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“And you must know,” he said. “How I have wanted you.”
He did not grab her and haul her into his arms. Instead, he extended his hand, and with just the barest edge of his thumb he traced the line along the top of her cheekbone. And it was like a match, struck slowly and painfully before igniting the flame.
Her breasts felt painfully heavy, and she was so aware of what she was wearing.
“I knew you were beautiful,” he said. “But I was not prepared for a sight such as this. Even veiled, you’re glorious—something to behold.”
She did not know why it made her heart flutter so, because compliments about one’s appearance were cheap and easy. And they shouldn’t mean a thing. She had decided as a young girl to never let her head be swayed by such things. By romance and beautiful words.
But something twisted in her stomach then, hard and painful, and a voice inside of her spoke the shameful truth.
That she knew this wasn’t romance. Or beautiful words, or anything quite so floral.
It was desire. And from the beginning there had never been anything she could do about it. Never been anything that she could do to minimize what she felt for him.
It simply was.
And, oh, how she wished it were not.
“Show me, Morgan,” he said, his voice going rough. “Show me what I want to see.”
He wanted her to strip. She understood that. She waited for him to sit back down, a king reclining, but he did not. Instead, he stood there, his gaze far too intense, far too intent. And he felt so large. He was broader and taller than his brother, by at least three inches.
And quite near to a foot taller than she was.
She ought to feel frail and shockingly vulnerable, and yet, she did not.
He had not an ounce of fat on his body. Not that she had seen his body, it was just that... Well she had been helpless to not take a visual tour of him anytime she had seen him in the family home. In his custom fitted suit that lovingly held his broad shoulders, muscular chest and slim waist.
And now, every ounce of his power, every ounce of his beauty was all directed at her. His gaze keen, his muscles bunched as if he were a predator ready to attack.
And she found that she did not fear it. Before she could decide what to do, before she could think it through, she reached around and unhooked the lace top. It went loose, and she pressed her hand over her breasts as it went slack. Her forearm neatly covering her from his view. She had certainly never done a striptease in her life. And it wasn’t so much that she was being a tease now as she was feeling... Dazed. Wondering what the hell she was thinking.
A fantasy. He is a fantasy.
And should he not be the thing that you get on the way out the door?
Because it was always him, hadn’t it been?
He was the one that had appealed to her in this darkly sexual way that had always felt shameful to her.
She had always been so ashamed of this part of herself. The part of herself that didn’t simply want sweet and wonderful words but wanted a man who wanted her. A man who would grab hold of her with big, strong hands. A man who would kiss her, taste her...
She had pushed all that down and told herself that she didn’t need that sort of thing.
Because it kept her safe.
Because it felt like something that was too close to her mother and all of her vices.
There was that word again.
Vices.
Perhaps beauty was his. And he was hers.
And she would make herself a slave to it. For tonight. Just tonight.
It emboldened her, and she dropped her arm, letting the top fall free and expose her breasts to him.
