Page 19 of Buon Natale, My Wicked Rogue
She laughed at his mock seriousness. “Yes, you get credit.”
He had made this week so romantic.
“Besides, rowing this boat gives me a chance to show off my muscular development.” He winked at her and began rowing with increased vigor.
As he rowed the boat, his upper arm muscles strained against his sleeves, and she had to admit that he possessed a fine musculature. She was sure that he was well aware of that fact. So, she laughed and looked away, back to the shoreline.
“I think we can let the boat coast a bit.” At the sound of his voice, she turned to him. He let go of the oars and scooted close to her. The intense look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat, and suddenly, she felt hot all over. He came closer, and the scent of his citrus and spice cologne, now so familiar, made her ache deep in her belly. He put his mouth on hers, pressing his lips on hers with gentle yet firm pressure.
A deliciously tender kiss.
One that slowly grew more heated as they opened their mouths and their tongues caressed. He tasted of the wine they had drunk, but underneath, he tasted of fire and spice and something sweeter than wine and far headier.
She opened her eyes, sneaking a peek at him through her lashes.
His eyes were not closed. He watched her intently as though committing her face to his memory for the first time. The intensity of his gaze sent a fluttery feeling through her chest. Her earlier verbal responses had been intentionally understated, of course. He was absolutely the most thrillingly romantic man, and this week had been like something from a dream.
He touched the undersides of her breasts. Despite her dress and stays and his suede gloves, his touch was still like fire. She wished he would pull her onto his lap, as was his wont when they were in the house. He would pull her into his lap and kiss and pether until his erection, which felt so wonderfully hard and huge, would press and throb against her buttocks. But she suspected the boat might go topside if he did that here.
His hands brushed over her aching nipples, and she moaned and arched into his touch.
“Your little nipples are so tight they are piercing me through that armor of clothing that you wear.”
Her face flamed. He often spoke so directly about such matters. It embarrassed her a little. It made her sex clench a lot. She wouldn’t have guessed that about herself.
“Must you dress like such a little Puritan?”
“We’re back to criticizing the way I dress?”
“Wait, let me see if I can improve things.” He pulled away from her and removed his gloves. Then he began undoing the buttons on the white collar of her dark green day dress.
“Evan, not here.”
He ignored her and soon had the little collar open, revealing the tops of her breasts. He placed his hand on her swelling flesh. “That’s much better. Now I can look at your lovely breasts while you stare at the shore.”
So far, they had only kissed, and he would pet her breasts. When the weather allowed, they spent the past week walking about the woods, riding horses, and having picnic lunches. They played chess. Upon learning that she loved to paint, he’d sent his valet, Oliver, into Brighton to fetch some watercolors and easels and had even tried his own hand at painting some fruit in a bowl, and then he had good-naturedly shared a laugh with her over his results.
He was an enthusiast about all aspects of winemaking. She loved to drink wine, but never before had she considered thetopic so deeply as when listening to him talk about it with such energy and enjoyment. He had an excellent wine cellar here, and she had begun to drink a bit more than she should. But why not? This time was a dream, apart from reality.
At night, she played the piano while he accompanied her on a wonderfully crafted antique lute. He knew so many old English and French folk songs and love songs. He read her poetry and stories about the Arabian Knights from theOne Thousand and One Nightsand other fairy tales. He brought her roses and wildflowers.
“So, is this what a woman like you came to England to find? Did you hope to find an English earl who would row you about the lake?” he asked.
Her belly tightened, just an edge of nervous tension. How many ways would he be able to ask this same question? Why did she come to England? No, really, why did she come to England?
The man asked again and again.
And he was asking something that she could not tell him the truth about, at least not yet. She sighed. “I came to England to find some fun and adventure.”
The words sounded so trite to her. But then she’d uttered them countless times over the past week. To be fair, he’d also asked her about herself and the other people in her life. He was especially interested in her time in America.
To have such a handsome, captivating man so interested in her and her life was gratifying to her vanity. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that to herself. To have made a romantic conquest of a nobleman was heady, especially considering how her ducal father had never connected with her all those years.
But there was more to this than that. Evan was becoming a friend. They had much in common, and they loved many of the same things.
They had long, deep conversations. He knew so much about her marriage, her disappointments, her happy memories of her father-in-law, and her sadness over losing her dog the year before. He also knew all about her love of managing the business and how thrilled she was to manage her investments.
And they shared kisses. So many kisses.
