She nodded.“It’s definitely a test.”
He squinted up toward the heavens.“Hydra?”
“Wrong.”She affected grave disappointment.“That’s clearly a lady’s hair ribbon.”
“Is that so?”He pointed at a different corner.“What do you see over there, Resident Lady Astronomer?”
“A harpsichord.”She moved his hand in the direction of Ursa Major.“And that set of stars over there look like… three French horns.”
He wrinkled his nose in obvious disagreement.“Hens.”
She jerked her eyes toward his.“What?”
He pointed up.“Not horns.I think they look more like chickens.”
“You see three French hens up there in the sky,” she repeated in disbelief.“You.”
He widened his eyes at her.“Doesn’t everyone?”
“What I see right now—” She let go of his hand and rolled atop him.“—is a man I like very much.”
He curved his hands about her hips.“What are you going to do about it?”
She answered by slanting her mouth over his.
Her heart pounded with pleasure.A thousand roses would not have been a greater gift than his three French hens.
Christopher was bending a rule, just for her.He wasn’t merely allowing her to be herself, no matter how silly that might be, but actively joining his imagination with hers.
She’d like to join a few more bits together.
He was temptation incarnate.Everything about him was something she shouldn’t have or couldn’t have, but wanted very much.She sank her fingers into his hair as she kissed him.
His lips were firm and generous, his tongue hot and demanding.She would relinquish anything he wanted if he would give her everything she needed.Her body yearned for him, from her banging heart to the rush of desire racing through her blood.She might lose him on the morrow, but she would not allow tonight to pass them by.
“Tell me about your travels,” she murmured between kisses.“Do all cultures require cravats?”
He murmuredNowithout separating his mouth from hers.
She slid her fingers from his hair down to his neckcloth.In moments, she untied the knot.With a flourish, she tossed the soft square of white silk aside.
“Tourists,” she murmured.“Always with the neckcloths.Tell me about this very interesting coat of black superfine.”She ran her hands over his hard muscles.“Do men in all places hide their gorgeous arms in such things?”
“They do not,” he said between kisses.“Horrid custom.”
She wriggled her skirts up so that she could better straddle his thighs, then pulled him upright in order to divest him of his coat.When she’d dreamed of what it might be like to undress him, she hadn’t realized her fingers would fumble with each button because her hands trembled so.Or that removing each layer of clothing would feel like stripping away another shield from her heart.
When the well-tailored superfine and accompanying waistcoat joined the forgotten neckcloth outside the blanket, he moved to lay back down.
She stopped him.
“This linen shirt,” she said as she ran a fingertip along his shoulder.“It offends my sensibilities.”
“A thousand apologies, madam.”He removed the shirt in a single fluid movement.
Her breath caught.Having him to command was headier than any brandy.Seeing his naked flesh with her eyes, feeling his strong thighs trapped beneath hers, made her feel more powerful than any star in the sky.He wasn’t looking at his telescope.He was looking at her.Submitting to her every wish because his desire matched her own.
His hot gaze never wavered from hers.“How else may I be of service?”
