“Don’t move,” he gritted out. “Don’t turn around.”
She made a surprised little gasp and turned her head, exposing the curve of her ear, the tender line of her throat.
“I cannot think if you turn around. I can—Christ, I cannot think as it is. You cloud my mind.”
Her breath was coming quickly. He could see the pulse beating hard at the base of her throat.
“I spend all day and night wanting to touch you,” he said hoarsely. “Wanting to have my hands on you again. My mouth.”
She swallowed and said nothing. He still held her hand pressed between his and the door, and she did not pull away, and he could not make himself stop talking.
“’Twould be so easy to slide my fingers under the fragile wee strap of this nightgown. Push it down. See you bare and lovely before me. Christ, when I think of you wearing this in the bed beside me, it makes me—”
He broke off. Her breasts rose and fell erratically as she breathed, and he thought of the sound she’d made, loud and wanting, when he’d touched her there.
“What?” she whispered. “It makes you what?”
In answer, he pressed into her, pushing his arousal into the generous swell of her buttocks, and groaned a little from the pleasure of it.
“Hard,” he said. “Desperate. Maddened.”
“Arthur,” she gasped, and her hand twitched under his, and for one crushing instant he thought she was trying to pull away, until—
“Touch me,” she said. “Please.”
Her head swam with want. Her skin was hot and sensitive, her nipples tight points that brushed against the silk of her night rail and sent shudders through her every time she breathed.
Arthur was behind her, his big hand closed over hers, pressing her fingers into the smooth wood grain of the door.
That was the only place his fingers touched her, and yet it was enough to send arousal spilling through her, a leap and slide in her lower belly, a throb between her legs. His hand was large, much larger than her own, and the contrast between his restrained strength and the small bones of her wrist aroused her further.
The muscles of his arms flexed beside her head, as though all the power in his body was held in check by the barest thread of his control.
She had done that. Power of a different sort mounted inside her, and it made her dizzy and reckless.
When would she have this chance again? When would she have this man—this man, whom she wanted beyond anything she’d imagined possible—trembling with desire before her?
“Please,” she said again. “I want your hands on me. On my skin.” It was easier to say the words this way, facing away from him, his body warm and solid behind her, her gaze on their linked hands.
There was a long, frozen moment of indecision. She could feel his body go tense, his fingers tightening on hers.
And then his hand landed, hot and heavy, on the curve of her waist.
“Christ,” he rasped. His hand was already moving, sliding forward to her lower belly, pulling her back against him with the barest pressure. She heard herself make a soft-voiced cry as her body came into firmer contact with his.
“Put your hands on the door,” he said. “Both hands. Don’tturn around. I cannot—I cannot swear to the endurance of my honor if you turn around.” His hand came higher on her body. His thumb traced the outer curve of her breast, and she whimpered, trying to press herself into his hand.
“Ah God,” he murmured. His head came down, his lips against her ear. “Lydia. Lydia.”
“I want you to do—what you said.” It was all she could think of. Her breasts felt ripe and swollen, and the slide of his thumb along one heavy curve only made her crave more. “Pull down my night rail. Touch me that way.”
“Aye,” he said against her ear. She felt the tickle of his breath there, and she shivered. She had not known that part of her body could be so sensitive. She had not known any of this. And she wanted—God, she did not want him to stop.
His right hand—the one that had captured hers—slid slowly up her arm. She felt the scratch of his calloused fingers against her skin. At her shoulder, he paused. He slid one finger beneath the strap of her night rail and toyed with it. She pressed back against him impatiently, and he made a rough sound. A hungry sound.
He set his teeth against her ear. “Dinna rush.”
“Don’tdallythen—”
