She nodded, laughing. “I’m in love with you, too. I realized it when I found out about your mistress.”
Joy and jubilation rose up inside him like fireworks, and as torturous as all this was, he knew he’d never be happier than he was at this moment. “I don’t have a mistress. That’s a groundless rumor, and I have no idea how it got round, but—”
He broke off, realizing he was getting into the weeds and away from the vital point. “You mean it?” he asked and grabbed her arms. “Really?”
“Well, of course.” She kissed him. “You don’t think I’d risk yet another rejection, fling myself at you like this, and give a damn about your mistress if I weren’t madly in love with you, do you?”
“Well, frankly, Delia,” he muttered, “when it comes to you, I never know what to think. You seem to adore throwing me off my trolley.”
“It has become one of my greatest delights, I confess. Speaking of delights,” she added, leaning closer, her hips pressing his hard arousal, “are we going to make love?” She paused, her hips moving against his in a slow, tormenting tease. “Or am I going to have to beg?”
He groaned, a groan of agonized pleasure that made her smile, the little devil, and with that, all his willpower slipped irretrievably away.He never could manage to resist her. “I suspect I’ll be the one begging before it’s all over,” he muttered. “You are such a tease.”
“Tease?” she cried, having the nerve to sound indignant. “What an abominable thing to say.”
Even as she said it, she was untying the sash of her robe, and then she pulled the edges apart just enough for him to see the shadowy outline of one luscious breast beneath her chiffon nightdress, and she laughed again.
“I rest my case,” he said, wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close, and stopped her merriment with a long, hard, searing kiss. Only when she tore her lips from his with a shuddering gasp did he relent. Pulling back, he untied the sash of her robe. “Now, I think I’ve earned the right to look my fill.”
He slid the garment off her shoulders, revealing filmy layers of cream-colored chiffon and the voluptuous outline of her silhouette beneath. Unfortunately, the nightgown also had a long, tedious row of very tiny buttons.
He was fully, flagrantly aroused, and he was tempted to just tear the delicate chiffon fabric apart, but he pushed aside this base masculine desire at once.
Given what he knew that she did not, making love with her now was morally questionable—at best. He ought to wait, as he’d planned, but God help him, he just didn’t have the strength. Still, he wasn’t about to compound his sin by rushing the moment and taking her in a grasping rush. It might assuage his present agony, but it would leave her profoundly unsatisfied, and that was not a price he was willing to pay.
So he took a deep, steadying breath and lifted his hands to the base of her throat, his fingers undoing the first button under her chin.
“Simon?”
His hands stilled and he looked up to find her smiling.
“You don’t need to unfasten any buttons,” she told him. “There are ribbon ties in the back.”
“Thank God,” he said with such heartfelt relief that she laughed.
“I was tempted to let you undo them all,” she told him and laughed again. “But I decided that would take too long.”
“Did you now?” His resolve renewed, he turned her around. “Then I shall definitely be taking my time.”
She groaned, and it was his turn to laugh.
He suited the action to the word, beginning with her hair. Untying the ribbon, he unraveled the braid, and as he did, he caught the scent of her perfume in the raven-black locks. As always, the erotic fragrance sent his arousal flaring higher. Grasping a handful of the waist-length strands in his fist, he lifted them, inhaling deeply of the luscious scent before he wrapped them around his fist and tilted her head to the side.
He pressed kisses along the side of her throat as he lifted his free hand to her breast. He cupped it in his palm, relishing the full, round shape, his body supporting her weight as she leaned back against him with a soft moan.
“Ah, that’s what I like to hear,” he murmured, toying with her nipple through the thin silk, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger until her breath was quick and shallow and her body was moving agitatedly in his embrace.
Only then did he relent, and only long enough to turn them both around so that her abdomen was pressed against the footboard of the bed. Then he let her go, shoved the long tresses of her hair over her shoulder, and untied the bow at the back of her neck.
He pulled the edges of her nightgown apart and continued untying ribbons as he sank to his knees behind her, kissing his way along her spine until he reached the small of her back. Then he pulled the nightgown down her arms, over her tummy and hips, where it fellin a pool of filmy silk at her ankles, exposing her entire backside to his gaze—her slim, straight back, the deep curve of her waist, her shapely bum.
He pressed one last kiss to the dent in the small of her back; then, praying for fortitude, he grasped her hips and turned her around.
She was stunning. No other word for it. Her pale skin, luminous in the lamplight, her hair falling in black waves around her shoulders. Her breasts, round and full, with their erect nipples as rosy and tempting as ripe berries. His throat went dry, and he felt a sudden, uncharacteristic pang of uncertainty. He was no virgin, of course, but having had three husbands, her sexual experience far outweighed his, and he could only hope he could give her the pleasure she deserved.
“Simon? Is something wrong?”
He looked up, laughing a little. “I’m feeling a bit out of my depth, Delia, to be honest. You see, I’ve only been with two women in my life.”
