“I’m trying not to laugh.”
“Eh?” Another of his adorable grunts. He exhaled loudly. “Sweetheart, if you want to laugh, by all means do so. Only please, would you enlighten me as to its cause? I think I could use a chuckle,” he finished on a growl. “This evening is not proceeding how I’d planned.”
Which somehow struck her as funny, and she did laugh. Finally. It felt good, allowing the pressure that had built up in her chest a way out. “But that’s just it, this isn’t going how I’d envisioned either. I thought…ah, doing this was going to be a solemn, serious occasion and—”
“But we’ve kissed a fair amount,” Nicolas sounded surprisingly conversational, “more than a fair amount I’d say, and you can’t claim those were all sober events.”
“Nay, but this is different. I’ve been eagerly dreading it all day but—”
“Dreading it?” The word dropped like a guillotine.
“But eagerly, mind you. Although now all I can do is picture you with a black patch covering one eye and a red scarf wrapped about your head and—”
“A red scarf? An eyepatch?”
“Like a pirate,” she explained as she approached the bed. “Because you’ve stolen me away to ravish me and because you treasure me so thoroughly.”
“I can be your pirate.” The growl was more subdued this time. More thoughtful.
Reaching the thick post at the corner, she paused. “Is this where you stubbed your toe?”
“Where? What?”
“The bedpost.”
“Yessss…”
She feared her wild changes of topics were leading him on a merry chase. And she was about to take yet another turn because a fresh scent, one that reminded her of summer sunshine and the picnics of her youth, was causing her to sniff. Then sniff again. “Do I smell…” Raspberries? Nooo. That would be implausible. “Blueberries?”
“And a whole slew of other berries. For later.”
Some imp made her ask, “Mistletoe?”
“Hanging from the rafters,” he replied instantly. “Hordes of it, far above your head.”
Isabella knew how to recognize his clankers by now; he might not spout them as frequently, but she’d learned well the different nuances in his voice. She grazed her palm up the stout wood column, imagining the just-invented kissing boughs dangling above. “Ah, but since I’m no longer charging for my kisses, I suppose we can leave it all up there.”
“Thank God.” He sounded ever so relieved.
Which only made her smile. “Tell me, my always, always, always truthful spouse—”
“Ha! You know me well.”
“I do indeed. You’re not peeking, are you? At me?”
“Though I’m beyond tempted, I won’t.” She knew he spoke honestly. “I’m in the dark as much as you, my love.”
And that’s when she left off being wary of the unknown, berries—fictional and otherwise—and her very own blindfolded pirate showing her the way. “But I’m no longer in the dark, haven’t been since that very first kiss you gave me.”
“Issy…belle.” Within the drawn-out syllables of her name, he infused a wealth of love.
She tested the scope of the bed hangings and found the center of the high mattress between the fabric-draped posts. Propping one knee on the plush surface, she allowed her dressing gown to slide from her shoulders.
Another deep inhale of berry-scented air for courage and she pulled her gossamer nightgown over her head, only a smidgen disappointed he wouldn’t be admiring it tonight. “There now. I’ve just taken off my robe.”
“Have you now?” He sounded almost indulgent.
“Aye, and all that was underneath.”
“Y-you have?” he sputtered.
“That I have.” Her voice had taken on a smoky tone Isabella was amazed actually came from her mouth. “And I don’t feel like laughing anymore either.”
“You don’t?” It was a husky whisper.
“Not at all. Shall I tell you what I see?”
“God, yes.”
Her fingers crept forward until she sensed the heat coming from his body. Circling a few inches around, she made deliberate contact with the skin of his lower legs.
She’d meant to initiate tentative contact, but the rasp of his manly body hairs tossed that intention overboard and her hands clasped firmly to the muscled limbs. A slow, up-and-down slide of her palms sent treacherous tingles racing from her fingers to set up camp somewhere south of her stomach. That scandalous slide also oriented her between his knees and his feet. So now she knew “where” she was. Supposedly.