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She couldn’t help but giggle. “Permission granted.” Contrary to his declaration that he would proceed slowly, he loosened her gown with lightning speed, then tugged it from her shoulders until it pooled at her feet.
He mumbled a curse as he worked to remove her stays, but soon it too fell among the discarded clothing littering the floor.
Only her chemise, stockings, and slippers remained.
When he stepped back around to face her, his breath hitched. As his heated gaze traveled up and down her body, it stoked the fires growing within her. “So beautiful,” he whispered, his voice almost reverent.
She wanted so much. More kisses. For him to touch her, hold her. But she only managed one strangled word. “More.”
And yet, as he pulled her close, he seemed to understand, as if he’d developed a way to peer inside her mind—privy to her deepest desires.
Unintelligible mutterings poured from his lips as his mouth teased and nipped at her skin.
She sucked in a breath, joining him in nonsensical gibberish as he slid his hand up from her waist to brush the underside of her breast. Her whole body hummed with pleasure.
Right. Lord Nash was right.
It truly was magnified one thousand times.
Or so she thought until he tugged down the sleeve of her chemise, the fabric brushing against her already taut nipple. And even that paled in comparison when Timothy’s fingers teased the peaked flesh.
Her fingers dug into his arms, holding on for dear life.
His lips broke from hers and sought her breast, replacing his fingers.
“Oh!” she cried out, much more loudly than she’d expected.
How much more of the exquisite torture could she withstand before she completely fell apart?
One thing was certain. She wished with all her heart to find out.
With great reluctance, she pushed against his chest and took a step back. One side of her chemise drooped down her body, exposing her left breast and riveting Timothy’s gaze.
Modesty dictated she should cover herself, or at the very least feel embarrassed in front of a man not her husband.
But she did not.
She felt powerful.
Both she and Timothy had the same number of items of clothing remaining, and she intended to rectify that forthwith—to her advantage.
“Your boots and stockings. Remove them.”
She would save the best for last.
He grinned, the effect sending her stomach somersaulting.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he lifted one foot. “Might I ask for assistance?” The grin turned wicked. “For old time’s sake.”
The rake!
Two could play at that game, although she had no wish to lob a piece of footwear at his head. If her aim had improved, she might actually injure him.
And she wanted him very much unharmed and alert.
She reached for the drooping fabric of her chemise to tug it back into place.
“Leave it.” He rasped the words, then softened his command. “Please.”
