Page 64 of Miss Delectable
“My uniform caught fire when I raised my arm to shield my face.” Thank God that MacKay had been on hand to put it out almost immediately. “The scars on my ribs were from some other battle.”
She wrapped him in an embrace. “There were so many, you forget?”
“Right now, all I can think about is getting you out of that dress and into bed.” He fell silent, lest he babble in two languages at once.
“You’d best deal with my hooks, then.” She presented him with her back, and Rye did as she commanded, freeing her from a legion of hooks, each one tinier than the one before. He untied her stays while he was in the neighborhood and stole a few kisses to her nape.
“Lilacs,” he said when her dress and stays had been draped over a chair. “You must wash your hair with lilac soap. Shall I take down your hair?”
“Take out the pins and leave the braid.”
“Up on the bed with you, then.”
She slanted a dubious glance at him, but complied. Rye pulled off his boots and sat cross-legged behind her. She wore her chemise, he kept his breeches on, the better to comport himself with the restraint the situation called for.
He searched her hair for pins and mentally cast about for next steps. “What sort of loving do you enjoy most?” She had experience. She’d been at pains to assure him of that, but what sort of experience?
“Not hurried,” she said, “not furtive. What of you?”
How modest were her sexual ambitions, and what a poor reflection they were upon her previous lovers.
“I hope the interlude can be joyous,” Rye said, “sweet, a little wild, and a lot pleasurable. Leisurely until we’re overcome by passion. I want my lover to think of me always with fondness and a smile.” With Ann, fondness and a smile would not be enough, but a soldier crossed Spain mile by mile, step by step.
“Tell me about the wild part.”
And yet, a man could fall in love between one heartbeat and the next.
He showed her, starting with sweet kisses to her shoulders, then turning her to straddle his lap and adding caresses to her breasts. She liked that apparently, arching into his touch, burying her fingers in his hair, and joining her mouth to his.
“Breeches off, Orion.”
“Yes, ma’am.” But to remove his breeches, he had to part from her, which was difficult when he craved to touch her and taste her and feel her heart beating against his own.
Ann solved his dilemma by extricating herself from his embrace and scrambling under the covers. “Quickly, please.”
Rye left the bed and stepped out of his breeches, tossing them atop her dress. He made a little production out of adding a half scoop of coal on the fire, not only to give Ann a chance to inspect him, but also to give himself a chance to gather his wits.
“Should I remove my chemise?” she asked.
He faced the bed and pretended to ignore the cockstand arrowed up along his belly. “If you have to ask, the answer is not yet. When you cannot bear to have the blasted thing on, when you fling it across the room to land who knows where, then it’s time to take it off.”
Ann blushed, but she did not look away. “Clearly, it’s time you joined me in this bed, Orion Goddard.”
“A woman of discernment.”
She lay back, and he climbed under the covers and crouched above her, not touching.
“Orion?”
“Tell me what you want, Annie.”
“You,” she said, reaching for him. “I want you.”
“I am yours to command.” He resumed the slow, soft kisses she seemed to like and by degrees gave her his weight. The fit was marvelous, and the feel of her legs snug around his flanks a pleasure beyond description.
She’d kept the bedroom warm, she’d told him her troubles. She touched him as if he were every weary soldier ever to come home to loving arms, and kissed him as if he were her favorite treat.
He kissed her back with the same sense of rejoicing, for he was hers to command—and hers to love too.
