She watched him. Heat flared in eyes everyone said were made of stone. Lips used to giving harsh commands softened. His shoulders had loosened, his rigid stance of authority gone. And lower still, the line of his trousers left little doubt what her invitation had done.
“Should I ask what Charlotte wants in return?”
“Only if you want to spoil the moment.” Her fingers moved down his waistcoat, working the buttons free though she wanted to tear it open. “I believe she intends to call in the favour at a later date.”
“Of course she does.”
“Too high a price to pay for a night with me?” She pulled his shirt from his trousers, setting her palms to the firm plane of muscle beneath.
He hissed through his teeth. “You know the answer.”
“Perhaps I’d like to hear you say it.” She drew her fingers over the fall of his trousers, heat pooling low as she traced the hard length of him.
He closed his eyes against the slow stroke of her hand. “God, Daphne, I’d sell my soul for one taste of you.”
“I suspect you’ll have more than one taste tonight.”
His eyes opened, dark with a hunger he made no attempt to hide. “Like a true housemaid, you know how to stoke a man’s fire.”
“I only care about yours.”
“I’m burning for you, love.”
“Then we’d best get you out of these clothes.”
She pushed the waistcoat from his shoulders and drew his shirt over his head, breathing him in as she did. Soap and cedar, and something warmer that belonged only to him.
The pull was instinctive.
Her lips brushed his chest, then drifted higher to the line of his throat, tasting his skin, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath her mouth.
His hand closed in her hair with rough possession, tipping her face back. He kissed her wildly, as though every moment of waiting had led to this.
A groan rumbled in his throat, as urgent as her need for him.
There was nothing as magnificent as this man when he forgot to be invincible, when he lowered his guard and let her in.
He broke first on a ragged breath. “I’m so hard for you.” His fingers grazed her breasts as he reached for the sleeves of her nightgown. “I need to see you, every damn inch.” He stilled. “No. You take it off for me.”
It was a plea, not a command, and she was learning to tell the difference. Perhaps that’s why she found the courage to step back and draw the gown slowly up her thighs.
His tongue skimmed his lower lip, a dangerous grin forming. “Not the angel now. I think you like punishing me.”
“Who knew I could have you at my mercy?” She raisedthe material up past her hips, relishing his sharp intake of breath.
“I knew. I knew the second I held you in my arms.” His gaze lingered where she ached. “Take it off. Torture me a little more.”
“Always in a hurry, Mr Hawke.”
“You drive a man to distraction, Miss Harland.”
“Yet you made love to me without removing my chemise.” She’d wondered why, but a lack of experience had left her guessing. “Perhaps I’ll insist you leave your trousers on tonight.”
He palmed himself over the fall. “That could be a problem. I’m about to split a seam.”
“Well. We wouldn’t want you to leave in a state of dishabille.”
She drew the nightgown over her head and let it fall.
