Page 48 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
The cloth lowered a fraction, his gaze dipped down, came back up to hers. Held. Waited.
“It’s going to slither to the floor,” he said eventually. “Then I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the bed.”
“Not before I remove your clothing,” she said, a little more confidently than she felt.
His smile warmed, his eyes glinted with pleasure. “And here I always thought virgins were shy.”
“I’m not when I know what I want. And I want you.”
With a feral groan, he released the straps, cupped her face, and claimed her mouth while the silk fluttered to the floor. She should have felt exposed, but she didn’t. His arms came around her, pressing her against his chest while his mouth plundered. Rough and fast he’d once told her, and she suspected he’d been curbing his desires for fear of frightening her. But she had no qualms, no misgivings, no doubts. She needed this man as badly as she needed her next breath.
Breaking off the kiss, he lifted her and began striding toward the bed.
“Your clothing,” she admonished.
“I need to get you nearer to the bed while I still have the strength. You weaken me.”
Laughing, she cupped his strong jaw. He must have shaved immediately before coming here as she felt no stubble. She wouldn’t have minded it, but she was pleased he’d gone to the trouble. He smelled of soap and freshly applied sandalwood. He’d taken as much care as she had preparing for this encounter.
Setting her on her feet, he gave her body a slow perusal. “You’re exquisite.”
Such a simple statement, but it made her feel flawless, beloved, appreciated. In a figure eight, he traced a finger around her breasts. They tightened, seemed to strain toward him.
“Take down your hair,” he commanded.
“I thought you enjoyed unpinning it.”
“I want to watch your breasts lift up when you raise your arms. The darkness will prevent me from seeing so much. Indulge me now.”
She’d not considered that. Everything she wouldn’t see. “Isn’t this usually done in the dark?”
His eyes grew languid as he took them on a journey over the length of her. “Not always. Sometimes the darkness can add to the sensuality of the act. Sometimes the light can make it just as provocative. Depends what you desire. I’m the master of both.”
She would accuse him of being boastful, but she’d seen the truth of his words in his photographs. Swallowing hard, she raised her arms, watched as his nostrils flared, his lips parted slightly, his eyes glittered with yearning. As she searched out the pins, she nearly regretted that she required the darkness, that he required the removal of the mask. But she wanted it gone as much as he did. She didn’t want it hampering them.
She dropped the pins to the floor without ceremony. When she felt the weight of the strands shifting, the mask loosening, she turned her back on him in case the mask slipped too far before she could catch it. She heard his sharp intake of breath as her hair tumbled to her backside. Securing the mask, keeping her hands in place, she spun back around to face him.
“I thought I knew what you looked like,” he said. “Based on the flow of the silk you wore. I was wrong. You’re far lovelier than I imagined.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, to his compliments, to his praise. Slowly, she lowered her arms, feeling powerful and in control because she wasn’t self-conscious with his perusal.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked.
“Pardon.”
“My clothing. Didn’t you claim you were going to rip it from my body?”
“What would you wear home if I did that?” she asked, slipping her hands beneath the opening of his jacket, flattening them against his chest, taking immense satisfaction in his sharp intake of breath. She eased her hands up, gliding them over his shoulders, down his arms, neither of them reaching for the jacket when it tumbled to the floor.
She began unbuttoning his waistcoat with fingers she didn’t expect to be so steady.
“No nerves,” he said. So he’d noticed.
Lifting her gaze to his, she gave him what she hoped was a saucy smile. “I want this.”
“It’s taking too long.” While she unknotted his cravat, he began working on the buttons of his shirt. Then he drew everything over his head, exposing a finely shaped torso.
Her fingers did tremble now as she touched the horrid, ragged scar on his left shoulder. “Mr. Alcott didn’t exaggerate.”
