Page 48 of A Sight to Behold
“Yes.”
“And have you done it before?” Pippa asked with such sweet innocence that Nick didn’t know how to react. His breeches were so painfully restricting his erection, and yet he was frozen on the spot. In his dream, he’d… he’d… oh boy.
“Not that, exactly.”
She exhaled and slumped. “Oh.”
Nick gave up and let the smile come out. He beamed at her. “It would be an honor to give it a try. I know the rest rather well.”
Pippa’s eyes darted to him and sparkled. “You would try? With me?”
“Well, I did study general anatomy for a while. Physiology… I specialized in the eye later on at university.” He raised his brows and gave the most rakish “what can I say” shrug because it was true; he knew what she wanted and was more than willing to try. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the woman of my dreams.”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
There’s nothing Iwouldn’t do for the woman of my dreams.
She’d heard him say it. Loud and clear.
Standing in the corridor between her grandfather’s library and the stairs to the servants’ section of Silvercrest Manor, Pippa nearly lost her footing. She’d wanted to seduce the statuesque young doctor, touch and kiss him everywhere, and longed to spend more time with him. But one thing had led to another, and now that she was here alone in the manor with him, and he’d told her that he was falling in love with her, it just didn’t seem real. So many wonderful things didn’t usually happen to her, and she wasn’t prepared to receive such a gift of fate. She’d been prepared to fight for it. Alas, she hadn’t even expected to come out victorious.
So, what now?
“Come on,” Pippa took his hand and dragged him down the hall, down a flight of only a few stairs. He followed her into a large kitchen.
The scent of buttery shortbread danced in the air, capturing his attention and beckoning him closer. It mingled with the fragrance of freshly brewed tea, creating an intoxicating aroma that enticed his senses. The subtle notes of salted butter and vanilla infused the space, weaving a thread of temptation that wrapped around Nick’s senses, leaving him entranced. Pippa radiated a magnetic charm. Her graceful movements carried an air of mystery, as if she held secrets yet to be discovered. Nickcouldn’t help but feel a growing sense of urgency and excitement watching each of her steps and gestures.
Pippa’s features were cast in a soft and captivating glow in the flickering light of the crackling fire. Shadows played upon her face, highlighting the delicate contours. Nick’s heart quickened as he watched her, captivated by the interplay of light and shadow on her clavicle. A rucked layer of muslin covered her chest, but he couldn’t stop staring. There was something about how the strands of hair had fallen loose and touched her skin that reminded him of his dream. They’d been in the greenhouse, not a kitchen. But he’d grabbed her, laid her on the table, and climbed over her, kissing her gorgeous little nipples…
“Do you like milk in your tea?” Pippa interrupted his stream of thoughts.
“No, thank you.”
“Sugar?”
“Honey, if you have any.”
Pippa turned and rummaged around a high cabinet but couldn’t see the second shelf. There was a stool in the corner, and Nick picked it up, carried it to her, and set it at her feet. Every sound in the kitchen had a certain significance, drawing Nick further into the scene unfolding before him. The whispering rustle of Pippa’s dress against the rough bricks lining the walls created a sensory tapestry that enveloped Nick.
His eyes lingered on the polished wooden table, its surface gleaming under the warm glow of the fire. A fresh bowl of oranges stood as a vibrant centerpiece, each succulent piece tempting his gaze but none as much as Pippa. The bright color and inviting aroma wafting from the bowl invited Nick into a world of luscious flavors and hidden desires, leaving him yearning for a taste.
Nick felt the rising tension between himself and Pippa, an unspoken connection that drew them closer. The kitchenbecame a stage for their dance of trust and heightened the suspense.
He didn’t speak and watched her across the table as she set the teapot, two saucers, cups, and the terra-cotta jar with a wooden honey wand sticking out from a little brown lid on a tray. She added a small crystal dish with what appeared to be homemade shortbread, for each had a somewhat different shape, albeit all were rectangles with granulated sugar glistening on the top. Then she picked the tray up and headed to the door.
Nick opened it for her and followed her upstairs. The rustling of her dress and the slight clinking of the porcelain on the copper tray distracted him. His eyes followed the gentle side-to-side rocking of her hips, and he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more at this moment than to grab her hips and touch her taut little bottom. Nick’s mind returned to his dream, back to picturing how she’d wrap her legs around him as he drove relentlessly into her.
When Pippa led him to a beautifully decorated and well-heated room on the manor’s second floor, he froze as soon as he stood in the door. To his left was a seating area arranged in front of a crackling fire, an upholstered settee in the same teal damask tones as the wallpaper, the throw pillows, and—Nick swallowed hard—the canopy over the bed to his right.
Nick watched Pippa, her back to him, her form a graceful silhouette against the fireplace’s warm glow. She was a few steps ahead, poised to place the tray on the side table between the plush settee and the crackling hearth. A question bubbled up within him, curiosity lending courage to his voice.
“Is this your bedchamber?” He gestured towards the bed, its covers invitingly soft and untouched.
The words hung in the air, lingering like a note played on a piano. Time seemed to slow in that moment as Pippa turned to face him. She pivoted on her heel, a cup perched on a saucer inone hand, the porcelain teapot held aloft in the other. Her eyes widened in surprise, the question catching her off guard. It was then that it happened.
With a startled gasp, her grip on the teapot faltered. Nick watched in stunned silence as the teapot tipped slowly, its contents spilling in a torrent of amber liquid. The tea cascaded through the air, droplets catching the firelight. Before he could react, the hot tea splashed against his chest, soaking his shirt instantly. The expected heat through the fabric took his breath away. His shirt clung to his skin, the material saturated with the spilled tea, a patchwork of dampness spreading across his torso.
