Page 86 of The Sound of Seduction
Stan stepped back just a little, toeing off his Hessian boots as he straightened to meet her gaze once more. For the briefest moment, he hesitated, but one look at her—her flushed cheeks, the way her gaze trailed him shyly—was all the reassurance he needed. With deliberate precision, he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the growing pile of discarded clothes.
Her gasp filled the small room, and he felt a tightening satisfaction in his gut. She touched his arm and nudged him to turn around. He felt her gaze flickered to the scar on his shoulder, the pronounced mark cutting through his skin.
Slowly, she stepped around him, her bare toes whispering against the wooden floor. When her cool fingers brushed the scar, Stan froze, his breath halting. Her touch was gentle, even hesitant, but it reached deep into the parts of himself he had long thought impervious—except to her. Then, without warning, she leaned in and pressed her lips to the jagged line.
This was not what a nurse did to a patient.
They were just a man and a woman.
He closed his eyes, her slow kiss on his shoulder almost overwhelming him with its unexpected tenderness.
“It’s healing well,” she murmured, her voice soft against his skin. “Next, the redness will fade. All that’ll be left will be a faint white line.”
He swallowed, emotions too raw to disguise. “I’m alive because of you,” he said, the words unfiltered and true.
She frowned slightly, and with that familiar independence, she shook her head. “You’re young and strong. You could’ve recovered without me.”
“No,” he said, cupping her face so she had no choice but to look at him. “I know men who lost to fever. I’ve seen what it does—this slow, merciless assault on the body. I nearly succumbed, Wendy. I felt the darkness taking me. But your touch, your voice—you called me back.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, her eyes searching his. “It probably wasn’t me.” Modesty suited her, but it was misplaced in Stan’s eyes as she continued, “Science surely has an explanation. There’s so much I don’t know. The human body is a marvel.”
“There’s much medicine can’t explain, yes,” he replied, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “But there’s much we do understand, too. And tonight, I want to show you some of the marvels we can be for each other.”
The moment stretched as Stan’s hands slid down her sides, settling firmly yet tenderly at her waist. Her gown’s fabric was soft beneath his fingers, whisper-light compared to the warmth emanating from her body. Without a word, he lifted her, and placed her on the edge of the bed, her chemise brushing briefly against his thighs as she moved. The mattress dipped gentlybeneath her weight, and in the quiet, the faint creak of the wood seemed intimate, almost conspiratorial.
He leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that melted the air between them. His mouth moved slowly, deliberately, savoring her taste as if it were his last indulgence. Her lips, pliant and trembling, molded to his, and though her breathing hitched, her shoulders eased under the coaxing pressure of his hands. Stan fumbled with the ties of her chemise, the intricate knots proving stubborn in his haste. He forced himself to slow down, to savor the moment instead of rushing past it. The delicate material eventually gave way, parting to reveal the soft slope of her shoulder.
He paused to look at her, the glow of the oil lamp gilding her skin in shades of gold. She trembled beneath his hands, and as the chemise slipped further, his heart surged at the sight of her—bare, unguarded, divine. Each inch of her revealed sent a deeper, insistent heat sparking through him, yet it was her shyness, her quiet submission, that undid him entirely. Here, poised on the corner of the mattress, she was strong but also fragile, a contradiction he wanted to spend the rest of his life unraveling.
So, he leaned in again, his arms on either side of her. She didn’t lie down but put a hand on his chest, still cool.
She must be nervous.
Her voice finally broke the charged silence. “You’re so much… larger than me,” she murmured, the uncertainty quivering in each syllable.
The corners of Stan’s lips softened as he stilled, his thumb tracing a lazy circle along the curve just above her hip, where the chemise still clung. Her skin there was impossibly smooth, her body warm and alive beneath his touch. He wanted to reassure her, to banish every shred of doubt from her mind.
“We don’t need to do anything more than this tonight if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice a steady, quiet promise. “May I just hold you, Wendy?”
*
Her name onhis lips melted her restraint like ice under the warmth of his gaze—pooling and running away in rivulets from where his words had touched her. The rasp of his voice, rough and reverent, ignited a fire in her chest that she couldn’t contain. She exhaled shakily, not daring to trust her voice as she gazed up at him. Everything about Stan—his sculpted shoulders, his unruly hair, his steady, smoldering eyes—unraveled her. He was so much more than she’d told herself she deserved. He was everything.
And she wanted all of him in ways she could barely understand.
“Help me,” she plead. “I want you so deeply, it burns—” she gripped her chemise with one hand, and it wrinkled.
“My sweet Wendy,” he said and supported her, gently easing her into his lap again, guiding her with such care as though she were something sacred. Her heart seemed to stop for a moment before it thundered back to life. The strength of his hands, the deliberate way they settled at her waist, sent an ache rolling deep through her. She felt small in his arms, but not fragile—cherished, held in place by his solid presence. She sank against him, nestling her cheek against the warm skin of his neck, unable to stop her lips from grazing the space just above his collarbone. How had she resisted this? Resisted him all this time?
She breathed him in deeply, that clean, masculine scent she already knew by heart. And when he kissed the crown of her head, his lips brushing softly as though marking her, it sent ashiver racing down her spine. Subtle yet electrifying. He made her want. Need.
She wanted more than safety and comfort. She wanted her prince—the unyielding force of nature who drove every doubt from her mind. Slowly, she shifted, sliding her legs over his thighs. The warmth of his body blanketed her, grounding her as she repositioned herself to face him. The hem of her chemise gathered high around her thighs, and the cool air only heightened her awareness of him—of every part of them touching. Soft linen against heated skin. Her knees brushing his hips. Her chest pressing lightly against his.
“Wendy,” he murmured again, like he was savoring the resonance of her name. Like it belonged to him.
Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed them against his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath her fingertips. Her gaze darted to his lips—those lips that had driven her thoughts all evening—and before she could stop herself, she tilted her face upward, claiming them. At first, it was tentative, just a featherlight press, but her need swelled quickly, the restraint between them breaking like waves against the shore.
And while they kissed, he took her hand and guided her down to the hardness she’d not dared to touch.
