Page 48 of Wickedly Yours
Arabella’s voice was low and husky, the sound rasping over his skin as if she touched him. Few brides would grow so impatient on their wedding night as to seek out their groom. Rowan smiled to himself.
Clutching the towel to his hips, Rowan turned, knowing she would see how tented the towel had become. Perhaps he should drop the towel. It would be interesting to see what Arabella would do. She didn’t frighten easily but seeing him naked with a raging erection might send her fleeing from the room.
The sight of her caused all amusement to flee.
The sable mass of her hair flowed wildly over her nearly bare shoulders. The nightgown she wore, a bit of white lace and silk, hid little from his gaze. He could just make out the dusky outline of her nipples beneath the almost sheer fabric. The entire concoction was full of ribbons and flounces, completely un-Arabella like.
Eyes the color of pitch looked down at the towel, and back at his face. The plump lips of her mouth widened into a perfect “o”, but she didn’t look away. Nor did she stammer or blush. Instead her gaze on him became increasingly possessive, as if he belonged to her.
A shudder of longing ran through him, forceful and sharp.
Rowan held out his hand and Arabella threaded her fingers through his without hesitation.
The towel dropped to the floor.
* * *
Bloody hell.
Arabella didn’t typically curse, though she certainly knew some choice words, after all, her brotherwasthe Devil of Dunbar. And given her mother’s predication for bringing her lovers home, shehadseen a naked man before.
Just not Rowan. Dear God, not Rowan.
She’d often wondered what lie beneath the tailored coats and fine lawn of his shirts. She imagined the bunched muscles of his thighs that caused his breeches to be so indecently tight. A violent fluttering spiraled out from her stomach to settle between her thighs as her eyes roamed over him.
He’s beautiful.No wonder every woman in thetonis chasing him.
Arabella had a rather possessive nature. She didn’t share things well despite her generosity to orphans and widows. Jealously was also not an unfamiliar emotion. But the proprietary way she felt about Rowan was new to her. Different.Powerful.
Broad muscled shoulders topped an equally sculpted torso. Many men of the ton padded their coats to give the appearance of a fine figure but her new husband wasn’t one of them. Not an ounce of fat shown on the rugged lines of his body.
Glorious. Magnificent.
His skin shone golden in candlelight. Small drops of water, missed when he’d dried himself, dripped down his chest from his still wet hair. As she watched, one droplet fell and slid down his chest, trailing down the flat toned stomach, to disappear in a thatch of dark hair.
Oh dear.
She tore her eyes back to his, determined to keep her gaze above his navel. Impossible with his arousal jutting out as if demanding her attention. Rowan seemed to have no inclination to cover himself. He curled his fingers around himself, stroking several times while she watched, gauging her reaction. “My sacrificial virgin has arrived. I’d no idea you’d be so impatient.”
Arabella’s pulse skipped, blood pumping furiously through her veins. The tips of her breasts chafed against the confines of the ridiculous nightgown Aunt Maisy insisted she have. She was fascinated by the length of him. What should she call…it? Her mother always referred to her lover’s assets in a rather lusty way, as acock.
She supposed she should look away. Possibly twitter and weep at the sight of a large, naked male who clearly desired her. But if Arabella had learned nothing else about the man before her, it was that Rowan appreciated that she wasnotshy and retiring. Her boldness aroused him, as evidenced by the size of his—cock. She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “Virgin sacrifice? I thought I had more the appearance of an overdone wedding cake. I have never worn so much lace in my life.”
He reached out and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his still damp body.
“You will not be wearing that piece of lace long or likely ever again.” He nuzzled the side of her neck.
“A shame.” Though it wasn’t. She detested frills and bows. “Aunt Maisy assured me all bridegrooms desired their brides to be adorned in such silliness.” She was trembling, both at the hardness pressed against her thigh and from the delicious anticipation radiating through her body.
He brushed his lips against hers. “Your aunt is incorrect. I prefer my bride to be clothed in as little as possible. Though I ache to see you in your red chemise. Are you frightened, Bella? I don’t wish you to be.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I mean…possibly a little.”
The green in his eyes deepened. “Did I ever tell you I saw you once, long ago?” A finger slid down across her skin to the valley between her breasts. “You wore a ballgown the color of pink that reminded me of the early morning sky.”
“You did? You never told me.” It was difficult to think clearly when he touched her. Her breasts were swelling up towards him, eager for his hands, his mouth.
Rowan cupped one breast, the heat of his touch searing her through the thin silk and lace. “A ball, given by some member of thetonwhose name I no longer recall. You were so very lovely. Haughty. No one dared approach you.” A soft laugh escaped him. “After that, I never saw you in color again for years. For the longest time I thought you were in half-mourning.” He gazed into her eyes intently. “No more browns or grays.” His words held a tone of command. “Are we in agreement?”
