Page 77 of The Duke's Dream
She had her leg on the barre, her torso draped gracefully over it. A thin cotton chemise and sheer pantalets clung to her, revealing more than concealing her pearly skin.
She hummed a gentle ballad, her throaty voice a siren's call to his heart.
William closed his eyes, trying to calm the rioting thoughts. Still, they bombarded him. How far was he from Farley, from others who allowed passion to rule them? His desire for Helene surpassed any reason. What would he do for her? The real question was—what would henotdo for her?
If loving her were punishable by death, would he refrain?
Smiling, she glanced at him over her shoulder. "I'm almost done."
William pushed away from the door and came behind her, muscles tense, breathing heated. A perfect dissonance to her cool grace. How could she be so in control? When flames licked him at the mere sight of her?
William crushed her to his chest, burying his face against her hair, needing to reassure himself that no one would enter through that door and take her away from him.
"Is something wrong?" Helene sought his gaze in the mirror. "Did the country give you trouble today?"
"Controlling it would be easier if it weren't for all the people."
The people, their secrets, their passions. And he was no different.
She caressed his cheek. "Nobody can be in control all the time."
William's jaw tensed. "What do you know of control?"
She lifted her arched brows. "I can control my body anyway I wish—balance, breathing, even my face. I can give you a few lessons if you wish."
The irony. She, who robbed him of control, wanted to be his teacher.
He lifted his hand, tracing the shape of her ribs. "Are you so sure?"
Effortlessly, she lifted her leg above the barre and circled it in a beautiful arc. And then—without shifting her gaze from the mirror—she curved her knee behind him inattitude derrière.
His breath stilled.
In the reflection, her leg embraced him.
Pale skin against his black coat.
Her eyes glinted, provocative, filled with sensual mischief. His sprite challenged him.
"Careful," William said. "She who tempts can also taste temptation's flame."
William descended his hand from her hips to her thigh. Her breath caught, and she tensed to lower her leg.
"Not yet," he commanded.
With a flick, he drew her chemise up, baring the flat plane of her belly. His hand spanned her waist, fingers splayed wide, possessive. Then lower, past the delicate rise of her hipbone, inch by forbidden inch… until his palm covered her mound.
She held her stance, but he felt the shudder pass through her.
Her sex, barely veiled by sheer cotton, was open to him—ripe, offered, trembling with control and the lack of it. He traced the soft cleft, teasing the outer lips, savoring the tension vibrating through her thighs.
Still watching her in the mirror, he found her clitoris through the thin fabric and stroked—slow, then quick, then slow again, until her breath hitched.
All his life, he had leashed himself, this thing inside him… The sprite had been luring him to the precipice for so long that it was only fair that he brought her to dance at the edge. What would she look like in the throes of passion? The temptation made his mouth water.
He stopped. Just when her lips parted in silent protest, he released the tapes at her waist.
Her pantalettes loosened, slipping an inch to reveal her hipbones.
