Page 57 of Wicked Rivals
His fingertips stroked her bare shoulders, teasing patterns over her all-too-sensitive skin.
“And ruin the delight of the moment? Not a chance.” The heat from his body enveloped her from behind, and she fought the part of her thatwantedthis infuriating, seductive man.
The movements of his hands were slow and methodical. The fabric gaped slightly when he’d undone all the laces. She clutched her hands at her sides as he began to pull the gown down her body until it collapsed onto the floor in a puddle of fabric.
So little was between them now. It would be so easy to toss caution and good sense to the wind and go to bed with this man. As a widow she enjoyed certain freedoms other women did not. Society permitted widows to carry on affairs discreetly, but until now she had never been tempted. If only the past between them wasn’t tainted by their struggles for power. If only her future wasn’t at stake.If only…
He lifted her by the waist and set her down away from the gown and closer to him. Her bottom rubbed against the front of his thighs, and he briefly pressed against her. A wave of heat flooded through her as she struggled for air.
She now wore only her chemise, petticoats and stays. It was exciting but all too frightening. She’d been close to naked with him before, but this was different. Not only was her future at stake, but she had willingly agreed to it. Still, she reminded herself she was the better player, and she must win.
“I believe it’s my turn.” He pushed her a few inches away, and she stumbled back to her seat on shaky legs but managed to keep her wits about her. Ashton moved his rook, and she hastily moved a bishop.
Ashton stared at the board. When he met her gaze, he slid his white pawn forward and claimed her black bishop. He’d fallen for it. In search of an easy prize, he’d left himself exposed. She used her knight to claim his queen.
“A victory to each of us. Me first.” Ashton stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The petticoats. Remove them.” Rosalind slipped out of them and let them drop onto the pile of her gown.
“Your shirt, if you please,” she countered.
Ashton tugged the white lawn shirt from his breeches, then used one finger to loosen his cravat. He pulled the neckcloth off, and then pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.
Ashton’s bare chest was…glorious. Golden, as though kissed by hours in the sun. How could a gentleman be so tan? It required him to be shirtless for lengths of time. But then, perhaps it wasn’t so unusual for him. He’d spent time working at the farmhouse alongside the villagers. That was a day she would never forget. The sight of him toiling, muscles straining, his powerful body lifting up wooden beams…
“See something that interests you?”
Damned if his eyes didn’t twinkle when he asked her that. She wanted to strangle the bloody arrogant fool. Rosalind shook her head, but the way her cheeks heated, she knew he’d see through the lie.
“My turn then.” Ashton deftly moved a white pawn and claimed a black pawn. “Make your move, and then I shall collect another piece of your clothing.”
Rosalind tried to clear her head. After analyzing the board, she moved her king forward. No piece to claim, but she had to look to the long game.
“I believe I shall take your stays.” He waited for her to present herself to him, then unfastened her laces and let it drop to the floor. He kicked the garment away and took hold of her shoulders. The action was possessive, though not rough, and it sent waves of heat through her body and deep into her womb.
He spun her around to face him. It should have appalled her that the thought of him taking control of her body was so tempting, but it didn’t. Instead it seemed a sinful, wonderful idea, one that she had to banish lest she lose focus on the game.
“Such a lovely figure.” His husky words sent shivers through her. “Soft and yet strong in all the right places.”
Trying to regain some control, she raised her chin. “I would return the compliment, but I doubt a man would like to be called soft.”
Ashton’s lips curved as he captured one of her hands and placed it on his groin.
“Most certainlynotsoft, my dear.”
Swallowing, she jerked her hand free of his. “Enough. Let us finish the game.”
Sighing, Ashton resumed his seat and moved his bishop directly beside the black knight. Rosalind rushed to move her king forward. Ashton responded by sliding his knight forward, and Rosalind mimicked him.
I will win. She was close. If he played wrong, she’d have him soon.
A white knight retreated, and she advanced her king again.
“This is why chess is a game of skill.” He put his bishop diagonal to her king, but she could not take it because it was guarded on two fronts.
“Indeed.” She stared hard at the board. Something wasn’t right. The possible moves were few and none of them good. How had this happened? Did he realize he’d stumbled into such a favorable position, or had it been his plan all along? Had she been tricked?
Ashton’s eyes, usually such a bright blue, had darkened now to a rich Prussian blue and threatened to ensnare her. For a moment she couldn’t think, couldn’t see anything outside those eyes.
“Go on, make your move.” His gaze was burning straight through her as she realized what her final move had to be.
