The Stargazer by Michele Jaffe Page A

for me to wear these clothes,” Bianca said, assuming a defiant stance, “certainly it is less appropriate for me to be wandering around your house at night nude. Not to mention how indecorous it would be for me to present myself naked before you, my lord.”
    “Your concern for propriety is really quite touching, carissima ,” Ian said sarcastically in the impatience of his growing arousal, “but, as usual, sadly misplaced. That doorway,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder, “leads to a staircase which links my apartments to yours, so you need not worry about running into anyone, no matter what your state of undress. And I scarcely see how it could be inappropriate for you to bare yourself to me, seeing as you are my betrothed.”
    For a few moments they were both silent, the only sound in the chamber coming from the fire as it consumed the last scraps of the black jacket. “Are you,” Bianca asked finally, her voice quivering, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst from her breast, “are you going to make love to me?”
    The simplistic naiveté of her question, her tone of fear mingled with longing, stirred something unnameable within him. For the second time that night, Ian doubted her guilt. Could she indeed be innocent, not only of murder, but also of this? Was she really the mere slip of a girl that she appeared, young and alone in the world? Ian studied her form caressed by the firelight behind her, looking for answers in her lean curves and smooth skin, until his body, more aroused with each passing minute, demanded his attention and pushed such unsettling thoughts from his mind. “I believe I asked you to remove your hose,” he reminded her finally in a low voice.
    As she struggled with the elaborate laces of her leggings, Ian imagined cupping her behind, smooth and warm from its proximity to the fire, in his large hands as he pushed himself into her. He found his breathing almost as uneven as hers, his own heart beating almost as expectantly. Once free of the lacings, Bianca slipped the hose down over her thighs and stepped out of them. When Ian bent to push them into the fire, he caught the first delicious scent of her arousal and he knew his restraint was nearing the breaking point.
    Ian’s arm brushed her thigh as he sat back, sending a wave of the most delicious sensations through Bianca’s body. The thin, almost transparent shirt she wore just covered the mass of golden-brown curls below her stomach. Without waiting for Ian’s order, she pulled it over her head, threw it on the fire, and stood completely naked in front of him.
    Ian found himself awed by the beauty of the woman before him, more alluring than anything he had dreamt of. He could never have thought up the small clover-shaped birthmark on her stomach, a hand’s width above her left thigh, or the tender curve between her small breasts, just large enough to rest his head in. The light from the fire turned her hair to molten gold as it fell in waves over her breasts, making her glow with an inner radiance like some alchemist’s healing elixir.
    Bianca stood silently, not moving, as his eyes caressed her body, scarcely able to breathe much less to speak. Her dream was about to come true, the moment she had been waiting for was about to take place. She was about to be initiated into the mysteries of lovemaking. She had expected to feel scared and a little excited, but nothing could have prepared her for the entire loss of her senses that she seemed to be experiencing. The thought of pressing her cheek against the downy hair on his chest, of his muscled thighs wrapped around her, of those hands skimming her body, overwhelmed her. Her skin was tingling, her throat dry, her heart beating so hard she was sure Ian could hear it. But most surprising and wonderful of all was the novel heat that spiraled out from between her legs through every inch of her body.
    Ian reached out, finally, and pulled her onto his lap. She caught