Page 50 of A Wicked Game

His lips quirked. “Your wish is my command.”

She stayed perfectly still as he caught the end of her braid. He unwound the strip of ribbon that secured it, then teased the woven strands loose, unthreading them from one another with infinite patience. When he was done, he fanned her hair, bringing it forward to tumble in dark waves down over her shoulders.

“You always used to wear your hair down when you were in Wales,” he said softly.

She nodded, struck dumb with nerves.

He slid his fingers down her arm and caught her hand, then gently turned her so her back was to him. His soft exhale lifted the hairs on her exposed nape and she could feel the heat of his body all along her back, even though they weren’t touching.

And then his lips pressed against her shoulder and hisarms slid around her waist, his fingers spreading across her stomach, and even through the fabric of her stays and chemise, itburned.

A heavy pounding started in her blood.

To her surprise, he sank to his knees behind her. His hands slid to her hips and she sucked in a breath as he rested his forehead in the curve at the base of her spine.

“Turn around.”

His gravelly command made her knees turn to water. She obeyed, staring down at him as he remained on his knees, his hands resting at her waist. The sight of him there, like a supplicant, as if he truly meant to worship her, did funny things to her insides.

Without thought, she put her palm on his jaw, loving the rough texture of his cheek. She’d asked for an adventure; she couldn’t wait to discover what lay in store.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Harriet let Morgan guide her backward until she sat on the edge of the bed. Still kneeling, he removed her shoes with brisk efficiency, then slid his hands beneath her skirts and lightly encircled her ankles.

Her breathing hitched, but she was determined to remain in control of herself.

He moved higher, his palms gliding up her calves, over her stockings, and she sucked in a breath as he reached the sensitive hollow at the back of her knee. His clever fingers found the ribbons that secured her stockings, and she bit her lip as he toyed with them.

Oh, he was wicked.She could barely breathe for the anticipation. And he knew it.

In an effort to relax, she leaned back, supporting herself on her hands; the soft mattress dipped beneath her weight.

He found the bare skin above her garters. She wasn’t wearing any undergarments; she hadn’t wanted the additional fabric to hinder her sprint, and the waft of cool air against her most feminine flesh made her shiver. She felt wicked, wanton, like those scandalous women in the Rowlandson cartoon tumbling down the staircase.

Embarrassed, she tried to press her knees together, but Morgan’s big body was in the way.

“Relax,” he murmured.

“Easy for you to say. I’ve never done this before.”

He glanced up from between her knees, and his knowing smile made her heart pound. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

Harriet could only watch in a daze as he pushed her skirts over her knees and slid his palms up her thighs. And then he bent his head and pressed a kiss to the inside of her leg, just above her garter.

She arched off the bed, caught between terror and bliss.

He tightened his fingers on her thighs, a subtle reminder to stay still, and pressed another kiss higher up. And then another—a series, just as he’d promised—and her whole body tightened and shivered.

Closer. Closer. His fingertip brushed the ticklish crease where her leg met her torso, and she yelped as he followed it up with another kiss on the inside of her thigh.

A restless ache gnawed at her belly. She glanced down to find him staring up at her, and her heart somersaulted again.

Dear Lord, he was handsome. Dark and wicked, with one lock of hair falling over his forehead and that beloved scar just visible beneath his chin. Only in her wildest dreams had she imagined him like this.

His index finger traced a devilish figure-eight pattern at the very top of her leg as he held her gaze in challenge. She stared right back at him, refusing to be the one to break eye contact.

She imagined herself a queen. An empress with the power to command. A woman for whom men would willingly lay down their lives to fulfill her every desire.

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