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He pulled back. “Good night, sweetness.”
She grabbed his hand as he turned to leave. “Stay.”
Chapter Eight
Draven
The Aerie
Charlotte’s Bedroom
He looked at her hand holding his, amazed. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had casually reached for him. Touched him without hesitation. All their touches that day had been initiated by him. She had never flinched from him, but she hadn’t reached out for him either.
Until now.
His lips still tingled from the wormwood-tainted kiss. He wanted nothing more than another.
“I cannot,” he said.
Her cheeks darkened with a blush, and she dropped his hand. “My apologies. That was forward of me.”
His darling, sweet bunny. He reached out to cradle the side of her face. “I appreciate a companion with appetites. Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to stay and taste you, but the wormwood in your system means I cannot.”
Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed. “How long will it remain?”
“A day, depending on the dose.”
“You shouldn’t touch me if I’m hazardous to you. My apologies.” She started to pull away, but his hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her in place.
“I risk exposure from fluids: saliva, perspiration, blood. Skin on skin is fine.” Before she could apologize about the kiss, he said, “The kiss was worth the risk. Do not apologize for what we both enjoyed. You did enjoy it, correct?”
“I did,” she said, her voice breathy. “I enjoyed it so much that I hoped we could continue.”
“I like that you are bold, sweetness.” His hand moved up, his fingers digging into her hair and knocking more of it free. He wanted to see her with her curls down and tousled from passion. “Rest assured, when it is safe, I will feast on you.”
Charlotte shivered and sighed as if the idea appealed. Judging from the spike in her heart rate, it more than appealed. It aroused.
“Until then, let me see you. Touch you.”
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Take your shoes off,” he ordered. She complied, stepping out of the slippers and pushing them aside with a stocking-clad foot.
He circled her, admiring the firelight’s warm glow as it flickered over her face and the fabric of the dress.
“As fetching as your gown is, I want you out of it,” he said.
Standing behind her, he slowly opened the row of buttons down her back. Inch by inch, the fabric parted, revealing the white cotton of her shift and the laced back of her stays. Modern fashion had entirely too many layers. With the gown undone, he pushed it off her shoulders. The rich fabric fell to the floor in a puddle. He unlaced the stays, being careful not to tug impatiently and tear the garment.
The final layer between him and his bride was a thin, gauzy fabric. Charlotte raised her arms as he pulled it over her head.
She twisted, perhaps to watch his reaction, one arm over her chest in some misguided act of modesty.
“Do not cover yourself,” he said, pushing her arm away. “There. Much better.”
Firelight kissed her skin, highlighting the curves he could not wait to explore. To hold. Her stomach was soft, her chest generous, and her hips perfect for grabbing. Violet ribbons tied around her thighs kept her stockings in place. The silver metal of the dagger glinted where it was discreetly tucked into the stockings. A huntress.
With a soft chuckle, he removed the blade. Charlotte tensed, expecting retaliation for the hidden weapon.
