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“It doesn’t meet the criteria.” I grasped at logical straws, alarmed at how much I wanted to please him. “One slip of those streamers of skirt and all my bits are publicly accessible. No way. There are no panties.”
“No. No panties. But I can make a concession.”
The gown shimmered and the skirt was full silk. No slits or see-through lace. From probably about the pubic bone down. It would still cling to my torso and hips revealingly.
“More silk. Less lace. In fact—no lace.”
He obliged and now the nightgown shimmered in all-translucent silk. It would still be low-cut as all hell, but at least I would be less exposed. The fabric was awfully thin, but he could touch me through the cotton nearly as easily.
“I suppose I can live with that,” I allowed, hoping this wasn’t a mistake.
“Agreed, with one condition.”
Here it came.
“I want to see you in the nightgown as it originally was—only to look. Then I’ll change it to this.”
I stared fixedly at the gown, which now drifted back to its initial lacy, streamerish state. “Why torment yourself?”
He bushed my hair over my shoulder and traced the nape of my neck with a warm caress. “If I can’t have you, I can at least look. And there are other benefits to finding ways to enjoy this privation you are determined to put us through.”
“You could go elsewhere.”
“Alas—that is not true.”
“Why not?”
“Perhaps I simply don’t wish to. Put on the gown as it is, lovely Gwynn. Let me see you,” he coaxed, sending liquid pulls down my spine with each stroked of his hand on my nape.
I snatched up the gown, turned to face him and brandished it. “You better to hope to hell I don’t regret this.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender, smiling in vast amusement. “I don’t have to hope. I’ll make certain of it.”
“Okay. I agree—ifI can change into it behind the screen, which means no peeking, and you change it when I ask you to.”
“I need it in this form to see well enough to do the repairs on your wounds. Particularly Falcon’s mark. After that, I’ll change it when you say.”
I agreed to that and went behind the screen, wondering where the hell my spine had gone. I found this charming and teasing Rogue ever so much more difficult to resist. Resolutely, trying very hard not to be the giddy bride on her wedding night, I yanked off the dress and slid on the nightgown.
It was heaven, fitting me perfectly, like a second skin of sex. I looked down at myself knowing what I’d see, what I’d already seen in that dream—my breasts, nearly naked, with the hard pink nipples pushing at the lace.
And marked with unsightly bruises and scabs. No wonder Rogue was so het up to fix me up.
I wouldn’t be sorry, frankly, to lose the vestiges of Falcon’s teeth, faint though they were. They still worried at me, a harsh reminder of a number of things I’d prefer to forget.
“My Gwynn—are you coming out?”
I sighed. Braced myself. Walked out.
He’d surrounded the bed with brightly lit candles—all the better to see you with—and lounged back against the headboard, clad only in his navy silk pajama trousers. The hungry wolf, indeed. His hair spilled over his naked chest and shoulders, a cape of night, and his eyes were the blue of that last moment of twilight before true darkness. They consumed me, ravenous, covetous.
Unaccountably, I blushed, the hot flush rising from my breasts to my cheeks.
“Turn around.” His voice sounded gruff, nearly inhuman. “Slowly.”
Though that hadn’t really been part of the deal, I did, obliging him.
“Lift up your hair and do it again.”
