Page 74 of I Do, I Do, I Do
Half swooning with emotion, she snapped open her fan and waved it at the heat pulsing in her face. For a full minute she and Ben gazed at each other across the centerpiece and candles, noting flushed faces and parted lips, quickened breath and the mounting tension of awareness.
“Would you be offended if I loosened my tie?” he asked in a husky voice.
“Please do.” Her own voice had ripened with invitation.
Narrowing his eyes in a way that made her think of crumpled sheets and warm musky scents, he tossed aside his tie, reached behind, and brought forth two pewter service plates.
“Service plates!” Juliette gripped the edge of the table in the throes of near ecstasy. She hadn’t seen service plates since the hotel in Seattle. A damp shine appeared in her eyes as she observed the sensual manner in which his long fingers slid across the pewter rims before he set down the plates. A shiver rippled down her spine.
“You have the most beautiful eyes,” Ben said after he’d positioned the service plates on the table. “Occasionally the color reminds me of a stormy sky. Other times, like now, it’s like gazing into a shimmer of silver.”
“You look very handsome without the beard,” she whispered. His smooth cheeks and square jaw invited exploration. She longed to stroke his face with her fingertips, wanted to press her nose to his skin and sniff the manly scent of his cologne.
The room suddenly felt so hot that she could have believed they dined in Linda Vista at the height of August. His eyes traveled over her face like twin suns, setting fire to her skin and igniting her heart. A trickle of moisture slipped between her breasts. Discreetly, she directed the fan toward her cleavage while trying desperately to steady herself. She wet her lips. “What comes next?” she murmured. Lord, she sounded like she was strangling.
“Crystal.”
“Crystal? Oh!” Heaven help her and keep her on her feet. Not tin mugs, not thick everyday glass—crystal. She stared at his mouth, thinking of crystal touching his lips. Thinking about her touching his lips. And him touching hers. Crystal. The very word was carnal and evocative of lips and sliding fingertips. A tingle began at the base of her throat and spread throughout her body.
Teasing, shamelessly toying with her emotions, he held a water goblet in front of his chest and lightly tapped the rim. The clear ring of crystal sang between them, reverberating across Juliette’s skin, electric and thrilling. No symphony had ever aroused her so. Gasping, she swayed and furiously fanned the sheen of perspiration appearing on her forehead. She noticed Ben’s temples were also damp.
Not taking his eyes off her, he placed the water goblets above the service plates. After pinging the wineglasses and observing her sharp intake of breath, he carefully positioned them to the right of the water crystal.
“Forgive me, but may I remove my jacket?” He paused to blot his forehead and throat.
“Yes. Yes.” She wished she could remove something, too. She was burning with an intensity of sensation. And her nerves burst into flame when he stood across the table in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. In the world she usually inhabited, women seldom saw men without their jackets. Seeing him as he stood before her now was scandalously, excitingly, erotically intimate.
“Do the silver next,” she whispered, her lips trembling.
He drew the moment out, sending a shiver of anticipation through her body. He slid his thumb and forefinger along the handle of a knife, extending the drama. This was where so many failed, placing the knife incorrectly. Finally, his eyes smoldering, he leaned forward and firmly positioned the knife with the sharp edge facing the service plate.
Juliette’s heart gave a leap in her chest, and she thought she might faint. It was perfect. Moisture flooded her secret places with liquid longing. He knew the language of the table. She could hardly stand it. By observing the knives, she read his signal that there would be a meat and a fish course. But his triumph lay in placing the sharp edge toward the service plate! She thought her heart would pound through her chest.
And now he was turning a soup spoon between his fingers. Knots ran up his jawline when he looked at her. His speculative gaze had grown bold, skimming her cleavage, searing her to the toes. And, my lord, this man had the most sensual mouth of any man she had ever met. Her heart raced, and her knees dissolved to the consistency of pudding. She didn’t know if she could remain standing through the placement of the forks.
“The salad will come after the entrée,” she murmured ecstatically as he positioned the soup spoon and finally the forks. They would not adopt the new style of serving the salad before the entrée. It was more than any woman could bear. She wanted him with a passion that steamed and boiled inside her mind and body.
When he saw her expression, his muscles hardened. “Juliette…” The tone of ragged desire undid her.
They flew around the table and into each other’s arms. Locked in a passionate embrace, they kissed again and again, their hands flying, touching, stroking, caressing. Hot, fevered kisses rained over Juliette’s eyes, lips, throat. And a sound like a sob choked her. “Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered mindlessly. “Yes. Ben. Oh, yes, yes.”
Scooping her into his arms, he carried her into the bedroom and gently stood her on her feet. “Are you very sure?” he asked in a voice rough with desire.
In answer she turned her back to him and lifted the weight of curls off her neck so he could unbutton her gown. “Hurry.”
His fingers were sure and swift, familiar with the tabs and hooks and ties of feminine attire. In seconds, she stood before him, an hourglass clad in lace-edged shimmy and corset. He kissed her breasts, then tore off his shirt, sending jet studs skittering across the floor. He threw off his waistcoat and pushed away his trousers, kicked out of his shoes.
“Wait! Blow out the lantern!”
But it was too late. She stared at his body in awe, never having seen a naked man in the light before. How splendid he was. Tall and lean and wedge-shaped. He might have been one of the statues she had seen in a book on Greek sculpture. The absence of a fig leaf drew her attention, and her cheeks blazed. “Oh, my goodness!”
Drawing her to him, he kissed her hard, leaving her gasping, then sat her on the edge of the bed. Kneeling, he removed her evening slippers, then her garters, and he peeled down her stockings, his fingers hot on the curve of her legs. Rising to sit next to her, he turned her gently, and then his nimble fingers opened her laces, and her corset slid to the floor.
Her instinct was to beg him to extinguish the lantern. Then she remembered he had already seen her naked. And he wanted to see her again. After he smoothed down the short sleeves of her shimmy, she stood on shaking legs and let him lower the shimmy over her breasts, to her waist, and over her hips. The silky garment pooled at her feet, and she stood before him, eyes closed and cheeks on fire, listening to his ragged intake of breath. Every instinct demanded that she cover herself, but she made herself stand still.
“You are so beautiful! So small and perfect and beautiful!”
She didn’t remember him pulling down the quilt and blankets, didn’t recall climbing onto the bed. One minute she stood before him, the next minute they were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing and touching with building urgency. Not until she thought she would shake apart with longing did he rise above her.
