Douglas sat up, the sheet falling to below his waist, and began to unbraid her hair.
There was no fire in the grate, and the night was a temperate one, leaning toward cool. Why, then, was she so warm?
Because he was threading his fingers through her hair, pulling her head back. Because he was suddenly so close she could see his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Because his breath was coming as harsh and as fast as hers.
He spread her hair over her shoulders, draped it over her breasts, sitting back to admire his handiwork.
With a gentle touch, he pushed back her hair so that her breast was exposed, pale white and creamy in the light of the moon. One finger smoothed across the pebbled nipple.
“You said you wouldn’t touch me unless I asked,” she said, surprised to find the words nearly impossible to speak. Her heart was pounding so loudly it was all she could hear, and her body ached.
“The anticipation was too much,” he said, and smiled.
The night was not responsible for her wantonness. Nor was it the naked man beside her. Something within her decreed that she be wild and abandoned. She was suddenly and soberingly ashamed of herself.
“Shall I seduce you with words, Sarah? Tell you how utterly beautiful you look sitting there, a goddess of moonlight?”
“You needn’t lie,” she said stiffly.
“Oh, it wouldn’t be a lie,” he said. “In fact, it might be closer to the pure truth than anything I’ve ever said. I think, perhaps, that you don’t know your own strength, your own power. If you did, you would smile at me, coax me a little closer, promise me satisfaction with a glance or a sigh, then when I was just at the knife-edge of anticipation, you’d press your fingers against my lips and tell me no.”
“That sounds excessively cruel,” she said.
“What would you do, Lady Sarah, if you were a goddess of moonlight? If you had all the power of beauty and lust at your disposal? How would you use it?”
She should tell him to leave her alone, to go to sleep, to allow her to return to her cot, to her own chamber. Instead, she reached out and cupped his cheek with her left hand, and with the fingers of her right hand traced the outline of his lips. When that exploration was done, she allowed her fingers to trail up to his temple, then descend to his neck. He had a very strong, masculine-looking neck.
Her breasts felt heated, the nipple he touched bereft because he’d moved his fingers.
She leaned close to him and pressed her cheek against his. In this position, her lips were close to his ear. She could whisper to him and no one else in the entire world would hear or know.
What would she say?
For the longest moment, he didn’t move. His hands remained on top of the counterpane between them.With an acute sensitivity she’d never experienced, she seemed to know exactly when he began to move, exactly where his hands were, and exactly where she wanted them to be.
She expected him to place his hands on her breasts to cover her nipples with his palms, to trail his fingers over the swell and curve of each breast. Instead, his hands went to her shoulders and he pulled her back, staring into her face.
It was his turn to cup her face with his hands, and he did so gently, so slowly that she almost implored him to quicken his pace.
He lowered his mouth to hers, and for the first time, kissed her. Her mouth opened in a gasp of surprise. At first, the kiss was tender, as soft and delicate as the petals of a newborn rose. Then, startlingly, it grew heated until she was almost dizzy from it. Finally, the kiss was done, and she leaned against his shoulder, breathing quickly. His breath was as harsh as hers, the pulse beat at his throat so rapid that her fingers smoothed over his skin in an effort to calm him.
He leaned back and studied her. She sat up, her back straight, her chin raised, her attention directed on the far wall. Let him look his fill. She was not cowed by such behavior. She would not be intimidated by his earthiness.
“Perhaps it’s good you don’t know how exquisite you are,” he said softly. His hand cupped the heaviness of a breast, a thumb pressing delicately against a nipple that had grown shockingly sensitive to his touch. “You would have led the men in London a pretty chase, Lady Sarah.”
Even if she’d wanted to comment, Sarah doubtedshe had the capacity to speak the words. Her world was heated; her blood felt as if it were on fire.
With deft fingers, he smoothed her hair back over her shoulder until it tumbled down her back.
“What glorious hair you have,” he said. “Why do you insist on braiding it?”
“Because it would take me two hours to brush it free of tangles in the morning if I didn’t,” she said, grateful that her voice sounded nearly normal.
“But then I would have the pleasure of watching you brush your hair. Do you ever do so naked?”
She turned her head to look at him. “Of course not.”
“I’d like to see you in that pose,” he said.
