Page 21 of The Scent of Snow
“You belong on a pedestal,” Pedro said, tracing the star-shaped birthmark above her hipbone.
“I want to be on the same level as you,” she whispered, and her eyes flashed the blue of the ocean in winter.
“Angels shouldn’t be at the same level as sinners.” He skimmed his hands over her shins, enjoying how her lips parted in response.
Her eyes searched his face, her brow furrowing. “But—”
Pedro silenced her with a finger over her lips. “Now it’s my turn to be invisible.”
“What will you do?” She crossed her arms over her chest, her breathing shallow.
“I will show you your wings.”
She frowned, her eyes following his every move.
“Is this necessary? I don’t think you honestly believe what you are saying, and all I—”
Pedro tied the cravat around her head. Her stream of words halted, and she held to the saddle for balance.
His pulse quickened — part of him urged him to pull her close, to feel the flutter of her heart against his, to see if it raced just as erratically. The other part, the murky one, wanted more. With Anne, he threaded the thin line of love and control, intimacy and invasion, reverence and obsession.
Steadying her with a hand on her hip, he guided her right leg over the pommel. When she straddled the saddle, he adjusted the cape underneath her to cover all exposed leather. He would not risk chafing her skin.
He caught a riding crop and tested the leathery loop against his palm. Rigid enough to produce a startling sound but soft and flexible not to hurt.
With the crop’s tip, he peeled the right side of the cape and then the other. Silk whispered over skin, baring her completely. Contrasting with the muted, brown colors of leather, her skin shone, the glow and dawn of the Mediterranean. Champagne-colored hair tumbled down her back to tease the dimples above her derrière. The blond tuft atop her mound flitted against the silk of the cape. Heat invaded his chest and pooled at his groin.
“Not an angel?” Like an ethereal being, she radiated light, drawing him into her luminous aura. The angel who had lifted him from darkness. “I wish you could see yourself now.”
Pedro brushed the crop against her neck, gathering her hair to the side. Her breath caught, and goosebumps rose in waves over her skin.
“Your wing starts here on your scapula,” He touched the point just below her shoulder blade, and he drew it down slowly until he caressed her left buttock. “All the way to here.”
She arched her back. He did the same to her other side, lingering on the perfect globe.
“Why did you come today, Anne?”
She bit her lip. “Can’t I visit my husband during the daytime?”
Whispery soft, he tapped her thigh with the crop. “Careful, I eat little angels for breakfast.”
He knew the pain was intensified by the threat of the blow, just as the pleasure was enhanced in waiting for the caress.
“I came to touch—”
He snapped the crop against the cream of her skin. “Don’t lie to me. You wanted something else.”
Anne lifted her chin, a very proud angel. “I wished to be the seducer.”
“Ah, so the little angel craved control?” He leaned forward and spoke near her ear. “It is intoxicating, isn’t it?”
Pedro circled her slowly. She cocked her head to the side, listening. He stopped in front of her. When he touched the crop to her cleavage, her breath hitched. In war, he became an expert in finding places that produced the fastest death, the most merciful, the most excruciating. In their marriage, he learned which places to tease, to tickle, to lick, enhancing their pleasure. Lazily, he lowered the crop until it stood above her navel. She shifted, opening her thighs, a subtle invitation. Pedro rested the tip against her mound, and waited, refraining from giving her the friction she needed.
“Do you think the angel should control the sinner, Anne? Wouldn’t that overturn the order of the heavens?”
Anne set her jaw, a defiant little smile playing over her lips. “Oh, I—” She leaned forward, brushing her mound against the saddle, searching for the friction he had denied her. Her arousal perfumed the air. “I wonder if angels do this?”
Pedro paused, forgetting where he meant to touch her next. Heat pulsed in his groin, and he gripped the crop to the point of breaking it in two. She purred, and her hips moved in shy languor. Still, her seduction was a little too deliberate to fool him. His lips tugged up in a smile he was glad his angelic cupid didn’t see. A kitten baiting a lion.
