AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And if he sent a reply ofno,he had to realize that would not be the end of it. “Then I’ll return home to await your reply.” She moved toward the door, but he caught her arm lightly.
“I haven’t had a chance to prove my affection is true.”
She looked up at him. “What’s true is that you hate me almost as much as I hate you.”
“Not at all. I hate you far more than you detest me.”
She couldn’t stop a smile. “Then what you’re proposing will only complicate matters.”
“There’s nothing complicated about my desire for you. I want you. The only question is whether or not you want me.” His liquid eyes met hers with a startling frankness. She could see his desire for her plainly, and she felt an answering call in her own body. Strange to want a man whose beliefs and actions were so antithetical to her own. A man she might very well have to kill.
He waited, and she wondered if her face showed even a fraction of the emotions she felt. But he was no actor, and the way he looked at her made her heart race. “Damn you,” she cursed and stepped back into his arms, reaching up to kiss him.
This kiss was nothing like the one from earlier, where they’d teased and tantalized. He did not hold back, instead taking her mouth with a fever not unlike that of the peasants attacking the Bastille. Her legs buckled as heat infused her body, making her suddenly too hot under the heavy cloak.
She reached for the clasp. “I need...”
But his hands were there, swift and efficient, and the cloak fell to the floor. His gaze roved over her and then widened in shock. She almost laughed. She’d forgotten she wore a costume underneath.
***
TRISTAN THOUGHT HEwas imagining the boy standing before him. His mind couldn’t quite work out how Alexandra Martin had turned into this young lad. And then he looked at her face again, and realized his muddled brain had everything wrong. She was still very much female and yet she wore male clothing.
She glanced down at her clothing self-consciously. “I forgot I’d put this on.”
“A costume?” he asked, eyeing the doublet and old-fashioned breeches.
“It’s easier to climb in this than in a dress, and if I’m caught after curfew it usually goes easier with the guard if I’m dressed as a boy.”
He might have known it had a nefarious purpose.
“I should have warned you.”
She should have, though he didn’t think it would have been less of a shock. Or made the sight of her in that clothing less erotic. The male clothing was not made for the female form, and her breasts pushed at what should have been the flat front of the doublet, while her hips made the breeches tighter than they should have been. Quite suddenly, he wanted to see what was under that masculine clothing, touch those soft curves so incongruous with the stark lines of the fabric.
“I like it,” he admitted. He touched the velvet collar of the doublet, sliding his fingers against her soft skin.
She raised her thin brows. “You like something about me?”
“Quite against my will, I assure you.”
“Most men find this dress on a woman unseemly and unfeminine.”
“Then perhaps I like unseemly and unfeminine.” He worked the top button of her doublet free and was rewarded by a glimpse of fine porcelain skin. He bent and pressed his mouth over it, feeling her pulse hammering against his lips. He ran his tongue along the exposed skin and she inhaled sharply. The clothing smelled like a cedar chest and the cosmetics actors used, but he could still detect her faint scent of spring underneath. His hand moved from her waist to the curve of her breast, and she gave a soft moan.
He was so hard now his head pounded. He needed this, needed her, after the horrors he’d seen tonight. He wanted to forget the prison, forget the revolution, forget everything but the way her skin felt against his lips.
He unhooked another button. The damn garment had far too many. And that gave him time to control his ardor. Lifting his head, he looked into her large, green eyes. “May I continue? I want to see what you have on underneath.”
She blinked. “Nothing.”
He felt his throat go dry. “Are you saying that if I open this, you’ll be bare underneath?”
“I can’t exactly wear a chemise, and as you see the shirt is an illusion. There’s just a collar to fool the audience and make costume changes easier.”
She went on about costumes and seamstresses and their tricks, but he wasn’t listening any longer. No wonder he had encountered her flesh so quickly. She wore nothing under the garment. He reached for another button, then paused. “You never answered. May I take it off?”
She nodded, and he started on the button again.
