“It’s me.”
The breath whooshed out of her. She stood and looked quickly around the room. She took a blanket from the reading chair and threw it over the pile of clothes. She gathered her papers—haphazardly strewn over the dressing table—and smooshed them into a stack. On her way to the door, she knocked her trunk closed with her foot and adjusted the neckline of her shirt.
Taking a deep breath, trying to calm the flutterings of her stomach, she opened the door.
Edward had an arm on either side of the doorframe. He loomed forward, over six feet of powerful, duke-ish energy that radiated from him making her knees weaken and her breath come in short, shallow gasps.
His hair was damp and tousled, as though he’d run his hands through it over and over before coming to her. He wore no coat, no waistcoat, no cravat. Instead, his shirt hung open at the neck, revealing the sharp edge of his collarbone and a smattering of dark hair that led down, beyond the edge of the fabric to where her mind strayed. A hot flush crept up her neck.
“I want you,” he said and the words sent pleasure coursing through her. “I want you so much I cannot think of anything but you. I cannot bathe without going hard at the thought of you wet beneath me. I cannot work without wanting to clear the desk and take you upon it. I cannot go to bed because of all the things I want to do to you in it.”
“Oh…” The intimate place between her legs began to tingle and heat at his words. As she looked at him—the wildness in his eyes, the tense stance, the bulge in his breeches where his cock pulled them taut—the tingling spread through her core.
He was magnificent, and if he didn’t come inside soon, she would accost him in the hallway.
Edward gripped the doorframe, his knuckles white. “If I enter, it will be to make you mine. But I will not enter unless you invite me in.”
Good God.Her body moved before her brain could catch up. She stepped forward, wrapped a hand into his damp curls, and pulled his lips to hers, the heat inside her intensifying. She slid a hand around his side and up his back, and he groaned.
She broke off the kiss just long enough to say, “You should come in.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when he put both arms around her arse and lifted her. Reflexively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing them together to get closer to him.
“Fuck me. Fiona,” he murmured. He entered her room, kicking the door shut behind him. She flinched at the bang and he paused until she relaxed against him.
He crossed to the bed, and slowly she uncurled her legs, sliding down him until her stockinged toes hit the floor. She was barely steady before he had both sides of her face cupped in his palms, and he bent his head to capture her mouth in a kiss. It was like a burning fire after a freezing walk, a good meal after too long without food. It nourished her body and soul in a way she hadn’t know she was lacking.
She moaned and ran a tongue along the edge of his lips until he opened up and she touched her tongue to his, exploring the depths of him. She’d missed this with every molecule of her being.
He tugged at her shirt, pulling it from her waistband, and then his hands were roaming her naked back, leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched.
Not to be outdone, she grabbed his shirt in her hands and eased it from his waistband. She pulled away from their kiss and leaned back so she could push the fabric up his chest, revealing a toned and muscular physique. The interlocking muscles at his midsection were dusted with wiry black hair, which grew thicker farther down his body.
Edward grabbed the edge of his shirt from her and pulled it off over his head. He was stunning. His body dipped and curved, the lamplight creating shadows and highlights that made him look like a perfectly crafted statue—so incredibly hard, yet when she ran a tentative hand across his chest, he was silken soft.
Everywhere her fingers touched, goose bumps formed on his flesh. His fingers flexed; she could see that he wanted to reach for her. Instead, he stood still and let her peruse him, exploring every inch of him with her hands. When her fingers reached his throat, he swallowed hard, the muscles working. She wanted to run her tongue along it, to taste him, to feel the thrum of his pulse against her lips.
When she stepped forward to do just that, he put a restraining hand out. “Your turn.”
She swallowed, shy as he took the edge of her shirt. Tentatively she raised her arms, allowing him to pull the shirt off her. As the soft linen grazed her skin, she shuddered.
He cast the shirt onto the floor at the foot of the bed and hooked a finger into the bindings that held her breasts down. With a gentle tug he freed the end that had been tucked into her cleavage. He pulled on it, and she turned in circles, letting him slowly unwrap her.
With every turn, she became that much closer to being exposed before him. Her heart thumped and her desire shifted into nervousness. She stopped, facing away from him, when the band fell away. She reached her hands up to cover herself.
Yes, she wanted this. She wanted him. But during their previous time together his hands had roamed while her clothes stayed loosely on. Standing bare-chested in front of him felt so brazen. She should have snuffed out the lamp. She was about to when he stepped close behind her and she stilled. They didn’t touch, but she could feel the heat of his skin on hers. An electric energy pulsed between them, skittering across her.
He drew her hair to one side and bent so close his hot breath on her ear made her wet down below.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. He grazed the back of his fingers along her side, and she gasped. Those same fingers skimmed across her stomach and the heat between her legs began to pulsate.
He reached both arms around her and pulled her against him, encircling her in his warmth. With nimble fingers, he unbuttoned the fall of her breeches, then the column of buttons at her waistband. He dipped his fingers into the mound of curls between her legs and she sucked in a breath in anticipation.
His fingers pushed through the curls, skimming the skin beneath them.
“I want to see you,” he said, pulling his hand back. She arched her body, begging his hands to return to their task, but he stepped away from her. Facing him may be daunting, but that hesitation was no match for her need to have him touching her now.
She turned, her hands falling away from her breasts—one to her breeches to prevent them from falling, the other to her stomach.
