to unbutton his shirt and his gaze lit with unadulterated desire. He wanted her. Truly. It was a thrilling prospect to inspire such a feeling in a man such as this.
And she intended to savor every moment.
She parted his shirt and took in a harsh breath. “Oh my God,” she murmured as she dragged her fingers across his chest.
Martin had been soft, a gentleman who never went outside unless required by some kind of royal edict. This man, though,thisman was made of stone. Beautifully carved stone that only masqueraded as warm, living flesh.
It made her wonder, briefly, just who he was outside of these walls. Was her Mr. Gray a highly educated laborer? A handsome farmer? A man so far removed from her sphere that her grandfather would ban her from his house for life if he found out she’d stooped so low? Again.
She pushed the unpleasant thoughts from her head and focused instead on the man in front of her. She stroked his chest, shivering as his muscles rippled beneath her fingers.
Slowly, he lifted his hands and removed his shirt on his own. She glanced up to find his gaze focused on her face. She blushed.
