Page 101 of The Dangerous Lord

“You give me no choice. If you won’t make love to me, you force me to resort to the same tactics I used on the morning after our wedding.”

Bloody hell, what fevered images those words sent running rampantly through his head! And every image was of her sliding out of a pair of silk drawers and lifting one leg⁠—

He grabbed her hands and forced them to her sides. “I won’t let you do this.”

“You can’t stop me, and you know it.” She ground her pelvis against his loins again, and he went a little mad. “If you don’t let me undress, I’ll resort to your tactics that morning—tell you exactly what I want to do to every part of your body.”

A truly wicked look entered her eyes as she let her gaze trail slowly down his chin and neck. “You know that line of hair just there on your chest, the one that starts below your throat? I want to run my finger all the way down that line, very, very slowly.”

Her sultry gaze mirrored the actions she described, skimming down his chest to the sash. His shaft strained to escape his stockingette small clothes. If she didn’t shut up⁠—

“I want to follow that intriguing line of hair to your belly and once around your navel. I might even plant a kiss or two there. Yes, I believe I’ll continue on with kisses. I’ll scatter a few warm, wet kisses down your belly until my mouth reaches your hard⁠—”

He never let her finish. He crushed her mouth beneath his, devouring it, invading it with his tongue the second she parted her lips. Thoughts of a separation and salving his conscience vanished. His wife was in his arms, damn it, and he wanted her.

God, how he wanted her. Only Felicity could combine the most sensuous impulses of a courtesan and the wondering enjoyment of an innocent—a combination no man could resist. Certainly not him.

He still held her hands at her sides, but didn’t resist when she dragged them free, then slid them inside his dressing gown to skim his ribs. When he felt her fumbling with the ties of his small clothes, he aided her in unfastening them, then shimmied out of them and his dressing gown with a speed that would astonish his valet.

Her eagerness to undress him gave him license to undress her next, tearing at buttons, ripping at tangled tapes and ties, shoving and peeling and discarding layers of lacy feminine fluff until she wore only her chemise and stockings. Apparently, she wore no drawers, and that realization stiffened him to a rigidity unsurpassed in his lifetime.

Pulling back from her, he yanked at the ties of her chemise, knotting them so badly he swore under his breath. She made a little sound that prompted him to glance into her face. Her expression checked his haste at once. She looked alarmed.

Of course. For all her teasing, she was still nearly an innocent. She’d completed the act only twice, and his violent haste in undressing her had shocked her.

He forced himself to pause and take a breath instead of tossing her back on the bed behind them as he wanted to. She deserved better. She deserved none of this, but he couldn’t stop himself now, so he must make it good for her instead.

If he could keep from going insane in the meantime.

He needed a little distance. Releasing her chemise, he said hoarsely, “Take this off for me.” And then I won’t be tempted to rip it off and ravish you too quickly.

Her cheeks grew rosy, but she nodded. Stepping back from him, she bent her head and concentrated on unknotting the ties of her chemise, which gave him a second to breathe. And to feast his eyes on the sight of her in her chemise. He’d never seen this one on her before. It was something a wife would wear on her honeymoon—made of a silky gauze thin enough to reveal more than it should and less than he wanted.

It showed clearly the dark peach buds of her nipples where they pressed against the fabric, but the rest of her breasts remained cloaked. The feminine swell of her belly was hidden, but the hair of the luscious vee between her legs showed darkly beneath the opaque cloth. He had to will his hands to be still, will them not to rip the damned thing in half so he could feast on her naked body.

She reached for the hem as if to draw it up over her head.

“No,” he commanded. “Do it the way you did it the morning after our wedding. Lower it. Slowly.”

Her gaze met his. Her alarm was gone, replaced with a wide-eyed excitement. She did as he asked, and as she revealed inch after inch of female flesh, his mouth went dry. Candlelight shimmered on her smooth skin. Her breasts were as lovely as he remembered, pert and firm and the shape he liked—not too large, for he’d never been fond of blowsy women.

Then came her belly with its fine dimple of a navel and then ...

“You can drop the chemise,” he rasped.

She did, and he groaned. Tendrils of hair curled sweetly about the spot he wanted to kiss and caress and lick.

She started to undo one garter, and he said, “Wait. Leave it on.” Leaning forward, he tugged her into his arms for a long, probing kiss. Then he lifted her bodily, and turned to set her down on her feet on the bed so that she stood a few feet above him.

“Ian, what are you⁠—”

“Shh,” he murmured as he skimmed his hands over her hips and thighs. Had a woman ever been so perfectly made? Or was it that his need for her made him see perfection everywhere? “Hold on to the bedpost, querida.”

When she did as he bade, he took her other hand and placed it on his shoulder. Then he lifted the opposite leg and hooked it over his other shoulder, spreading her open for his gaze. And his mouth.

“Ian?” she said, her skin pinkening everywhere.

“Remember what I said I wanted to do to you that morning?” He planted a kiss to the band of thigh above her garter. “What I wanted to do with my tongue?”