"Now the shirt," he instructed, his voice rough.
She pulled it from his trousers, her fingers brushing against the warm skin of his stomach. He hissed in a breath, muscles tensing under her touch. Emboldened, she let her hands exploreas she pushed the shirt up—the ridges of his abdomen, the light dusting of hair, the scars that spoke of his military past.
"Catherine." Her name was a warning.
"I'm just following instructions," she said innocently.
"Minx." He pulled the shirt off himself, tossing it aside. "My turn."
Before she could ask what he meant, his hands were at the ties of her nightgown. "Still trust me?"
"Yes."
"Good. Because I'm about to see all of you, and then I'm going to touch every inch I see, and then I'm going to taste every inch I touch. Any objections?"
Her mouth went dry. "No."
"No, what?"
"No... sir?"
He groaned. "You're going to be the death of me, saying things like that." The nightgown loosened, sliding off one shoulder. "Say it again."
"No objections, sir."
"Perfect girl." The praise washed over her like warm honey as he slowly, torturously slowly, pushed the nightgown down. "Look at me. Don't hide."
She forced herself to meet his eyes as the cotton pooled at her feet, leaving her completely bare. The cool air made her shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat in his gaze as he studied her.
"Exquisite," he said roughly. "Absolutely exquisite. Come here."
She stepped forward, gasping as her bare skin met his. The hair on his chest abraded her sensitive breasts, making her whimper. His hands splayed across her back, holding her steady.
"Too much?"
"No. No, it's... I don't have words."
"Then don't talk." He lifted her suddenly, making her squeal. "Wrap your legs around me."
"James!"
"Trust, remember?" He carried her to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them. The fire here was burning brighter, casting the room in golden light. The bed looked enormous, intimidating.
He set her down gently beside it, keeping one arm around her waist. "Second thoughts?"
"No. Just... nervous."
"Good."
"Good?"
"It means you understand this matters. This isn't nothing, Catherine. Not for either of us." He cupped her face in both hands. "I'm going to take such good care of you. But I need you to talk to me. Tell me if something doesn't feel right, if you need me to stop or slow down. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"And if you're very, very good," he murmured, backing her toward the bed, "if you do exactly as I say, I'll make you feel things you've only dreamed about."
The back of her knees hit the mattress. "I don't dream about... that."
