Page 311 of From Rakes to Riches

With deft and clever circles, he found the tender knots in her back and undid them with steady, circling pressure.

He did this to relax her, and it was working.

And...not working.

The strength in his hands was both potent and restrained. She found the dichotomy endlessly erotic.

Hypnotic, even.

Her blood thickened. Slowed to a heavy languor as if warm honey drenched her veins with sweet, treacle sensuality.

Probably she should compliment him, as well. He certainly deserved it.

“You also...intrigue...Oh, that feels so good,” she groaned and closed her eyes in bliss as he found a tender spot and curled his relentless fingers into it.

“Just you wait,mon chaton,” he promised against her ear. “Do not be too easily satisfied. I like a challenge.”

She couldn’t summon the words with which to reply. Not only because of what his diabolical fingers did to her, or the way his words made her heart quiver instead of beat.

But because a wave of aching emotion tumbled over her, swamping her with unidentifiable yearning. Not just for thecarnal sensations his touch evoked, but for this affection between them.

This physical touch that was not demanding nor expectant.

Unhurried. Deliberate. Both intimate and innocuous all at once.

She sighed as he released her tresses from their pins, lock by spiraling lock, testing the weight and coil of the curl as if he’d never before threaded fingers through a woman’s hair.

Or never would again.

After a while, he said, “Though you jested before, there is truth in what you said. One you must consider carefully. I am a large and dangerous man... My web is one of deceit and blood.”

“I knew that already. I’m not blind.”

“No.” He leaned forward, brushing the ghost of a kiss against each of her eyelids. “You have excellent, beautiful eyes. You see what most do not.”

“Your flattery will get you nowhere, you cad.” She reached out, shocked when her hand encountered the warm flesh of his chest.

Shocked that she kept it there, searching for the beat of a heart she could never claim.

“I’m already where I want to be.” The earnestness of his expression unstitched her as he reached his own palm out, and pressed it to where her own heart hurled itself against the cage of her chest.

“What do you feel when I touch you?” His voice washed her in a pleasant glow, the question putting her at ease. “When you touch me?”

“Butterflies,” she answered honestly, placing her other hand over where wings made a riot in her belly.

He tilted his head, his hand moving lower, not to her breast quite yet, but almost. “Butterflies? Don’t they erupt when you are afraid?”

“I’m not afraid,” she lied.

“What are you?”

“Excited.”

“Excitement is often born of fear.”

But was fear also this delicious?She wondered.

Her silence seemed to consternate him. “Is that why you relented to my wicked proposition? Am I your one chance to dance with danger?” His hand stilled as he gazed at her. “Will you regret saying yes to me when this is over?”

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