Page 77 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
“Where does that go?”
“To heaven.”
He took her hand, entwining their fingers, holding her firmly as though fearing he could easily lose her on the trek up. The stairs were narrow, they couldn’t walk beside each other, and she found herself in a position where she could study his back, his buttocks, his thighs without his being able to see where her eyes wandered, and they wandered over the entire length of him. She did wish he’d dispensed with his jacket, perhaps even his waistcoat—
Heat swarmed through her as she realized she’d very much like to see him trudging up those steps with no clothing at all. She wanted to see his muscles bunching with his movements, wanted to see the strength and firmness. She wanted to see the flawlessness of his flesh.
Never before had she thought in such detail about any man’s person, and yet she found herself constantly considering every aspect of his, yearned to see it all revealed, wondered if it would be as magnificent as she imagined.
When the steps came to an end, she found herself enclosed in a small pantry-like room. He shoved open a door and stepped out, pulling her along with him.
Onto the roof.
Into the night. A rare clear one that nearly took her breath.
“We’re perfectly safe. There’s a wall around the edge.” Tightening his hold on her hand, he escorted her across the flat expanse to the short brick barrier that came to her waist. On top of it was what appeared to be a wrought-iron railing, although the dimness of the light prevented her from knowing for certain. In the distance she could see balls of light, the illumination from streetlamps, she assumed.
No moon hovered. The sky was adorned with so many stars she doubted any astronomer would ever be able to count them all.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered in awe.
“When all the shops and houses are built, I’ll be able to come up here and see the lights glowing in windows and know that inside people are content, happy, hopefully well-fed and warm. I’ll have a sense of accomplishment. People can have good lives because of what we’re doing here.”
People who might have been impoverished otherwise. He might have amassed a fortune, but he hadn’t been doing it all for himself. She could hardly see his features in the darkness. “You’re remarkable.”
“Hardly. In lifting others, we lift ourselves.”
He was a man of such confidence, it had never occurred to her he’d be modest as well.
“Can you imagine it?” he asked. “With all the lights?”
“It’ll be incredible.”
“There are other lights.” He drew her in close, her back to his chest, and closed his arms around her. “Watch the sky,” he whispered near her ear, his breath wafting over her cheek.
His tongue outlined the shell of her ear, and she sank against him. She should have handed her pelisse over to the butler, as Mick was making her exceedingly warm. His mouth dropped lower, to the nape of her neck, then moved slowly, provocatively, leaving little nips along the way, to her jawline. The sensations were so exquisite, velvet lapping at silk. Was she the only woman to not know that such sweet surrender existed?
Closing her eyes, she began falling into the bliss.
“Keep your eyes open,” he rasped. “Don’t look away from the sky in the distance.”
The vast expanse before her. The stars tossed across the inky blackness like diamonds on velvet. Her breath caught. The fireworks.
Far, far away, but there all the same, filling the darkness with color, rivaling the stars for attention.
“I’m going to unleash the fireworks inside you,” Mick vowed, his voice deep, low, nearly feral in its intensity.
“Mick—”
“Shh. Just keep your eyes on the distance.” He suckled at the underside of her jaw, dragged his mouth—open and hot—along the column of her throat.
Yes, she wished the pelisse was gone and the frock, and all the lace and linen beneath it. What a wanton she was. The cool breeze wafted over her, but it did little to dissipate the heat scouring through her.
He unclasped her pelisse and it was gone, falling quickly to the rooftop as though fearing it was in danger of being scorched, as well. His hand glided with assurance and purpose over her ribs, her waist, her hips. Lower still, somehow grabbing her thigh, lifting her leg—
“Open for me,” he ordered as though he were Ali Baba intent on stealing treasure.
—and placed her foot on the low brick wall where it met wrought iron. His fingers slipped beneath the hem, wrapped around her ankle, began moving up, deliciously slowly in little circles.
