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“Certainly for other men. You’re to love, to cherish.” His grip on her arm tightened. “All mine.”
All his. She lifted her shoulders as a pleasant shiver tickled through her veins. Exactly as she’d wanted. How she’d missed this banter, this closeness, this...
She cleared her throat. “Simon...” She blinked up innocently. “Might I request one of my promised shags?”
“Most certainly,” he murmured. “And I’m happy to oblige.”
The first light brush of his lips against her mouth ignited another round of tremors.
Of all their shared kisses, this one held the most wonder. She felt the skin of his hands—both his hands—as they traveled up her arms to her face. Then, his lips ravaged hers with abandon.
She kissed him back with equal fervor as if she were making a vow.
The barriers between them had vanished. His inner tension had completely disappeared.
No. Not disappeared but transformed.
She'd freed something untamed, something possessive, but something that knew her worth. He tugged her to his chest as if he were binding her to him.
She tried to wrestle him out of his coat, but he blocked her attempt.
“You stole the dress,” he said against her lips. “As your future husband, I have a duty to protect you and eliminate the proof.”
“Remove my dress, you mean? And while you stay clothed?”
“Maybe...”
She pulled back and pouted. “At least remove your coat, waistcoat, and cravat.”
He cocked a brow. “A thief is not in position to negotiate.”
“And yet, this thief will always find a way.” She glanced up beneath her lashes. “Extremis malis extrema remedia.”
“Oh, I’ll show you desperate measures.” He shrugged off his coat. “Your very mind should be illegal.”
“Illegal? Too harsh. Immoral, on the other hand...” She gripped the mattress and leaned forward. “You, too, make me want decent things.” She ran a softened, slowly blinking gaze down his person. “And very indecent things.”
With unhurried, deliberate provocation, he removed his cravat and then his waistcoat. Undressing him had been fun. Watching him undress sent a frisson through her veins.
Which gave her an idea.
She settled back into the pillows, reached up into her hair, and removed a pin. A lock fell across her shoulder.
He gasped.
She removed another.
His eyes darkened.
She pulled out the longest one, and with a soft rustle, the others detached and her hair came tumbling down.
“The deuce,” he muttered. “You don’t fight fair.”
“Are we fighting?” She swept the pins off the bed. And then resettled herself. “I thought you just promised a shag.”
He cupped her face, running his thumbs slowly across both cheekbones. No under glove.
“Finally,” he said, as if he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.
