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“Anything else?” he asked. When she hesitated, he asked curiously, “What?”

“They were altogether neater in proportion,” she blurted. “I can’t see how that could possibly – ” She floundered a moment before concluding in failing accents, “ – fit.”

Benedict struggled, but this time could not entirely contain his laughter. “It will, though,” he assured her. “We just have to make sure you’re ready to receive me.”

She mulled this over a moment before asking “How?” rather pointedly.

“We have to – ” he paused. “Kiss and touch a bit.”

She blew out a breath. “I don’t see how that would help.”

“You haven’t asked where I need to touch you yet.”

Lizzie regarded him, the misgiving plain to see on her face. “Where?” she asked.

He grinned at her. “It’s your turn to show me yours now, Lizzie.”

“What?” Her voice was little more than a squeak at this point.

“You heard me. Draw down the covers and show me what you’ve got.”

Her expression was aghast. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, but I am,” he assured her, reaching for the pillows and piling them up behind her. “Lean back. You can keep your nightgown on if you want.”

Her expression told him that she had no intention of losing her robe. Casting him a quelling look, she pushed the blankets down exposing her white clad body. Then she reached down and started to draw the demure nightdress up over her shins.

Benedict caught his breath. What was it she had said earlier about her legs? Had he ever figured that out? She had nice legs, slender, but well formed. Without even thinking about it, he reached out to wrap his fingers around her ankle and slide them up her shapely calf. Lizzie gave an exclamation and started violently.

It occurred to him that he was likely the only man who’d ever touched her. For some reason, that thought had him breathing even harder. “Higher,” he said hoarsely when the hemline paused at her pretty knees. The thought gave him a momentary pause. When had he ever thought to appreciate a woman’s knees?

Lizzie gave an almost audible gulp. Then she closed her eyes, fell back against the pillows, and yanked her nightgown up to her waist.

Benedict kept his eyes on her averted face. “Look at me, Lizzie.” She shook her head. “I’m not going to do anything until you do.”

One eye flickered open at that. “What do you mean?” she croaked.

“I won’t look or touch until you’re fully with me in this.” She opened both her eyes at that. “How about a fair exchange?” he offered. “And we each get to touch the other.” He waited for her to tell him she didn’t want to touch him, so he could convince her otherwise. But to his surprise the words never came.

“That … sounds fair,” she conceded. He kept his eyes on her face. “You can look at me now,” she prompted him. “I looked at you, so it’s only fair.”

He allowed his gaze to dip down to where her pale thighs were pressed together below a triangle of light brown hair. His eyes dwelt there a moment appreciatively. “Nice,” he said on an outward breath. She gave a choked sound. “What?” He tore his eyes away to meet hers.

“It seems an odd thing to say, that’s all. There’s not really much for you to – well – see. Not like yours, I mean.” She must have seen the change in his expression for she asked at once. “What is it? Why do you look like that?”

He hesitated. “That’s because I go inside you.” Clearly, she knew that already from her earlier concerns about his size, but he wasn’t sure how far her knowledge extended of such things. When she said nothing, he lifted his hand from where it rested, lightly tracing the soft skin of her calf. “Can I touch you now?” he asked hoarsely.

She nodded and he reached across to carefully cup the mound her between her legs. Lizzie gave the same startled sound she had made when he touched her leg.

“Are my hands cold?”

She shook her head. “Female statues don’t have hair either,” she commented after a moment, breathlessly. “I always wondered about it.”

“Maybe it’s hard to sculpt,” he answered absently, as his thumb sifted through her curls.

Her breathing hitched a moment. “N-no, that doesn’t make sense. They show hair on their head, just not …”

“Between their legs?” he supplied. Hearing the pillow rustle, he guessed she was nodding. “This hair is much more delicate though,” he pointed out. “Maybe the models didn’t let the artists get close enough to make it out.”