Page 112 of The Language of Love

Annis swallowed her nervousness and stood, her body taut as he prowled around her in a circle, coming to a halt in front of her.

“You are exquisite, wife.” His lips quirked into the lazy smile she loved.

“Your turn, husband,” Annis ordered, stepping back and crossing her arms.

His eyebrows leapt. “Ah, a tyrant in the bedchamber.” He turned for her, slowly, holding out his arms as he did so.

Tonight, he was wearing a dark green silk banyan that had gold dragons embroidered up both sides of the front and a remarkably detailed scene on the back that included mythical creatures and an elegant building with a hip-and-gable roof.

“The robe is beautiful,” she said, not to mention the large body it covered.

“Thank you. I found the fabric on one of my trips to China.”

“Was China wonderful?”

“It is a place like no other.” He grinned suddenly. “Please don’t ask if I speak Mandarin or Cantonese. I’m afraid I can barely say hello and thank you without starting a war.”

“Tonal languages are hard for English speakers to learn.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Do you speak Chinese?”

“My father was learning Mandarin from a man he met in Oxford. He’d planned to teach me after he knew enough, but he died before that could happen.”

Henry cocked his head. “You miss him greatly.”

It wasn’t a question, but Annis nodded.

She shook away the sudden sadness that had descended over her and ran her hands up the dragons on his robe. “I don’t want to be sad right now.”

“Me neither.” He stepped closer to her, his big fingers going to the fastenings of her dressing gown. “I have been fantasizing about this gown on you.”

His words made her legs turn to water; Annis looked up and up to meet his gaze. “Thank you for choosing it.”

“I enjoy dressing you—imagining the clothing I select against your skin.” His eyes were hooded. “There is something unspeakably intimate about dressing a woman for one’s pleasure.”

Annis thought she might melt into a puddle before he got the robe off her.

He reached the bottom belt and slid his hands beneath the fine silk, gently pushing it off her shoulders.

He sucked in a harsh breath when he saw the lacy gown beneath. “God. Annis.” His chest rose and fell faster, his throat moving as he swallowed. And then swallowed again. When he raised his hands and cupped her breasts, it was her turn to swallow.

He caressed the sensitive mounds, tormenting her nipples, which had been puckered and needy since slipping on the wicked gown earlier.

“Look at you,” he whispered in a rough voice. “This makes you look more naked than if you were naked,” he marveled, pulling his eyes briefly away from her chest to meet her gaze, his lips curling into a delighted smile. “You’ll forgive me if I take a moment to pat myself on the back for such an inspired choice of nightgown.”

Emboldened by his desire for her, she reached for the sash that held his robe closed, an action she’d never have imagined she was capable of taking.

“You’ve done well for yourself, too,” she teased. “This robe suits you. But I want it off.” Her face flamed and her fingers fumbled as she untied his sash, and the gorgeous robe fell open to reveal an even more gorgeous body.

He was naked. And erect. She reached for him without thinking and then jerked her hand back, shocked by her audacity.

“Touch me,” he murmured, taking the hand that had been reaching for him and setting it on his engorged shaft.

He moaned when she closed her fingers around him and her eyes jumped up to his face.

His expression was unguarded, and, for a fraction of a second, she saw raw, unbridled lust before he schooled his features into a more civilized mask.

“You make me feel so good with your hands,” Annis said. “I want to make you feel that good.”