The Heart of a Duke(79)
He unpinned her hair, sighing as his hands dove into her curls, his fingers combing through the strands. He emitted a groan, her sleek cat purring, as he played with the curls.
His hair was surprisingly soft and thick. She grasped a fistful of it, fingering the dark locks. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, her fingers digging in hard, feeling the heat of his skin through his linen shirt.
She nearly cried out in protest when he lifted his weight from her and sat up.
“This will not do.”
“Excuse me?” Was she doing something wrong?
He laughed. “Too many clothes.” Straddling her, he whipped off his shirt. The light danced over his broad shoulders and smooth skin, his white bandage bright in the dim light. Her eyes fell to it, worried. “Maybe we shouldn’t, Daniel. You are wounded.”
“Oh no, if you leave me now, I will be in far more pain than the healing wound in my side.”
Her eyes widened, blatantly aware of his arousal. “Oh,” she murmured, mortified.
“Oh, indeed.” He laughed. “But one thing at a time. We still have too many clothes.”
He untied the belt of her robe, slipped it open and pushed it from her shoulders. She waited for her denial to come, but it never did. After all, she was already a ruined woman. It fleetingly occurred to her that all women should be so fortunate.
His eyes met hers as his fingers dispensed with the pearl buttons of her nightgown. One by one, they slid free under his persistent fingers, and he spread her nightgown open and sucked in a sharp breath.
Warm air caressed her bare breasts. She struggled to summon the modesty to cover herself, but Daniel’s smoldering look held her still, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Botticelli’s goddess,” he said, awe in his voice.
His admiring stare moved her, his green eyes heavy-lidded as they drank her in, his lips parted, his breathing shallow.
“Jonathan says you always share your treats with him. Share with me, Julia. Let me love you. Give yourself to me.”
The husky timbre of his voice seduced her as thoroughly as his touch. Her head lolled back, her eyes closing, as a trail of those delicious kisses made their way along the hollows of her collarbones, down over the curving slopes of her breasts, until his mouth closed over a pliant peak. His tongue flicked around it, suckling and doing such forbidden, erotic things, creating a pool of moisture between her thighs.
“Much, much better than treacle tart. So very sweet.” He murmured. “But I have another dream.” Too languid to open her eyes, she felt him shift and lean over.
“Daniel!” She jumped and her eyes flew open, when he smeared the sticky, sugary tart filling over her breasts. “What . . . ? What are you doing?”
“Enjoying dessert. You know how I love my sweets.” His eyes flared as they roved over her and he swallowed. “Better than I ever dreamed.”
His head lowered and she sank back into the cushions as his tongue worked its magic, licking up every inch of the filling, and much too quickly to her mind. Another thought struck her. “Just . . . just don’t count on my emerging naked from a shell,” she managed to gasp.
His head lifted and his eyes flared, a drop of lemon on his lips. “No? Will you let me immortalize you naked on canvas?”
“Do . . . do you paint?” She lifted her head and did as she had yearned to do the other morning, licking the lemon filling from his lips.
He groaned. “Not a stroke, but if you promise to pose for me, I promise to learn,” he vowed before devouring her mouth, as if he could not get enough of her.
She pulled his head back, smiling as he frowned at her. “I don’t think painting can be learned. I think you have to have a talent for it.”
His frown vanished, replaced by a slow, wicked smile that teased his lips. “Lots of things can be taught. But until then, it is a good thing I have a talent for other things.”
His head lowered, and his hands and mouth tormented her. He was indeed very talented. He had strong hands and long, tapered fingers.
“Daniel.” She liked the sound of his name, whispered on her lips. “Daniel, perhaps we should slow down. This might not be a good idea.” The husky tone of her voice sounded strange to her ears.
“It is, Julia. You feel good, taste better, and I cannot get enough of you.” He pressed his lips to the sensitive patch of skin under her ear, the pulse throbbing in her neck, and the valley between her breasts.
Desire coursed through her in a liquid wave and she rode it. He was right. It felt so very good, and she wanted more.
His words echoed. Sometimes it took the scare of losing something precious for someone to realize its true value.