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Tomorrow? She had dreaded so many tomorrows. And she had loathed so many yesterdays.
‘I don’t care what happens in the morning.’
It sounded reckless, yet right now she felt no caution.
Rafe knew more about her than any other person on this earth. He knew her secrets. And with his kiss he had disproved her own theory, for it turned out that Antoniettacouldwant, could be folded over with desire and crave a man’s touch.
‘I don’t care that you’re leaving tomorrow,’ she told him. ‘I care only that you’re asking me to leavenow.’
He weighed her words as he stood there. And they were heavy ones, for she was trusting herself to him.
‘I’m not asking you to leave,’ Rafe said. ‘I’m just asking if you are sure.’
She was.
Absolutely.
As certain as she had been at the door to her cottage.
More certain than she had been as they’d walked on the moon-drenched grass.
Completely certain now.
And nervous.
Yet excited as Rafe took her hand and led her to the master bedroom.
It was warm in there. The turn-down service had been in and the fire was roaring. She wondered if he would open the French windows to let in some cool air, but instead he threw two more logs on the roaring fire and then came over to her.
‘What am I to do with you?’ Rafe asked, and she did not know how to answer. He smoothed back the hair from her face and his gaze was assessing. ‘Are you scared?’
‘No,’ Antonietta said. ‘Well, a bit—but not like I once was.’
The room was too hot, and they stood just a little too close to the fire. But she liked it. For the fire felt like an iceberg and the air seemed cool compared to the heat pooling low in her belly and spreading down her thighs.
Yet Rafe touched her not.
Deliberately so.
This would be noattempt.
He loathed it that she had been touched while unwilling, and he would not move even so much as a finger until she approached him, though he’d offer direction.
‘Take off your dress,’ he told her, and she blinked, because she had thought that Rafe would take care of that. But Rafe did not cajole her, he did not sweet talk or wheedle, he simply made her want.
And it felt delicious.
For the first time ever she rued Aurora’s dressmaking skills, for it took her a moment to find the tiny concealed zip at the side. She pulled it down with shaky hands and then stood trembling and a little shy as it fell to the ground.
She stood only in her knickers. As a reflex, she covered her breasts with her arm. But then she pondered her own disappointment if Rafe were to undress and do the same, and she took a breath and peeled her arm away, let it fall to the side.
Rafe cast his gaze the length of her slender frame, to her pert breasts and the dark areolae, the stiffened nipples that he ached to touch—but resistance was a turn-on, he was finding.
She pushed her knickers down without his instruction, and had to put a hand up, resting it on his chest to steady herself. He hissed out a long intake of breath.
He reached out and traced one manicured finger from her collarbone to her breast, until her own breath choked her. The feel of his hand on her breast was sublime and she looked down, somewhat fascinated. For the room felt like a sauna, and yet her dark nipples peaked to his touch as if they were smeared in Nebrodi snow.
He was sure that she was sure.
