His palm shifted as if of its own volition to press against her newly bared skin. In the window, he watched her lips part. Felt the movement beneath his hand. He watched himself slide his fingertips beneath the soft white fabric of her chemise.
“Malcolm,” she said. The tip of her tongue brushed his fingers.
He shuddered at the feeling, and at the sound of his name in her mouth. It had been the better part of a lifetime since someone had used his name the way she did: simple and true and devastating.
When he spoke, his voice came out scratchy and deep. “Ruby.”
“I’m not asking for someone else’s approval. I’m not waiting.” Her breath had quickened. Her cheeks were flushed. She felt like a flame in his arms as she put her hand atop his at the level of her chest and then, slowly, guided his fingers down.
His fingers—hers—they tangled, touched, stroked the edge of her areola, and then cupped her breast and lifted it from her stays. All of it felt heady, dizzying: their fingers locked together, the unbearable softness of her skin, the weight of her breast overflowing his palm.
And then, as he watched, her other hand moved too, peeling his free hand from her throat and moving it to her abdomen. Her fingers covered his, pressing his palm hard into her lower belly. He made a hoarse sound; his fingers twitched against the embroidered fabric. His cock throbbed. His mind went blurred with memories of how she felt, wet and pulsing on his hand.
His eyes came back to her face. In the glass, her lips were parted, a damp, vulnerable pink that almost hurt to look at.
“I want you to touch me,” she said. “And I want to watch.”
Chapter 22
He stepped away from her, and Ruby felt a cold wash of disappointment. She had thought—oh God, she had been so certain—
But he was only moving to lock the door.
“Tell me this has a latch,” he said, a trifle breathlessly. “I swear to you, Ruby Ballimore, if it doesn’t, I’m having you anyway. Up against the door maybe. Don’t care if this whole bleeding house gets an eyeful. It’ll teach them to stay away.”
She laughed, an unsteady sound. Her heart leapt in her chest. “Perhaps you could push the settee in front of it.”
He picked an immense blue-and-white pot instead and made a rather impressive show, his muscles flexing beneath his thin shirt, as he shoved. “Every door,” he muttered. “Let’s make your next project locks on every bloody door in this house. The larder. The wine cellar. That one shed with all the garden tools.”
“I had no idea your imagination was so exhaustive.”
He was back now, behind her again, spinning her to face the window, palming her belly and mumbling into her hair. “Comprehensive. Extravagantly so, when it comes to you and the places I have pictured taking your clothes off.”
“The garden shed, though? Among the spades and trowels?”
He pulled her tight against him and lowered his mouth to her ear. “Poor pet. Let me show you the rake your life’s been missing.”
She laughed again.
He raised one hand to graze her lips, and in their reflection, his dimples emerged, retreated, emerged again. “I like that sound so much. I don’t suppose I could ever get enough of it.”
She trembled, just a little, in his arms.
It was almost too intense: his beautiful mouth, the clutch of his hands, the words he’d said, so fiercely, as he’d locked his gaze with hers.
He wanted her. Hesawher, and still he wanted her.
Some part of her wanted to shy back, to run away. She believed him—believed every word, could look at his mobile face andknowthat he meant what he said. But part of her felt so uncertain, too. He meant it now. But for how long?
But she steadied herself. She pressed her palms atop his and held him against her body. She was not asking for approval, nor waiting, nor pretending she did not want something because she was afraid she could not have it.
She would not waste a moment. Not now. Not with him.
He touched the loosed buttons of her bodice, caressing the tiny shimmering disks. There was something arousing about the sight: his long, tapered fingers circling the mother-of-pearl, sliding above and beneath. Her belly went hot, and she shifted, just a bit, to press back into his body.
He was aroused too. His body jerked into hers, and she felt the heavy weight of his sex against her lower back.
He made a rough sound. “Let me take this off you,” he said. “Can I? God, Ruby, I want to see you so badly.”
