Page 88 of The Rogue's Last Scandal
Every nerve in her tingled. Taking off her clothes for him—it had excited him. Underneath her fear, her own desire had answered his.
He had seen her. She had not seen him.
The white linen landed on the back of a stuffed armchair, one he moved to sit in.
“No,” she said.
Through it all, his gaze had not left her. It sharpened, like that of a man just challenged.
“Please...” She took a breath. “Please remove your clothes.”
Coats flew. His white shirt cleared his head and sailed across the room at her. She caught it and when she looked, he was grinning. She could not help but smile back, lifting the linen to her nose.
Dios. His scent filled her, sent her bones to shaking. He sat and crossed a booted foot across his knee.
“Wait.” She tossed the shirt aside and hurried over. He had frozen in the chair, shirtless, his chest as muscled as any well-fed sailor’s. A smattering of tawny hair ran to a point below his breeches.
And Charley had scars of his own. The largest one had carved an arc from his center to his flank, puckered from stitching and still in places pink. Older, shallower slices marked a shoulder and his arms. Those were, perhaps, from dueling.
A man with married lovers would have had a duel or two. Because he was experienced, which she was not.
Anxiety crashed through her. Perhaps this was a mistake.
His gaze met hers, sending her a challenge.
For now, she would be brave, and she would ask about his dueling later. “Put out your foot.”
Muscles flexing, he complied, clutching the chair arms and extending one long leg. She tugged one boot and then the other, and stepped back, watching him peel off his stockings.
After, he did not move, but sat, richly carved, strong—he was no padded, corseted society dandy.
And he could easily overpower her and force her if he pleased. She could not fight him. Her hands began to shake and she clenched them at her waist.
He would not. He had promised. She did trust him.
“The rest,” she said.
“Would you like to help some more?”
The soft words sent a shiver through her. She gripped her hands tighter.
He stood slowly. “Forgive me. I’m teasing you.” In seconds he pushed trousers and smalls down about his hips to the floor and stepped out of them.
Graciela pressed her lips together, pressed her hands against her chest to squelch the pounding, to push air into her lungs. In their three days together, Rigo had done no more than open up his fall. She’d seen his cock, but only because he’d made her look.
And everything with Rigo was on a smaller scale.Dios.He had torn her apart with that smaller prick, again and again. She could not do this.
Charley snatched his garments and held them in front of him.
“No,” she said. “It’s…it’s all right.”
He did not move.
“You said you are mine to command.”
“You’re frightened, my love. It’s too much all at once.”
She inhaled and nodded. “Too much, I think. You will hurt me. You cannot help it, but you will.”
