“You’re perfect,” he whispered, the words brushing against her skin, causing goose bumps to form. He ran his hand down the small of her back and cupped her backside, squeezing it gently.
Her fingers gripped his shoulders. “I thought I was an idle, pompous aristocrat.”
“You’re strong.” Without raising his head from her chest, he started to free the buttons along the back of her dress.
“Are you sure you don’t mean stubborn?” she asked, flinching at the sudden exposure to the cool air as her dress pooled around her waist.
“You’re witty.” He pushed her dress over her hips, and suddenly she was standing in front of him in nothing but her underclothes. She was tempted to cover herself with her hands, but he shook his head.
His stare was thirsty, roving, yet full of wonder.
“You said I was sarcastic,” she whispered.
“You’re intelligent.” The words came out half-strangled—the effect she was having on him that pointed.
“Not calculating?” she asked.
He shook his head, untied the laces of her stays and removed them.
Tentatively, she took a step toward him and undid the knot at his throat.
“Amelia,” he groaned. He swept her into his arms and settled her on the bed. He shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat, tossing them in a heap, and pulled his shirt over his head.
The first time she’d seen him half naked, she’d been barely conscious.
The second time she’d been curious, her body alert and tingling.
This time, the sight of his tanned skin, the ropes of muscle, the smattering of dark blond hair across his chest whipped up a blazing heat inside that writhed across her body, settling between her legs. Her body arched toward him. She wanted him here. With her. Now.
“Easy, princess,” he said as her fingers brushed his thigh. He tugged off his boots and flung them across the room where they hit the door to his bedroom with a thud. He undid the laces at his waist and pushed down his breeches in one move.
“Heavens.”
She wasn’t a complete innocent. She had seen some Greek statues. Butthis? This was something else entirely.
She swallowed, unsure how it would work. “I…uh…”
Her uncertainty must have been plain across her face because his manner shifted. Gone was the intense urgency, the wild abandon. What was fierce became gentle.
He climbed into bed next to her, tipping her chin so she was forced to meet his gaze. “Trust me.”
He curled his fingers around the hem of her shift, drawing it up, gradually exposing her. He bit his lip as he lifted it past her breasts and over her head.
The heady thrill of his expression overwhelmed any sense of shyness she felt.
He grazed his palm across the side of her rib cage and up. Up until his hand cupped her breast and his thumb circled her nipple, drawing a sharp gasp from her. It was the lightest, softest of movements, yet it rocked through her.
He bent his head and wrapped his mouth around her nipple, sucking gently, causing her feet to stretch and flex and her whole body to go taut.
“You’re so beautiful.”
What did one say to a man who was trailing his tongue down one’s bare chest?Thank you?
That felt overly formal.
He slipped his hand to the curls between her legs, and all thought of responding vanished. A pleasure drove through her, and she gasped, pulling away.
With a satisfied chuckle, he stretched out beside her, propped up on one elbow, a maddening smile on his face. “Trust me.” His fingers returned to her curls and found the soft, sensitive core of her. He stroked it, over and over. Each time pushing her higher and higher, though where they were going, she didn’t know.
