Page 45 of Dalliances & Devotion (The Truitts 2)

“I’m not good with animals.” He stepped back to stare at his handiwork, and the bits of smooth, curved, probably easy to kiss flesh now visible. He swallowed, willing his mind to produce something clever and impressive to women—well, to this woman—instead of barely coherent with lust. “After Noah, it’s mostly locusts and sheep.”

“Well, then, I should be flattered.” She slipped behind the screen, illuminated by a wall sconce enough that her silhouette, sans skirt, cast a dark shadow. All. Those. Long. Legs. And rounded curves and...

“I believe there’s a talking donkey as well,” she called.

What was she—oh, Balaam and Balak. The only interesting story in Bamidbar—Numbers. She really did have quite the impressive education. One of the advantages of America, formal Jewish education for girls, not just knowledge gleaned from listening to the men.

Not that Amalia couldn’t pick up things that way. People underestimated her. Quite a bit. He tiptoed closer. “So you’d want to be compared to an ass?”

“Not compared, though you seem to be spending a great deal of time holding mine.” He glanced down at the wire half cage still in his hand—the bustle as she called it. She raised a hand above her head. “Nightgown and dressing gown, please.”

“Pity.” He murmured the word under his breath as he snatched the pile of ruffles off the bed and tossed it over the top of the screen with his free hand.

David placed the faux bottom on top of her gown. “A poor substitute for the real thing.”

“Really? How would you know?” She moved out into the main part of the room once more, the heavy, high-collared, shapeless robe of a gown leaving everything to the imagination. And yet, his body didn’t care.

“I may not have seen the real one, but if you recall, that time you woke me in the middle of the night, I got a bit of a sense. Not as much as I desired, but enough to know that I wanted more. Want more. You were wearing far too many garments then. And now.” Did he just say that? Out loud? That wasn’t mere teasing...that was downright naughty.

“You should’ve asked.” Amalia strolled over, placed a hand on his chest, and nudged so he half fell back on the bed. “But you didn’t and now we’re back to that uncreative imagination of yours, unless you’re suggesting it’s otherwise.”

“Regarding you? My imagination is quite creative.” The courage and stupidity and whatever else was back. Like when he went into battle, or led her on the dance floor. He reached up and grasped her wrist, his eyes staring into those gray-brown pools. “Good or bad, duty or brother, when it comes to you, I have, and always will, think very creative thoughts.”

“Do you?” She stilled in his hold. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

His brain stuttered. “I—”

“Would it be terribly naughty if I told you the same goes for me?” She near hissed the words as she bent down so magnolia and citrus could tickle his nose.

David’s chest seized.

He was drowning already, way in over his head, and yet...damn it all he wanted her and she wanted him. Sometimes one had to say to hell with reason and sanity and just go.

He cupped her chin. “Be careful, Amalia. Think about this. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want. Anything you’ll regret.”

“What in this conversation would ever give you the impression that I’m about to force myself to do anything? I know I can tell you to stop at any time.” She rolled her eyes, but her voice dropped again. “I trust you, David. Please. I want to explore with you.”

She was going to take things he couldn’t afford to give. Again. But there was no turning back. Whatever happened between them in the room would occur, consequences be damned. They were each too far gone.

He wound his finger around the smooth silk ribbon over her bosom. “Well, that’s certainly possible, but you seem to be wearing way too much fabric.”

“Really?” A slow smile spread over her face. With hands far quicker than his, she threw off the robe. “Is this better?”

“For a start.” How his mouth managed the words, he had no idea because the rest of him focused on the near transparent white nightgown. All the memories, all the fantasies.

“So I should remove the rest?” She stroked from the high neckline down over her breasts.

“I—” He opened and closed his mouth. He might have fainted in between. It was hard to tell. In the past, every time she’d come to him, they’d guided each other’s hands above the other’s garments. To see Amalia in the nude and to be able to touch flesh...

“What if I told you after this layer, there is nothing else?” Her voice dropped into the husky register again.

“I—I, um—” Both his mouth and brain stuttered. If he was being honest, or could speak, he’d tell her that he’d marvel at everything. Everything he dreamed of seeing for far too long. And would wish someone was around to take a photograph.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite understand that.” She rubbed herself against his leg and his entire body tightened with need. Good idea, bad idea, terrible idea, none of it mattered anymore.

“Lord, I’m shvitzing.” He was going to rip his tzitzis and his shirt. And coat. And burst through his trousers. But it no longer mattered.

“Then by all means, you should think about removing some of your garments.”

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