Page 7 of A Touch Wicked
“Oui,” he replied. “Are you French?”
She gave him a soft, chastising smile as she slid the cloak from her shoulders. The heavy velvet material pooled on the Turkey carpet at her feet.
When Emma’s gaze rose to meet James’s, she trembled at how dark his expression was. The blatant desire as his eyes traced the bared curve of her throat, the low cut of the gown. The modiste made it for a smaller busted Alexandra; on Emma, the garment looked made for seduction.
Made to be taken off.
James’s breathing was heavy as she approached. It made Emma feel powerful, siren-like. Luring a man to destruction.
“Does it matter where I’m from?” she asked in French. “Who I am?”
He seemed to pause at that. “No,” he said firmly. “No, it doesn’t.”
Good, Emma thought.Don’t make this into something it isn’t. It’s better that way.
“Just this,” she murmured, sliding her hands beneath his overcoat to push it off. “Just us. We’re all that matters.” Emma turned her back to him and brushed her thick, wavy hair off her neck. “Now undress me.”
Emma held her breath as he started to unbutton the back of her dress. About halfway down he groaned. “You’re not wearing anything underneath this.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “That makes this much easier, doesn’t it?” Emma’s voice was unfamiliar to her own ears, a low rolling purr in her native tongue. “I didn’t expect to wear it for long.”
James finished unbuttoning. His breath was at the curve of her shoulder, lips to her ear as he pushed the dress off her shoulders. “What did you come here for?”
Emma let the garment fall. Then she was standing naked before him, her skin illuminated only by candlelight.
She turned in his arms, pressed her lips to his and whispered, “For you. For this.”
Chapter 5
She tasted of fine Madeira and something sweet.
Decadent, James thought.Sinful.
Her lips explored his own, tentative at first, as if she were savoring the taste of him, too. When her tongue darted between his lips, James smothered a rough groan by kissing her harder. He backed her toward the bed. His cock was hard and ready, but James was in control. He wanted this to last. He wanted to see her in the light, touch her flesh until the memory of her skin was imprinted in his mind.
James wanted to hear her scream when he made her come.
“Touch me,” she whispered, nipping at his lower lip.
The low, rolling accent of her French brushed across James’s skin like silk. She took his hand in hers and slid it down to the fullness of her breast, using his fingers to circle her nipple. To his surprise, she didn’t stop there. She guided his hand to the heated skin of her waist. Lower. His fingers moved across her flesh like the stroke of a paintbrush on canvas.
There. She held his hand between her legs.
“Christ, you’re wet,” he murmured, stroking her with a deft, exploring touch.
She threw back her head with a gasp when he slid in a finger. Only one, and he felt how it made her tremble. He couldn’t wait to bury his cock inside of her so, so deeply.
“This is what I want to do to you,” he said, thrusting his finger in and out, slowly at first. He added another finger, and another, moving faster. With every movement, her breath shook, coming in short, quick exhales that only made him want her more. “I’m going to make you feel so good when I’m inside you. Do you want it like this?”
“Harder,” she breathed. “Faster.”
James’s lips curved into a smile. “I admire a woman who knows what she wants.”
“Do you?” Her lips slid down to his neck where she bit him once, teeth sinking in just enough to leave a mark.
Yes. He didn’t know if he said the word aloud. Yes.
James drew back in surprise — both at the action and his own response. She immediately looked concerned. “I’m so sorry, I—”
