Page 7 of Touched By a Traitor
Time suspended between heartbeats. Then, with trembling hands, Charlotte reached for him, bridging the space between them with a kiss that held all the sweet hesitancy of innocence,yet beneath it ran a current of grateful affection that felt dangerously close to something deeper.
This wasn’t part of her plan. She wasn’t supposed to feel this overwhelming gratitude, this unexpected tenderness for a man who saw her as more than the sum of her desperation. Yet as his hands moved with reverent care, as he whispered her name like a prayer, Charlotte found herself surrendering not to obligation, but to genuine desire.
“I’ve never known kindness like this,” she confessed against his lips, her voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought all men would see me as damaged goods, tainted by my family’s disgrace.”
“Then they would be fools,” Andrew murmured, his lips trailing down her throat with devastating tenderness. “You’re not damaged, Charlotte. You’re a survivor. There’s a difference.”
When he began to unlace her corset, his movements were slow, careful—asking permission with every touch. Charlotte found herself nodding, not because she felt she must, but because she wanted to. Wanted to feel beautiful under his gaze, wanted to experience this connection that felt so different from the cold transaction she’d planned.
As her corset fell away and he gazed upon her shift-covered form, Charlotte instinctively moved to cover herself. But Andrew caught her hands gently. His eyes hovered over her mounds, the faint shadow of her nipples showing through the thin fabric.
“You’re exquisite,” he said, his eyes darkening with need tempered by respect. “But only if you want this. Only if it’s your choice.”
“I want this,” she whispered. “I want to feel wanted. For myself.”
When he removed his shirt, Charlotte found herself studying the play of muscle and sinew with genuine appreciation. This man had worked for everything he had, had built his empire withhis hands. The calluses on his palms spoke of honest labor, of a man who understood struggle as intimately as she did.
“You’re beautiful,” she said softly, surprising herself with the admission. “I didn’t expect… I mean, I thought this would be…” She trailed off, blushing.
“Cold?” he supplied gently. “Mechanical?”
She nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “I thought all men were like the others who pursued me. Men who saw only what they could take.”
“And now?” His voice held carefully controlled hope.
Charlotte looked at him then, really looked—at the genuine concern in his eyes, the way he held himself in check despite his obvious desire, the reverence with which he touched her. “Now I see a man who gives rather than takes. Who offers rather than demands.”
The wonder in her voice seemed to affect him deeply. When he kissed her again, it was with renewed tenderness, as if her trust was a gift more precious than her body.
*
Andrew felt somethingshift within him at her words. Despite the desperate circumstances that had brought her here, despite the transaction that lay between them, there was genuine feeling in her voice—surprise, perhaps even relief. She hadn’t expected kindness, and the realization that she’d been treated poorly by other men sparked a protective fury in his chest. Her courage in the face of such circumstances, her refusal to let desperation break her spirit, commanded his respect in ways he hadn’t anticipated. The desire that had been simmering beneath his careful control now blazed hotter, fueled not just by her beauty but by admiration for her strength.
He pulled on her shift to expose her breasts and groaned when they became bared to him. He covered one of the rosy peaks with his mouth and grasped the other breast with his hand. He squeezed and kneaded the generous flesh, enjoying her nipple puckering and swelling under his care as his arousal surged. He held her body writhing and bucking against him as he used his tongue, teeth, lips and fingers to stimulate the peaks.
Releasing her breasts, he raised his eyes to hers, noting the beautiful orange glow of the lantern light on her flushed face. Charlotte’s eyes fluttered open, widening with breathless wonder as he repositioned her on his lap to unfasten his falls. The heat of her gaze, the unabashed hunger that sparked in those luminous depths, sent a lightning bolt of lust sizzling through Andrew’s veins. His balls tightened, drawing up hard against his body as a coil of tension wound ever more tightly in his groin.
“Do you pleasure yourself, Charlotte?”
Her large eyes stared back at him with shocked innocence; she shook her head. He leaned forward a little, his lips brushing against the tender skin behind her ear, traversing lower to tickle her neck. “I won’t take your virtue, Charlotte. Not now. As much as I want to claim your innocence and force you to stay, I want a wife who chooses me above all else.”
With his hands lifting the hem of her shift, Andrew coaxed her to adjust her position while he slowly revealed her stockings. His eyes riveted on the pale skin of her thighs as they emerged. She tried to cross her legs in an attempt at modesty, but he gently laid a hand on her knee. “I want to watch you touch yourself, Charlotte, and I hope you’ll allow me to pleasure myself.”
He waited patiently while she processed his request.
Slowly, she parted her legs, the apex of her thighs shrouded in darkness beneath her shift. The anticipation had his breathhitching in his throat, his eyes transfixed on the shadow beneath the hem.
“Do you know what to do?” he asked, one hand gently stroking her bottom while the other rested on her thigh.
She shook her head, her arm around his neck tightening.
“Pull up the hem of your shift so I can see you.”
She did his bidding shyly. Andrew inhaled deeply, then swallowed his breath when her sex came into view. The center of her heat, pretty and pink, glistened with moisture.
“Blast it, you’re beautiful,” he murmured.
Raising his eyes to hers, he carefully reached for her hand and moved it toward her bud.
