Then he fell to his knees before her, wrapped his around her waist, and looked up at her, his eyes dark, as dark as night. “Not just for tonight, but for always, Juliet.”
“Always.” She touched her fingertips to his cheek, then let them drift into his hair, so soft, the thick strands curling around her knuckles. “Yes.”
ChapterNineteen
Miles closed his eyes at the soft word, and pressed a tender kiss against the gentle swell of her bare belly. She was exquisite, all smooth skin, long, slender limbs, and masses of silky dark hair tumbling over her shoulders.
And she wantedhim.
He slid his palms up the back of her calves and over her thighs as he rose to his feet. She let out a soft gasp when he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as he strode to the bed, and laid her gently back against the pillows.
He gazed down at her, his heart pounding in his chest. “You look like a painting.”
And she did, a masterpiece, her dark hair like spilled ink against the pure white page of her skin, all her curves laid bare before him, one arm thrown over her head and her nipples—the same lush red as her lips—still pouting from his attentions.
“No, just a woman.” Her sultry mouth curved in a half-smile, and she held out her hand to him. “Come here.”
He took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles, then released her to shed his waistcoat and shirt before lying down beside her on the bed.
There was no moon tonight, just the muted glow of the firelight playing over her.
He touched a fingertip to her throat, then dragged it slowly down between her breasts, and over her ribcage to her belly, a soft laugh vibrating in his throat when she squirmed beneath his touch. “Are you ticklish?”
There was no reason that should delight him, but it did.
“A little, perhaps.” She peeked up at him from under her dark lashes. “May I… may I touch you?”
He caught her hand—he loved her hands, so soft and delicate—and dropped a kiss on her palm. “You can do whatever you like with me.” He’d never spoken truer words, and perhaps it should have worried him, how willing he was to turn himself over to her, but for the first time in his life, he wasn’t able to hold any part of himself back.
Not fromher. He never had been, despite all his efforts.
She needed no further invitation, but commenced her exploration of his body without a hint of shyness, as determined in this as she must have been in her studies of Shakespeare, or in practicing her technique at bowls.
“You’ve got very broad shoulders, my lord,” she murmured as she smoothed her hands over them, then trailed her fingers down his neck to his throat, pausing for an instant to touch her fingertip to the hollow there before stroking her palms over his chest.
He caught his breath when her delicate fingers skimmed over his nipples, and her gaze flew to his face, eyes wide. “Oh, is that… should I not touch you there?”
Dear God, she was going to be the death of him with those soft, seeking hands, those wide blue eyes. “No, it’s… I like it.”
Likeit? It was a poor word indeed to describe what her touch did to him.
It was a maddening, delicious torment. Every one of his nerve endings, every inch of his skin was clamoring for her, his breath leaving his lungs in ragged pants, and his cock already as hard as stone, a heavy, demanding weight against his belly, and she’d hardly even touched him yet.
“You’re, ah… all this is very....” She dragged her fingertips down his chest to his stomach, pausing when his muscles twitched under her touch. “Sturdy.”
He choked out another laugh. “Sturdy?”
“Yes. Much more so than I imagined.” Her gaze dropped to his breeches, her cheeks coloring an enticing scarlet at the outline of his hard length pressing insistently against his falls. “Perhapsvirileis a better word.” She caught her lower lip in her teeth, her gaze on his twitching length, and reached out to skim her thumb across the edge of his breeches, her touch leaving a trail of fire across the sensitive skin of his belly.
It was everything he could do not to thrust his hips toward her, beg for her touch, but he sucked in a harsh breath, closed his eyes, and prayed for strength. God, he wanted her hands on him, more than he wanted his next breath, but if those soft palms and clever fingers got anywhere near his aching cock, he was certain to disgrace himself.
He caught her wrist gently in one hand. “Do you mean to say, Miss Templeton, that you imagined me without my clothing?”
“Oh, yes.” She looked up at him, the corners of her lips twitching. “Does that make me very wicked, my lord?”
No. It makes you mine.
“Lie back.” He urged her against the pillows. “Let me touch you.”
