She heard the slight rumble beneath his breath and understood the implication. His desire laid bare. She sympathized. The same, torturous need driving him drove her. Earlier, she’d thought she’d gone mad. If she had, two were now locked in the same asylum, and she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
She’d expected—no, desperately wanted—him to touch her breasts.
Instead, he loosened the already askew ribbon securing the bottom of her braid. Taking great care, he slowly unbound her hair. When he got to the nape of her neck, he bid her to sit up so he could finish. When he was done, her locks lay wildly about her shoulders.
She never had left her hair like this, not in front of anyone but her mother, sisters, or maid.
His gaze softened and he sighed deeply, as if the sight of her with her hair undone was something he’d desperately needed. Maybe, one day, she would ask him if he wanted to brush her hair before she made the braid.
“Cassandra?”
“Yes?” She couldn’t imagine what he’d ask. Every possibility left her breathless.
“Would you take off your night rail?”
“It’s pretty,” she said stupidly. She’d embroidered the edges herself.
“So are you.”
She blushed, but she held his gaze.
“Please?” He sent her his heart-tumbling smile. “For me?”
Was there a limit to what she’d give him? Right now, she wasn’t sure. She only knew she was hot and achy and wanting desperately to know, well, not what came next…she remembered penetration well enough from the other night.
So, what did she want to know?
She wanted to know the answer to the secret, forbidden promise building in her blood.
Heknew, she was sure.
And, if she had to be naked to find out, too, so be it.
She drew her legs in close and shimmied the garment up and over her body. She hadn’t even gotten the thing over her head when he groaned again. She tossed the rail to the side and then lifted her mass of hair over one shoulder.
“Just let me look at you.” He reached out and fingered a lock of her hair. “Looking at you makes me happy.”
She lowered her eyes, all too conscious of the imperfections no one else had ever seen.
“Do you mind?” he asked.
Her answer would depend on what he meant bymind. Cold air wafted over her breasts and her thighs, but a feverish heat was flaming up the side of her neck. A blush, she supposed. A blush—she glanced at her upper arm—making her splotchy all over.
“Not really…but only because you seem pleased.”
He hummed in assent. “More than pleased.”
Mad man.But wasn’t one supposed to humor a person showing signs of losing their mind? Gradually, she relaxed. She tucked her legs to the side, and slowly lowered herself back down, resting on an outstretched arm.
“Venus would be jealous,” he murmured.
Still, she rewarded his praise with what she hoped was a tempting, alluring smile.
He shifted his position. If she reached out, she could touch the part of him about which she was most curious. The part she hadn’t been able to acknowledge, even after…
Well, especiallyafter.
“Would you like me to take off my nightshirt?”
