“I’m going to remove your stockings.”
Must you?She gritted her teeth to keep from saying the words. She already knew the answer. They had to be completely unclothed.
Luckily, Marcus didn’t expect an answer. He took her foot and placed his hands on either side of it before slowly moving them up her leg. She froze, too fearful to move until tiny tingles flew up her thighs where his hands stopped to roll her stocking down.
She let out her breath in a whoosh. The strange disappointment she felt that his hands had only gone so far didn’t make any sense.
When he cupped her other foot, she didn’t steel herself against his touch, but allowed herself to feel. This time, as his fingers touched her flesh, warmth travelled from that spot to the place between her thighs. She found herself taking shorter breaths.
The new sensations were pleasant, and she thought to contemplate them when Marcus put one hand on each ankle and ran them slowly upward. Now, with no stockings to stop him, her tingles turned to sharp stabs of excitement.
His hands continued past where they’d gone before, and she found herself holding her breath.
“You are so soft.” His eyes had closed as he felt her, the pleasure on his face enough to make her want to grant him anything.
Not sure what to say, she said nothing and his hands continued to the very spot she dreaded. All pleasurable feeling stopped, and cold, like that of the ice, filled her.
As if sensing her fear, he lifted his hands from her and brought them out from under her dress. “I’m acting like a randy boy instead of a man of much experience. Forgive me.”
He rose before she could respond and pulled her to stand in her bare feet. Cupping the back of her head, he stared into her eyes. “I am but a poor sailor listening to your siren call.”
“No.” The word came out on a breath, barely audible, so she cleared her throat. “No, you are the man I loved, I love, and that I will always love.”
Though he shook his head, he pulled her closer and kissed her. It started gently, but within seconds, his passion for her communicated itself, and she pressed herself against him, wanting to get closer, again feeling that there were too many clothes. She broke the kiss to move her hands to his shirt, only to find her dress loose about her shoulders. “What?” She grasped it to her chest to keep it from falling.
He gave her a sheepish grin. “They say idle hands will do the devil’s work, so I put them to good use.”
Holding her dress against her, she lifted her chin. “Then use them to work at removing your shirt, since you’ve made it impossible for me to do it for you without losing my dress.”
“No. I think you should do it.” He grinned as if he had won some battle of wills.
She would absolutely not allow that. They had to remove their clothing anyway, and she still had her stays and shift on. So without warning, she shrugged. “Very well.” And let go of her dress.
Marcus’s grin faded as his eyes seemed to darken to a charcoal gray. His look sent a shiver of anticipation through her.
Forgetting what she was about, she couldn’t stop watching his face as his gaze ran the length of her and came back to her eyes.
“You tease me.” His voice was almost a growl, sending sparks of anticipation skittering over her skin.
She wasn’t sure what he meant. What she was sure of was that she wanted to see him as much as he viewed her. Quickly, she unbuttoned his shirt again and rose up on her toes to push the sleeves back over his broad shoulders. As she continued to pull it down his arms, her gaze found a scar not far above his heartbeat. Instinctually, she kissed it.
“Elle.”
The soft-spoken endearment from years ago almost buckled her knees, and she found herself grasping his wrists instead of freeing them of the shirt. Titling her head, she looked into his love filled eyes, her own itching with tears.
He wriggled against her grip and she let go. In the next moment the shirt dropped and he held her against him, hugging her to him as if he couldn’t believe she was there.
She understood. Part of her felt as if it was all a dream. Thinking him dead for so many years, she still had difficulty truly believing he was hers. Or rather, not quite hers. But his nut and leather scent filled her nostrils, and his warm heart beat strongly beneath her cheek. He was very much alive and in her arms.
“Is that better?” His words were whispered against her neck.
She lifted her head from his bare shoulder. “What?”
He stepped back and her stays fell to the rug.
She widened her eyes before chuckling. “You, Lord Blackmore, are a trickster.”
“No, not a trickster. It is merely that I have great skill.”
