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The position inhibited her movement, so instead—with some difficulty—she slipped her arm from the sleeve entirely, leaving the garment to drape her body much like a Greco-Roman toga.
He did growl then. Or perhaps it was more of a purr.
Muscles she didn’t realize she owned tightened at his heated gaze. She strode before him on wobbly limbs. Her hand shook as she touched the leather of his boot, but not from fear.
Anticipation buzzed through her like a horde of bees, setting every inch of her skin tingling. She gave a sound tug on the boot, grateful that it slipped off more easily than when it had encased his swollen ankle.
Still, she fell backward, landing on her bottom. “Ooof.”
He sprang from his position on the bed and helped her up. “Are you injured?”
She rubbed her backside. “Only my pride, which seems to be located here.”
“Allow me.” He pulled her close and, cupping the injured area, massaged it gently. “Better?”
Gentleness shone in his moss-green eyes as they pinned her in place. “I’ll manage the other one.”
At first, she wondered if he meant the other side of her bottom, but he sat back on the bed and removed his remaining boot and stockings.
He patted the mattress next to him. “Sit.”
She sent him her sauciest look. “I’m not a dog.”
He tilted his head, his eyebrows raising in question. “I won’t attempt to pursue that line of thought. Let me rephrase. Rest yourself while I attend to you.”
Once she was seated, he moved off the bed to kneel before her. One at a time, he lifted her feet and removed her slippers. As he slid his hands under her chemise, his fingers left a trail of heat up her leg until he reached the top of her stockings.
In a pace excruciatingly slow, he untied the ribbons holding her stockings in place, then rolled each one down, the entire time his eyes never leaving hers.
Her heart hammered so hard she feared he could hear it. If things continued in this intensity, she would surely combust in flames. A sound like a kitten’s mew escaped her lips.
He lifted the hem of her chemise. “Shall we divest you of this as well?”
Thoughts so muddled as if wool filled her head, she feared she stared at him like a simpleton. She choked out something that sounded like “Gah.”
His lips quirked in that rakish, mischievous way. “Yes?” Like a stealthy animal, he climbed back onto the bed next to her. “But first, more of this, I think.”
Wrapping his arms around her, he laid her back on the soft mattress and brought his lips to hers.
When he cupped her breast, she gasped, opening enough to allow his tongue entrance.
Once again, she ran her fingers across the coarse dusting of hair on his chest. He fit against her with aching rightness, the hard planes of his body molding precisely to her curves.
Perfect.
His sandalwood scent. The sweetness of his kisses. The exquisite sensations he called forth from deep inside her. How would she ever live without this?
She pushed it from her mind, determined to remain in the present in order to remember it completely.
His touch befuddled her. Before she realized it, somehow he’d removed her chemise and had proceeded to suckle at her breast.
“Oh!” She arched back, her body needing something she couldn’t name. “Timothy!”
He placed a finger against her lips. “Shush. You’ll wake the servants.”
* * *
Timothy should have knownPriscilla would be a screamer. A woman with her fire could be nothing less. His warning to quiet had been half-joking and half-serious. He trusted his servants, but he wanted to protect her, nonetheless.
