His gaze clashed with hers in the looking glass and she felt suddenly scorched.
“Well?” he demanded curtly.
“Well, what?” She tried to turn, but his hands forced her to remain facing the looking glass.
“Is that what you think looks like a boy?”
“Oh.” In the looking glass her cheeks pinkened in the candlelight. She gave her reflection a critical look. She had grown in the past few years, she had to admit. The fit of the clothes was not as loose as it used to be, but compared with her friends at the convent, she was still quite skinny and flat-chested. She didn’t look exactly like a boy, but neither did she look very womanly. “Most people don’t examine you up close like this,” she began.
He made a small exasperated sound.
“And when my hat covers my hair—”
He gave her a little shake. “You would still look nothing like a boy!” He dropped his hands to her waist. “Do boys have waists like this?”
She swallowed and gazed into the looking glass at the big hands encircling her waist.
“And what about here?” His hands dropped to the slight curve of her hips. “Have you ever seen a boy with hips like these?”
Bella couldn’t reply. She could only stare, mesmerized at the hands moving slowly in the candlelight, feeling the heat of his palms as they slid over her hips, the heat of his body at her back.
His hands caressed her lightly from the swell of her hips to her waist and back. “Boys have no waist, no hips; they’re all straight up and down, not… curved,” he murmured. “Boys are skin and bones, not… flesh.”
Her breath caught in her throat as his hands traveled slowly up her body, softly shaping the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, and higher. His touch was featherlight, and she was fully dressed in layers of clothing, yet she was achingly aware of every infinitesimal movement.
He smoothed his palms over the leather jerkin she wore. “Boys’ chests are flat… hard… bony.” His breath was warm on her ear. “Even in this ugly leather jerkin, you don’t look the least bit flat or bony.” His hands brushed lightly over the garment, barely touching her, but the tips of her breasts tingled as if she were naked.
She moistened her lips. “But the girls in the convent—”
“Were ignorant young ninnies. And they weren’t looking at you with the eyes of a man. A man is attuned to the shape of a woman, even when it’s subtle and hidden beneath layers. A man would take one look at you and know that under this…” He swiftly undid the bone buttons down the front ofthe jerkin. “He would find this.”
He drew the two halves of the jerkin front apart to reveal the white shirt she wore beneath. Her breath came in jagged gasps. She wore a chemise under the shirt, but even so, you could see the hard points of her nipples and the faint shadow of aureole around them.
He cupped her breasts in both hands, and she gasped as he passed his thumbs lightly over her aching nipples, just once, but it was as if he’d touched a heated knife to her. She bucked under the impact and lurched back against his body.
He dropped his hands to steady her. She tried to turn in his arms, to kiss him, to do… she wasn’t sure what.
“I’m not finished yet.” He was breathing hard, but his jaw was set. “I want to make sure you understand fully.” He turned her sideways and ran one hand over her bottom. “See this? There isn’t a male alive with such a lush, feminine backside.” He cupped one of her buttocks, and Bella’s knees almost buckled. “Mouthwatering,” he muttered, as if to himself.
He turned her again to face the looking glass. His hands gripped her hips; his fingers pointed toward her center. She was resistless as a doll, her mind and body trembling from the effect of his words, his touch.
She felt smoking hot, ready to burst into flame like paper held too close to the fire, not touching, but heated beyond bearing.
“As for here…” He placed his palm on her stomach and slid it slowly down. “Here you are wholly and entirely female.” His big, warm palm covered her crotch and cupped her firmly.
Bella arched involuntarily, leaning back against him. Her legs trembled, almost too weak to stand, but he didn’t let go of her and didn’t move.
One powerful arm was wrapped around her, holding her upright in front of the looking glass. The other clasped her firmly and brazenly between her legs.
“Breeches do not a boy make.” His mouth was so close to her ear she could feel every breath. His voice was deep and shivered through her to her very bones. “In fact, these breeches outline your femininity with loving faithfulness.” He released her crotch, and she felt suddenly cold, but then one long, masculine finger moved, tracing a slow vee shape at the apex of her thighs, down one side, up the other. And then slowly along the line that bisected it.
She trembled helplessly in its wake.
He stood almost side by side with her now, his left arm supporting her, as he slowly stroked his finger back and forth between legs that would barely support her. He was hardly touching her, but it was as though his fingers left trails of fire.
Her gaze drifted away from the sight of his hands and his fingers slowly working… magic… stealing all her control… teasing her apart at the seams.
She could see the difference so clearly now: the vee shape in her breeches, the hard bulge of his. She stared at that bulge, trying to make out the exact shape beneath the cloth.
