She was his, and he wanted to giveher everything.
He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, then gathered up a lock of her hair and let the long strands drift through his fingers. “Beautiful.”
Her face was cast in shadows, but he could feel her eyes on him, on his face and body, touching every part of him. He let his hand fall away, then held her gaze as he pulled his shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor.
The bed sank under his weight as he stretched out next to her, took her hand and pressed it against the center of his chest. She twined her fingers with his, so their clasped hands lay over his heart.
Chapter Twenty-three
Eleanor watched the firelight caress the hard planes of his face, softening them and burnishing his skin to a dark gold.
Such a simple thing, to take his hand, to ease him down beside her and let the warmth of his body envelop her skin. She closed her eyes and let her breath rush through her lungs in a sigh, then opened them again as strong fingers cupped her jaw.
His whisper was soft and dark against her ear. “Kiss me.”
Eleanor hesitated, then brushed her mouth over his firm lower lip, her first stroke shy, tentative. He made a small, strangled sound in his throat and caught her hand to press it harder against his chest. Encouraged, she kissed him again, but she lingered this time to savor his taste. Port, was it? A fine one, rich and spicy against her tongue.
Dear God.He’s delicious.
She stroked the tip of her tongue across the seam of his lips, then opened her mouth over his to taste him deeply. His chest vibrated with a groan, and he closed his hands around her upper arms to drag her closer. “Yes. Give me your mouth.”
Eleanor pressed her mouth to his with a gasp, thrilled at the rough command in his voice, his possessive touch. He’d been careful with her up until now, hesitant, as if he were afraid she’d flee at any moment, but with each brush of her mouth against his he grew wilder, his body tensing with unleashed desire.
She licked into his mouth again and again, desperate for more of his taste, but after a dozen dizzying kisses he drew away from her, laughing softly at her whimper of protest, and slid his hands over her back, searching for the row of tiny buttons on her gown. He tugged on them until he’d loosened her tight bodice, then slipped his fingers underneath the thin muslin of her shift. “So soft.” He stroked the bare skin of her neck. “I want to see all of you.” He traced a finger over the swells of her breasts, right above neckline of her gown. “Show me.”
Eleanor froze. He wanted her to . . . bare herself to him? She let her gaze wander over his naked chest. Her breath caught at his masculine beauty, the raw power of his body, the layered muscles, hard and sleek under his tawny skin. Would he get pleasure from her body, as she did from his? He was perfection, but she was pale, fine-boned. Perhaps he’d think her too small, or—
“Don’t hide from me, Ellie. Show me.”
Eleanor shivered. His voice was gentle still, but she knew at once he’d accept no excuses, no evasions. If she wanted him, she’d have to offer every part of herself to him. Willingly. Eagerly. He’d allow nothing less.
She gazed at him, the square jaw, the strong curve of his chin, the high, proud cheekbones—a stern face, yes, but soft now, with his chestnut hair falling over his brow and his eyes, so hot, green flames, yet still soft, for all that. Even when she’d threatened to expose Amelia’s secrets, his eyes had been soft when they touched her face.
You don’t want to dothis, Eleanor.
Even as she’d railed at him, tried to hurt him, threatened the sister he loved so dearly, he’d been worried for her.
You could never hurt her. Say it.
Eleanor looked into the dark forest of eyes. He’d made her say it. To admit it, to him and to herself, because he wanted to tear her free from something so ugly. How had he known, even before she had, she could never hurt Amelia? He’dseenher, even before she’d seen herself, and he’d trusted her, even when she hadn’t trusted herself.
I should care. I do care.
What would it be like, to have such a man care for her? Love her? Even as she’d struggled with him, even as she’d fought him, hated him, she’d been stunned by the depth of his love for Amelia. How would it feel, to have that kind of love for herself?
Is thereno hope for us?
Was there? She didn’t know. Perhaps she’d never be able to trust him after the way they’d begun, and yet . . .
Wasn’t that what hope was? A dream that defied logic. A waking dream . . .
He watched her with shadowed green eyes. Waited. If she wanted him, she’d have to give. Herself, with no reservations. Somewhere deep inside her she’d known this moment would come, except it wasn’t as she imagined it would be. She thought she’d feel as though she’d lost something to him, but instead it felt like she’d been given a gift the moment his hand closed around hers.
Eleanor slipped a finger under the narrow band of ribbon and tugged her sleeve down, baring her shoulder.
Cam watched her, his eyes burning. “The other one.” He drifted one finger down her neck and under the sagging neckline of her gown to stroke the warm valley between her breasts. “All of you.”
She grasped her other sleeve, her gaze holding his as she eased it down, the fabric dragging over her skin as she freed herself from the heavy silk, until nothing held the bodice up now except her hand fisted in the neckline.
