accept?"
As he spoke, his longest finger drew a circle on her hip, a deft, suggestive circle that made her want to move his hand a few more inches to the left. With all her strength, she fought a groan. Nic didn't make
it easy. The tip of his tongue curled out to flick her ear. "Wouldn't you like my aid, Mary? Wouldn't
you like me to ease your needs?"
"I told you, I'm not a wh—"
"Sh," he soothed, before she could say the word. "I remember what you told me and you know what I answered. Nothing will happen between us that you don't wish."
He was rocking her now, hugging her gently with arms and thighs and chest—even the arch of his graceful neck. She wanted to turn in his arms and lift her mouth to his. She remembered the night he'd rescued her and the urge she'd felt to put herself in his hands. Then her longing had been for safety.
Now it was for risk. She knew his kiss would be sweet, knew it would sweep her into a mindless joy. Only the thought of all the women who'd succumbed to his charms before gave her the strength to
draw away.
"At the moment," she said, pushing to her feet as steadily as she could, "I wish you would leave my room."
He laughed at her tartness and got to his feet as well. Meaning to appear stern, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. To her dismay, this simply drew attention to the painful tightness of their peaks, pulsing against the muslin, hardened by more than cold. Look at me , they seemed to say. Look at what you've done. No doubt the part of him that had teased her bottom was shouting the same refrain, but Merry refused to heed its seductive call. Nic smiled, sleepy-eyed, and licked his index finger's pad.
Now what, she wondered, does he mean to do with that? His arm reached toward her, the dampened finger aiming for her breast. Knowledge welled with molten heat. He meant to touch her nipple. He wanted the cloth to cling to her skin.
With a muffled gasp, she shrank out of reach. If Nic was contrite, it did not show.
"Are you sure you want me to leave?" he purred. "I could warm you until the fire takes hold."
He slid the hand she'd evaded down his front, over his breastbone and muscled belly, over the cord that tied his sleeping trousers. They were gray, she saw, with a tiny figure in russet red. She bit her lip as his hand slid lower still, palming the arrogant jut of his erection. To save her life, she could not have looked away. Her breath stalled as he cupped himself and rubbed, a strong, voluptuous motion that pushed the whole of his sex against his front.
Lord, he was ... it was ... impressive the way he handled himself so frankly. His fingers squeezed his
sack while his thumb worked a lazy circle beneath the crown. He'd grown so long his tip was caught under the cord. The silk clung damply there, outlining the flaring shape. She was staring so hard her
eyes were burning. He did not appear to care; in truth, he seemed to savor her attention. He also
seemed to know just how mesmerized she was.
"If you don't want me to touch you, you could watch," he suggested, his voice even rougher than
before. "See if you like the way my body works."
In that instant, she wanted to watch more than she wanted to guard her pride. This man was beyond
any rule she'd ever known. Free of inhibition. Ignorant of shame. She knew instinctively he'd take her places she'd never dreamed.
She spun to face the mantel. "I'm sure you'll manage fine without me."
He did not take her retreat as a rebuff. How could he when her voice was choked with lust? His hands found her upper arms, his thumbs sliding under the puffy sleeves of her chemise. It was her own
garment, cut close to her figure to fit the season's narrow gowns. Usually grateful for its lightness, now she felt unbearably exposed. Tingles spread outward from his caress as his chin nudged her hair from
the nape of her neck. His lips whispered like satin there, his breath like
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley