Page 77 of The Trouble with True Love

“So, shock was the reason you looked at me as if you wanted me banished to perdition? And why you’ve been avoiding me ever since I arrived, and why you’ve treated me as if I have plague?”

“I’ve been trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?”

He looked up, his eyes like blue flame. “From me.”

She sucked in her breath, that simple answer and the desire in his eyes robbing her of anger, leaving only heat.

“If you want me to go,” he said, his voice a low, harsh rasp, “say so.”

She should. Of course she should.

She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Of all the times for her tongue to fail her, this shouldn’t be one of them, but after what had happened between them that extraordinary night in her office, after his scorching kisses and caresses, notions of propriety seemed absurd. Worse, far worse, she didn’t want him to go. She wanted all those scorching kisses again. She didn’t speak.

Slowly, he moved, easing closer, and with every fraction of an inch he bent his head, her heartbeat quickened. By the time his lips brushed hers, her heart was racing.

“You know what it means, Clara, if I stay?”

She knew. He would lie with her. It was a risk. It could be ruin. And yet, with the light brush of his lips, she ceased to care. She nodded. “Yes.”

With a suddenness that took her breath away, his arms were around her and his mouth was taking hers in a lush, openmouthed kiss.

And she relished it—relished all the scorching intimacy of it, tasting him as deeply as he tasted her. His arms around her, so strong. His body, so much larger than hers and so, so different. His mouth and his taste, familiar to her now. She melded against him, and moved to wrap her arms around his neck, but to her astonishment, he stopped her, his hands encircled her wrists.

She made a sound of protest against his mouth, but he ignored it, pulling her wrists down as he broke the kiss. “I’ve got to slow things down,” he told her, but even as he spoke, he was reaching for the ties of her robe. “I don’t want to ruin it for you by going too fast.”

“Whatever you do will be wonderful.”

He gave a laugh low in his throat. “I wish I shared your confidence,” he muttered. “Just remember, we’ll have to be very quiet. The rooms on both sides of you are occupied.”

He pulled at the edges of her robe and slid the garment from her shoulders. Then, to her astonishment, he took up the end of her braid, and with a tug, he untied the ribbon and began unraveling the plait.

“There now,” he murmured after a moment, spreading the long locks of her hair around her shoulders. “I’ve been wanting to do that almost from the moment we met.”

“What?” Clara blinked, staring up at him. “On the dance floor, you were thinking of unbraiding my hair?”

“I was. I wanted to take it down, see it fall, run my fingers through it.”

“Goodness.” It was a faint sound to her ears, barely audible.

His palm glided along her cheek, and then, he raked his hand through her hair, and with a fistful of it in his grasp, he tilted her head back and kissed her again, a long, lush kiss, more tender this time, but still hot enough to burn her everywhere. “And that,” he said, pulling back a little. “I was thinking about doing that, too.”

“I knew about that part,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “You told me as much.”

He chuckled, disentangling his fingers from her hair. “So I did. I’m such a scapegrace.”

He lifted his hands to her collar, and Clara felt a thrill of anticipation and a throb of fear as he unfastened the top button of her nightgown. He worked his way down, and the tension within her grew with each one that came undone. By the time he reached her navel, she was shaking inside, and when he pulled the garment off her shoulders, down her arms, and over her hips, then shoved it down to her ankles, she gasped at the sensation of cool air on her skin, for her body ached and burned with heat.

Abruptly, he stopped. He leaned back, his lashes lowered as he slanted a glance down over her, and she appreciated, too late, that she was completely naked. All the thrills died at once, and she wanted desperately to hide.

He wouldn’t let her. “No, no,” he murmured, catching her hands before she could think to cover herself. “I’ve been imagining this for a long time, Clara,” he whispered, spreading her arms wide even as she resisted. “Don’t deny me this.”

“I can’t,” she whispered, arms outstretched, his hands clasping hers, her body fully exposed. “Since you’ve already done it.”

He chuckled. Then his laughter faded away, and she knew he was looking at her body. Even with a corset, she didn’t have much in the way of curves, and without one, she knew her shape was more reminiscent of a stick than an hourglass. She endured his gaze, but she couldn’t look at him. Instead, she stared into his chin as he looked his fill, her tension growing. He was silent so long she could only fear the worst.

“You’re lovely,” he said, and then, to her utter amazement, he sank down to his knees in front of her. “Even more lovely than I’d imagined.” He laughed softly, his hand gliding up her hip and over her ribs. “Given how vivid my imaginings of you have been, that’s saying a lot.”

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