He made a low sound deep in his throat, caught her hand, and kissed her palm. It sent tingles right to the core of her and her fingers curled around his jaw. “Shall I remove the nightshirt now?”
Her mouth dried. “Yes,” she croaked.
In one swift movement, he sat up, yanked it over his head, and tossed it aside. He was naked. As naked as he’d been that first night in her bed. But this time, for this one, precious night, he was hers to caress, absorb, love.
Firelight danced over the golden expanse of his long, hard body. Maddy stroked her palms slowly, luxuriously over him, loving the strength of his shoulders and the hard, elegant muscularity of his arms, the solid planes of his chest.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
“No, that’s my line.” He pulled the thick plaits of her hair forward and unraveled them slowly, loosening one at the time, trailing his fingers through the thick locks, murmuring things about corn silk and fire as he rubbed it against his face and between his fingers and arranged it over her shoulders. When he finished, his fingers rested lightly just above her breasts.
“Do you want me to—” she began, reaching for the buttons at the front of her nightgown.
“No.” He pressed his hand over hers, stilling the movement. He smiled at her surprise. “Not yet.”
Before she could ask why, he bent and kissed her lightly on the mouth, once, twice, and then he was raining kisses on her face, on her eyelids, on her cheeks, soft and sweet, like summer rain.
Like a cat, she rubbed against him, running her hands over his chest and shoulders, loving the spare, hard feel of him.
His skin was cool but it warmed under her touch, and the intense heat at the core of him seeped into her as it had on the nights they’d slept together.
He planted kisses from the corner of her mouth along her jawline in a slow, sensual exploration down the column of her neck.
Her lips felt swollen, ultrasensitive, even though he’d barely skimmed over them. She ached for the deeper kisses he’d given her before, and moistened her lips, enjoying the delicious hunger of anticipation. All she had was this night with him. She would not waste a moment of it by hurrying.
But she was hungry . . . and he was a feast.
Her fingers moved of their own accord, stroking lightly over the small hard nubs. Were his nipples as sensitive as hers? She circled them with her nails, scratching them lightly, like a cat. He made a soft growling noise deep in his throat and moved against her hands, pushing against her, demanding more.
Her beautiful . . . lion? No, he was a cougar, elegant and powerful and tawny.
Catlike, she licked his skin, tasting salt and spice and essence of Nash. He tensed. Did he not like it?
She glanced up and caught the glint of his smile. “Again,” he murmured.
This time she bit him very gently, scraping her teeth over the hard little raised nubs and he arched and shuddered beneath her touch. She smiled, filled with female power, then gasped as he brushed her breast though the fabric of her nightgown.
He stroked over the fabric so lightly, so delicately she should not even feel it. Instead she quivered uncontrollably at the lightest touch. Her breasts were achingly sensitive, their hardened tips thrusting against the fabric, craving his touch. He caressed her again and again and she shuddered and arched and pressed herself against him.
“And now . . .” he said and reached for the buttons on her nightgown. She moved to help him, eager for the sensation of lying skin to skin with him, but again he stopped her with his hands, saying, “These aremybuttons.”
She waited breathlessly.
He undid one small bone button, then kissed her slowly, sumptuously. Delicious, but she wanted more.
Instead he undid another button, clumsily, with shaking hands.
She groaned silently. Why had she worn a nightgown with so many buttons? “I bet you were the kind of little boy who unwrapped his presents very slowly.”
“I was.” He took the next tiny bone button between long, strong fingers and gave her a slow smile. “I still am. Anticipation builds hunger.”
It certainly did. How many buttons were there? She tried to remember and failed. All she knew was that if he continued unfastening buttons at this torturous rate, she’d melt, or explode, or something.
“I’m not a parcel.” In one movement she pulled the nightgown over her head and tossed it aside. It floated to the floor and settled gently over his.
And she was naked in front of a man, for the first time in her life. Cool night air whispered against her skin.
“No,” he breathed. “You’re a gift.”
