Page 51 of All I Want for Christmas… Is You
In fact, she was exquisite, and any doubt that he might not be attracted to her was gone. If the beast between his legs had any say in the matter, he would be begging her forgiveness and rushing her away to the altar.
But he wasn’t simply the sum of his parts, he told himself. He was a rationale man with good reason to wish to protect her… except that his resolve had gone missing along with his clothes.
Lucien simply stared at her, knowing she couldn’t possibly discern the imminent danger her virtue was in at the moment.
“I think you should go,” he said without much conviction.
Her brows knit. “Tell me where it hurts?”
Lucien was quite certain she didn’t wish to know.
Neither of his pains were quite suitable for tender ears to hear. He was on the verge of telling her that he was perfectly fine, that he could only be better if they would simply give him back his infernal clothes and his blasted carriage wheels, and then she knelt beside the bed and took his breath away.
The scent of lavender drifted over the sheets, heady and sweet.
She blinked and her deep brown eyes peered at him with such distress that it made him feel strangely warm.
He held his breath so long that his lungs began to ache and his eyes locked upon her luscious cleavage, now taunting him at eye level. “I… well,” he stammered. It was all Lucien could do not to roll toward her and bury his lips into the delectable mounds.
Dear God, but he wanted to draw her into his bed and suckle each nipple, first through the cloth of her dress... and then when she didn’t protest, he would bare them fully to his hungry eyes and feast upon them. He wanted to make her moan with ecstasy, wanted to show her the pleasures of womanhood. He wanted to cherish her with his hands and his body.
He glanced up, into her face, with a sudden, dangerous revelation...
He wanted to be the one.
Never had he been so affected by a woman in all his days—and it helped not at all that he was butt-naked beneath the sheets.
If she only knew—if only her brother knew.
Christ, he couldn’t believe they had actually sent the girl into his bedchamber unattended. It was likely they thought him dressed to the teeth in night rail and cap like any other respectful chap might be. But they had completely misjudged him.
Certainly,hewould never have given her leave to enter the room of a wicked man, and he couldn’t believe how lax her brother seemed to be—with his own children, for that matter—never mind that Emma was obviously no longer a child herself.
He frowned, not liking it one bit that she seemed so at ease in his presence, considering that most women would have died of fright at the mere sight of a man clad merely in his nightclothes.
“What, for the love of God, is wrong?” she asked, her face white as she waited for him to speak.
“I-I fell,” he yielded, his voice faltering, betraying him.
“You fell?” she repeated a little dubiously. But he couldn’t precisely tell if that was what he heard in her voice, for he’d yet to be able to rent his gaze from her bodice in order to gauge her expression.
He swallowed convulsively.
“Your Grace,” she whispered impatiently. “Are you quite all right?” Once again she placed her hand to his cheek, and the monster under the covers quivered at her gentle caress.
“Oh, God,” he said.
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “You are blistering hot!”
She placed her hand to his chin and lifted his face until his eyes met hers, the gesture such a tender one that Lucien could scarcely bear it. And then she slipped her fingers lower, curling them about his neck, as though to measure the heat of his body there. “What can I do to ease your pain?” she asked fretfully.
Lucien felt dizzy.
The pain in his arse was completely forgotten at the moment, overshadowed by the one in his groin. If she lifted her skirts and straddled him, easing his unyielding erection into the silky warmth of her body, he would die with joy.
Caught in the moment, Lucien couldn’t quite help himself. If it meant she would stay for awhile longer, then he would pretend to be at death’s door, if need be. Anything,anything, to keep her from moving those long, graceful fingers away from his burning flesh. He wanted them desperately wrapped about his shaft, her thumb caressing the head, where the droplet of moisture would bead. In his head, he saw her bring her damp thumb to her lips, painting them with the moisture, her smile glistening and full of promise.
He smiled ruefully when she started to withdraw, and brought his arm from under the covers to seize her arm and halt its retreat. It felt so right to have her touch him so. More right than anything had ever felt in all his life.
