“But you said it was because of Piers. You wanted me because you were envious of him, and it wasn’t really anything to do with me.”
“Oh, yes.” He returned to stand before her. “That’s what I told myself. I told myself a lot of things. I told myself that it just so happened you were my sort.” He swept a hungry look down her body. “I was only attracted to you because I’m always attracted to fair-haired, blue-eyed, lushly curved women. That would make sense, wouldn’t it?
“It would make perfect sense.”
His gaze snapped up to hers. “It was a lie.”
“So . . . you’re . . . not attracted to fair-haired, blue-eyed, lushly curved women?”
“Oh, I am,” he said. “I am. And it’s because they remind me of you.”
Heavens.
Her knees . . . They weren’t working anymore. They might not exist anymore.
She reeled backward, and her back met the bedpost.
“Your body”—he closed the distance between them—“is my every raw, lusting, carnal dream. I’ve spent years wondering what you look like under all that.”
“Well . . .” She uncrossed her arms, and the lace gown slipped to the floor. “Wonder no longer.”
She wasn’t quite naked. Even with her gown and corset in a heap at her feet, she still wore her chemise and petticoats. But the delicate, tissue-thin fabric left little to the imagination.
Rafe didn’t say anything. He simply stared at her.
She grasped the ribbon bow at the neckline of her chemise and pulled it loose.
He didn’t so much as blink.
Clio’s pulse raced. She hadn’t come this far just to back down. If he left her here, exposed and rejected, her pride would never survive it.
In a moment of pure madness, she stretched her arms overhead, gripping the bedpost with both hands. The pose bowed her spine and pushed her breasts to what she hoped was an enticing angle.
He showed no signs of being enticed.
Oh, Lord. Perhaps all those confessions of his had merely been lies to soothe her feelings. She’d been a fool to believe he found her irresistible. Here he was, standing within arm’s reach, enjoying a view of her half-naked body . . .
Resisting.
Her bravery faded, and her gaze dropped to the floor. She started to let her hands drop, too. She needed to cover herself, find somewhere to hide from this humiliation. Perhaps the closet, or a nice crack in the floor.
“Don’t.”
With one big hand he caught both of her wrists. He pressed them back in place and held them there, effectively shackling her to the bedpost.
“Don’t move.”
Well. Now this was more like it.
The sudden heat and forceful nature of the contact, his unabashed stare, the vulnerability of her posture . . . it all made her writhe with excitement.
It wasn’t just knowing that Rafe found her body attractive.
It was that she found her body rather attractive, too.
“Look at you,” he breathed.
She did. She gazed down at herself, admiring the flushed pink of her skin beneath the thin white shift. The sunlight streaming through the windows was warm, and kind to her fair complexion, painting her with a rosy glow. Her peaked nipples strained and chafed against the fabric. Her gently rounded belly and hips made no excuses for themselves.
This was her body. She had learned to take pleasure in it, even if no man had ever done the same. It was curved and generous and womanly and strong, and it was formed to do more than decorate a drawing room, or transfer wealth from one gentleman to another.
She was made to tempt, labor, inspire, create, sustain.
Despite the way Rafe held her bound in his grasp, a sense of power moved through her. For once, she could revel in her femininity and feel it as something other than a disadvantage to be overcome. A quality to be respected, worshipped. Even feared.
She could do anything in this moment. She felt like a—
“A goddess,” he murmured.
Dear Lord. Forget sentences. He was finishing her thoughts now.
“You’re sculpted just like a Grecian goddess.” His gaze pulled up to catch hers. “And the hell of it is, your body’s only the third most attractive thing about you. Right after your clever mind and your lovely heart.”
If he meant to admire her heart, he had better do it quickly. Because she suspected the organ was going to give out at any moment. Her “clever mind” was already a bowl of blancmange.
“If you were mine to hold and pleasure, I’d . . .”
She sucked in her breath. “You would what?”
He leaned forward, and his voice was dark. “Take you in my arms, at first. Hold your heart close to mine and try to let that be enough. But it wouldn’t be enough. I’d start to want more. I’d want to make you want more.”