Page 15 of Scoundrel for Sale
Quite the opposite, in fact.
And so, on those long, lonely nights, alone in his tent, Gabe had allowed himself to dream of her. Dreaming was safe so long as Abbie remained an ocean away.
But now that she was here in the room, he could see that this had been a mistake. There must be something wrong with his brain, because the line between Actual Abbie and Dream Abbie was starting to get all muddled.
Because there was no way Actual Abbie would say that.
Gabe cleared his throat. “Would you mind repeating that?”
“You promised that you wouldn’t touch me. But I never promised Hart that I would not touch you.”
He tilted his head to the side and shook it. That was what he’d thought she said, all right. It just didn’t make any sense. “I think I misunderstood.”
She spoke slowly and deliberately as if she were speaking to a small child. “You promised you would not put your hands on me. You don’t have to. I will be the one to put my hands on you.”
“I don’t think that’s what your brother had in mind.”
“Well, it’s his fault for not being more specific, now isn’t it?”
She’d drawn closer to him. He could feel her breath on his neck, could smell the sweet scent of apricots. “Gabe,” she said seductively.
He squeezed his eyes shut to protect himself from the sight of her. “Yes?” he said, his voice tight.
“You know I would never force you into something you didn’t want. So if you truly don’t want me to touch you, you must tell me so right now.”
Say no, he ordered his lips. Say it right now.
“No,” he gasped. Good! That was good! “I do want it.”
Wait… he hadn’t meant to add that last bit.
Even though it was true.
Add a “but!” his brain demanded.
His lips refused to comply.
And then it was too late because he felt Abbie’s fingertips, so soft he almost thought he was dreaming, tracing the contours of his chest. Her thumb stroked his nipple through the thin linen of his shirt, and he shuddered.
His eyes were still closed, so he couldn’t see her, but she assaulted his senses nonetheless. With her fingertips, cool and delicate, exploring his chest, his arms. With the sound of pleasure, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, that rose from her throat. With her sweet scent, of honey and apricots and woman, assailing his nose, making him want to lower his lips to her throat to see if she tasted as delectable as she smelled.
Suddenly her hands disappeared, and it was pathetic how bereft Gabe felt without her touch. But then he felt the linen of his shirt shift, and—dear God—her petal-soft hands were stroking their way up his bare stomach.
Every muscle in his body was tense under her delicate assault. “Oh!” Abbie gasped, seeming surprised but pleased by what she was discovering beneath his shirt. After exploring the ridges of muscle on his stomach, she slid her hands up and flattened her palms over the planes of his chest. “Would you take off your shirt?”
The garment was fluttering toward the floor before she’d even finished the question.
“Gabe.” Her voice was full of wonder, and he dared to open his eyes. He was glad he did, because the way Abbie was looking at him, as if he were so magnificent she scarcely had the courage to touch him, was something he would never forget, not if he lived to be as old as Methuselah.
He was desperate to have her hands on him again, and without thinking, raised his hands to frame her face. He froze inches shy of his goal, remembering his vow.
Abbie blew out a startled breath and took his hands in hers. “Come on.” She steered him three steps to the side, then pulled the chair out so it wasn’t flush against the wall. “Sit there,” she said, giving him a playful shove.
Gabe complied, hoping she would climb into his lap, but instead she stepped back. A groan rose in his throat, but then he froze when he realized she was reaching around her back to undo the hooks of her dress.
A flush rose to her cheeks, but she held his eyes the whole time. After a moment of struggling with the fastenings, her bodice sagged open, and then he had to wait the four agonizing seconds it took her to undo the ties of her petticoat before she peeled them off together and deposited them in a heap on the floor.
She stepped out of the garments and kicked them to the side. Her slippers quickly followed. Now she was clad only in her stockings, stays, and a linen shift thin enough that he could tell that she wore no drawers beneath it. She’d chosen a pair of short stays that laced up the front, and Gabe’s breath grew ragged as she started picking at the ties with trembling fingers.
