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He wanted to laugh, but for a moment he didn’t. He was breathing too hard. Her nightgown was spread about her, and her glorious hair hung loose down her back. He looked at the slender ankle and the foot with its toes in the wrong direction.
“Let me help you,” he said, and dropped to the floor in front of her.
“Thank you,” she said with great seriousness.
Hawk took the slipper and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he picked up her foot and kissed the tip of each toe.
She stared at him, befuddled. Then she started to giggle. She wiggled her toes in his face and giggled all the harder.
Hawk bit her little toe.
Frances fell on her back, hugging her sides as she burst into merry laughter.
Hawk stared at her for a moment, then grinned unwillingly. After all, it had been he who had encouraged her to down the damned brandy. His fingers began sliding up her leg.
“That tickles!” Frances cried, and tried to pull her leg away from him.
Hawk held her leg firmly and with his other hand pushed up her nightgown. He had a sudden view, a very close view, of two long white legs. Slender ankles and calves, he saw, and beautiful thighs. Lord, even her knees were lovely. Suddenly Frances, still in the throes of drunken giggles, lifted her other leg and thrust her foot into his chest. It took him off guard, and he landed on his rear, still holding her ankle.
He pulled her toward him, grabbing her other ankle. Her nightgown rose higher as he brought her closer. He held her legs apart, enjoying her wriggling and the ever-increasing view.
Her nightgown bunched about her waist and he felt himself perilously close to the edge of his control. He swallowed.
“Frances,” he said on a gulp.
She tried to sit up and he released her ankles. She balanced herself on her open palms and stared at him owlishly, her legs widespread, her nightgown tangled about her hips.
“Are you ticklish?” she demanded, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“I ... uh, well—”
He got no farther. Frances lurched to her knees and dived for him. She smashed him onto his back, laughed down at his stunned face, and sent her fingers flying toward his ribs.
Hawk was very ticklish, and her fingers found his most vulnerable spots in a matter of seconds. His laughter burst forth, for the moment easing his nearly painful desire. He finally managed to catch her hands, holding them away from him.
He became instantly aware that she was between his spread legs and that his dressing gown was parted. She was naked against him to the waist. He looked up into her laughing face.
“Frances,” he said very softly, clamped his hands about her arms, and brought her face down to his.
“Kiss me,” he said, and moved his hands to the back of her head, pressing her down.
“All right,” she said agreeably, and pursed her lips.
“Not quite like that” he said, smiling despite his growing urgency. He lowered his hand and lightly parted her lips with his fingertip. “Keep your mouth open but don’t talk. That’s the way it’s done, you know.”
She obeyed him and he thought he would leap out of his skin when her lips touched his. He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her tightly against his chest.
Suddenly she raised her head and asked with grave seriousness, “Now what do we do? The kissing part is easy.”
“Hmmm,” he said, gently fiddling with a long curl that fell onto is face, “You want to do something else besides kissing now?”
Her expression changed abruptly, and he knew that she was thinking about those few moments in the tack room. Her pupils darkened. Hell, so was he. His hips thrust upward without his conscious instruction, and he saw that she felt him, hard and demanding, against her belly.
“Hawk,” she said, her voice suddenly uncertain.
“Yes?”
“I ... this is all very odd, I think.”
