Page 71 of Snowbound Surrender
She rose on her toes, leaned in, and buried her face in his collar, her nose and lips brushing the bare skin of his neck. He was shocked immobile, and his shiver had nothing to do with the snowstorm that raged outside.
Was that the flick of her tongue he felt? He leaned his head to the side to encourage her explorations, but she rocked back, raising a languid, sensual gaze to his. “I like your scent very much. Do you like mine?”
Her fingers went to the clasps at the front of her dress and made quick work of the first half dozen to the middle of her bosom. She peeled the fabric apart until the white of her chemise over rounded breasts was visible.
He swallowed. He’d seen women display more of their decolletage in the ballrooms in Paris and London. Yet he was becoming undone with the sumptuousness in front of him. His knees trembled.
“Well?” She raised her brows.
“Well what?”
“To sample my scent, you must come closer.”
He bowed his head toward her and sniffed. “Very nice,” he said woodenly.
She tsked like he was being a recalcitrant child. With one hand still holding the front of her dress apart, she tugged on his nape with the other.
He tried to resist and managed to succeed for half a second. Then he allowed her to pull him into her body and buried his face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder. One deep shuddery breath followed another. Her scent was lightly floral and seductive.
“You smell of spring and warmth and new beginnings.” He surprised himself with his words. He’d never been one for flowery speeches.
Her hair was a shade lighter than her sister’s but just as curly and wild. It had come loose and was half up and half down. He plucked a few more pins out and let them drop to the floor. Then he did something he had not been bold enough to do three years earlier. He threaded his fingers through her silky locks, tendrils tickling the back of his hand. It was decadent and luxurious.
He slipped his other arm around her waist and brought her more fully into his body. Her back arched over his forearm, and her breasts were displayed tantalizingly close to his mouth. He let his lips coast along the edge of her chemise, over the curves of her breasts. Gooseflesh rose along the path.
Was she aroused? Most likely she was still chilled. He released her and stepped toward the door. “I need to see to my horse. Change into dry clothes and warm yourself by the fire,” he commanded gruffly.
Great gulps of cold air helped dampen his ardor but did not extinguish it. He looked out and could only see white. The snow was still accumulating at a pace that was worrisome. Not because he feared for their survival in such a storm. No, he had plenty of firewood and food.
It was worrisome because they would not be going anywhere tonight. He and Eleanor were stuck together in his hunting cabin. It wasn’t his life he was worried about. It was his heart.
CHAPTER 4
Eleanor’s head felt strange.She was having a difficult time corralling her thoughts. It wasn’t the fuzziness too much alcohol imparted. Imbibing with Charlotte the night of her arrival had left her feeling unbalanced and slightly sick the next morning. No, she felt sharp yet languid. Clearheaded, yet confused. She was aware of her body in ways she could not describe.
Speaking of her body, she felt hot and cold at the same time. Looking down, she expected to see where his lips had caressed her at the edge of her chemise. She touched her skin, but there was only the memory of the light, sensual graze.
Her skin was overly sensitive. Her sodden, heavy dress took on an element of torture. She had to get out of it. Her hands trembled slightly as she unfastened the rest of the bodice and let the dress puddle around her bare feet. Her stays were short and practical, the lacing in the front. She loosened them and let those fall to the floor as well, leaving her in her chemise.
His shirt was made of soft lawn. She rubbed it against her cheek. Without second-guessing herself, she pulled her chemise over her head, tossed it aside, and slipped his shirt on.
It covered her to mid-thigh. She rolled the sleeves to her wrists, but didn’t bother to tie it at the neck, letting it slide offone shoulder. She picked up the dressing gown, but it was a heavy brocade that she couldn’t bear to have against her skin. She laid it back over the chair and returned to the overstuffed armchair, angling it so she could see the front door while she warmed herself. Feeling the heat radiate against her bare skin was pleasurable in a way that made her wonder at herself.
Her mind wandered back to a painful memory. The madam of the whorehouse who had shown up on her front stoop demanding coin for services done to her husband. Eleanor had demanded to know what services could have sent her husband into debt.
“You don’t really want to know that, missus,” the madam had said with enough condescension in her voice to stir the embers of Eleanor’s anger.
“I demand to know what my husband got from your whores that he could not have gotten from me.”
The woman’s face had hardened at Eleanor’s demand. Or maybe it was the way she’d spat out the word whores. Whatever it was, the woman had decided not to spare Eleanor from reality.
“Your husband was nothing special. He loved a good suck and a rough fucking.” The woman went on to describe exactly what that entailed. The more shocked Eleanor grew, the more relish the madam took in describing the acts. Head spinning, Eleanor got rid of the woman and retreated to James’s study to cry.
Why was Eleanor thinking about what the madam had told her? And not with shock this time, but curiosity. Had she been addled by the cold?
Well, she wasn’t cold anymore. After finger combing her hair, she debated if she should braid it, but the loose curls felt good. She propped her legs on the footstool, flexed her feet, and looked at her bare limbs with detachment. She had neverbeen this comfortable with her body. With James, she had hidden herself under the cloak of darkness, not to mention the covers. Yet here she was splayed out in a gentleman’s shirt in a remarkably small cabin with a man she only knew from a long-ago flirtation.
And yet… the notion did not send her running for the dressing gown. Why didn’t it? She couldn’t even hazard a theory. All she knew was she was content to lounge in Callum’s shirt in his armchair and in front of his fire. In fact, she found herself looking to the door and awaiting his return with anticipation.
