He steeled himself for what came next, but it didn’t help as she rolled his nipples. There was something far too erotic with standing still and letting her do as she pleased. But as her fingers trailed downward over his abdomen, he caught her wrists. “I did not take such liberties of you.”
She looked away a moment. He could almost imagine her thoughts, thinking of a way around the parameters he’d set, which were essentially none until now. She returned her gaze to him. “If I allow you to reciprocate, may I continue?”
His erection jerked, and he barely stifled a groan. He played with fire and if he wasn’t careful, they’d both go up in flames. But even as he wrestled with his morals, his body refused to listen to reason. “Agreed.” He released her hands to see if she would indeed go farther.
She held them before her, not moving, except her gaze, which ran down his chest to his pelvis. Finally, coming to some kind of decision, she placed her hands on his abdomen, smoothing them over the ripples of his stomach. Her touch was not light, nor was it hard. It was as if she stroked a lion, wanting to caress but not wanting to be turned upon.
As her hands moved lower, he held his breath, still not believing she would actually handle him, still hoping her maiden shyness would rear up, but his hopes were dashed as one hand grasped him. He let out his breath in a quiet whoosh and closed his eyes. Her touch was curious as her hand moved from his base to his tip in innocence. When she gave his head the same inspection she’d given his shoulders, he gritted his teeth. The pleasure-pain of holding back was strong.
Just when he thought he’d have to stop her, she stepped away.
“I do not think you are a typical man.”
At her words, he snapped his eyes open, his curiosity as aroused as his body. Despite that, he could only manage one word. “Why?”
She turned away and strode back toward her easel, though he hadn’t missed her flushed appearance. Pleased that she had been affected by touching him, he grabbed the shawl and wrapped it about his hips, but he was far too sensitized and pulled it off.
Glancing her way, he found her painting. His heart still raced from their intimate encounter, and she was painting? Needing to cool off, he contemplated going outside, but after her reaction to him being wet, he simply strode to where his cloak hung and stood against it. It was the only item of clothing that still held the cold and damp, since the others were quickly drying by the fire, where he’d left them.
He imagined the icy puddles he’d fallen in on the way to Thornwood. Then he thought of his mother and her frail grasp of her new life. Finally, he thought of Lady Garmoyle as she grinned in what she thought was her most triumphant moment. Each vision helped him relax as long as he didn’t look at Amelia. When he had himself somewhat under control, he strode to the fire where he pulled on his pantaloons and quickly buttoned the placket.
Turning back to see what his betrothed did, he found her still painting, as if inspired. That hadn’t been what he’d expected from allowing her to touch him. Doubt crept in that perhaps her flush was not because she felt sexual excitement when she’d touched him, but artistic excitement. Scowling at the possibility, he stealthily slipped behind her to see what she worked on. Any hurt ego evaporated as he stared at the painting.
She’d replicated him on canvas, not just a perfect copy, but with his personality somehow coming through. He shook his head. That was impossible, but the more he stared, the more convinced he became. She had his full naked body exactly as he was, including the small birthmarks on his left forearm and thigh. She even painted the scar on his shin from when he’d fallen down the garden steps at the age of five. And unlike the classic statues of ancient Greece and Rome, she’d painted him in full arousal.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she started as if she’d forgotten he was in the room. “That’s me.” It was probably the weakest thing he could have said.
“I know.” She looked back at him with a beaming smile. “It’s you, not just your appearance, but who you are. I captured you. At least, I think I did.”
His chest tightened. She’d captured him more than she knew. “You did. It’s not just like looking in a mirror, it’s like knowing that’s me, the person.”
She nodded, her gaze softening. “You bring out the best of my skill.”
As he looked into her eyes, he felt it. A mystic moment, far beyond the skill of any man or woman. Gently, he turned her to face him and cupped her cheek with one hand. “You are mystic.”
Her eyes widened briefly before her smile of agreement lit her face, and he kissed her.
He let his love lead the kiss, gently inviting her to melt into him, to be of one heart.
As she did, the paintbrush fell to the floor and her arms wrapped around his neck. She pressed herself against him, her breasts in her fine cotton dress heating his bare chest even as her mouth melded to his.
Somehow, she had become the center of his life. Now, he wanted to be the center of hers. Holding her close as he teased her tongue, he stepped back, bringing her with him until his calves hit the settee. His hand found the ties at the back of her calamine blue dress and loosened them. She wore her stays and shift beneath, but he didn’t let it deter him. Bringing her pleasure beyond anything she’d ever known was his goal and he’d not be thwarted.
Chapter Seventeen
Amelia didn’t knowif the feelings flowing through her were triumph or desire. Andrew was more than she’d expected and what he made her feel both excited her and scared her, but she was beyond caring now. She’d achieved success and now she wanted to celebrate…with him, the man who had made her dream come true.
At the loosening of her garment, she grew anxious to remove it and broke their kiss. His eyes seemed to shimmer with gold, his gaze filled with desire. Her heart hitched at his intensity and her body warmed, her skin too sensitive now to bear the weight of her dress any longer. “Off.” It was the only word she could form as she lifted her arms in the air.
As if intuitively understanding, he pulled her dress over her head and removed her stays, leaving her in her shift as he laid the garments carefully over the wingback chair nearby. When he turned back to her, his gaze swept over her and his pantaloons revealed a bulge.
The feelings inside her were chaotic, bumping into each other like marbles in a glass bowl. Caring, desire, fear, triumph, excitement, happiness, all collided against each other. Yet as she searched her heart, the pillow that laid them all to rest was trust. She trusted Andrew. He would keep her safe.
He moved forward, reminding her of the lion she had yet to add to the painting, but she wasn’t afraid. His gaze met hers and a secret smile played about his lips. “I can bring you pure bliss if you will allow it.”
His request melted any concerns lingering in the back of her mind, and her nipples tightened as if they knew they were meant for him. Now, she wanted him to feel her, all of her this time. The realization was strange, but true. He was her muse and would soon be her husband. That thought didn’t strike fear into her anymore. Now…now she found herself anxious to have him for always. As if all worries had been lifted from her, she smiled shyly. “I would like that very much.”
He stepped up to her, taking her hand and guiding her to the settee. As they sat, he whispered in her ear. “I will make you feel wonder and ecstasy.”
