Page 37 of A Kiss Of Lies

Sarah pulled her scattered thoughts together and rushed toward the foot of the bed to don her robe, but found Christian had beaten her to it. He stood holding it open for her.

“I prefer you as you are now attired—no, actually, it would be even more pleasant if you were naked—but I bow to your sensibilities.” He hesitated. “At least, until we get to know each other more intimately.”

Sarah hurriedly shoved her arms in the sleeves of her robe and wrapped and belted it around her. Tonight Christian was more potent and virile than ever. He had already divested himself of his cravat and waistcoat. He stood before her with his shirt open at the neck. She could see a glimpse of his tantalizingly muscled chest. Her body tensed under his probing gaze.

She looked at the twinkle in his eye and his relaxed posture. There was something different about Christian tonight. His smile was reminiscent of the rake she’d spied in the ballroom all those years ago. That was before her disastrous marriage, and before his horrific injuries.

He sat down on the edge of her bed and began removing his shirt. She watched, her vocal cords muted by the glorious display of sun-kissed muscle being slowly revealed before her. She couldn’t wait to touch, explore, and stroke him.

She went to her dresser and gathered the liniment and a cloth. As she moved toward him he took in the length of her . . . her breasts, her hips, and her legs as they flashed at him from within her robe. All the nerves in her body ignited under his sensuous gaze.

“Why did you not come and join us this evening?” he asked.

“I thought you and Lord Coldhurst might like some time on your own.”

As she reached his side, he ran a finger down her bare arm. “I would rather have spent the evening with you.”

Sarah swallowed at the pleasure his husky words provoked deep inside her. He was in a very playful mood, and although she should be concerned, she couldn’t bring herself to chastise him.

Instead she dug some liniment out from the tin and, trying to keep her hands from shaking, began applying it to his shoulder. “Has it been hurting more than usual today?” she asked, pleased her voice sounded so normal.

“No.” His breath was like butterfly wings hovering over her skin. It was awkward with him sitting there on her bed. She had to lean over him to get to his shoulder.

He parted his legs and pulled her gently between them. “It’s easier to reach me from here,” he said, his hushed voice somehow more intimate than the position she found herself in.

She tried to back away, aware that her breasts were practically brushing his face with each stroke she gave his shoulder. But then his arms came around from behind her to intimately cup her bottom, gently holding her in place.

“I don’t need to be this close,” she said primly. His nearness made Sarah’s knees shake, but not from fear.

He smiled at that. “Need, no. Want, yes.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She put her hands on his bare shoulders to push herself out of his hold, but one look into his face and she stilled. He reached to touch her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

Sarah drew in a sharp breath, but she could not get her arms to work. She couldn’t push herself away. It was the gentleness that undid her. If he’d tried to hold her by force, she would have fought him like a madwoman.

His hand left her bottom and moved up to her waist. He waited, his eyes—warm, inviting, and mesmerizing—holding her gaze. When she did not object, the hand slid to the tie of her robe and gently pulled it. The robe fell open, and he caught his breath as he saw her breasts straining against the thin cotton of her shift.

Sarah felt her nipples pucker under his heated gaze.

“So beautiful . . .” He bent his head and nuzzled one breast through the material. She could feel his moist mouth gently exploring. He pulled back and blew on the wet material, making her nipples harden further.

She couldn’t stop looking into his eyes. He seemed to be willing her toward more, stroking her side and piquing her curiosity as he did so.

Dear God, he was delicious, with his dark-lashed emerald eyes hot with desire, his sensual mouth wet and lush; she no longer noticed the burns.

A shudder running through her made her grip his shoulders for support. His nearness and the heat radiating off his bared torso made her dizzy. She could feel the warmth of his body, his leashed power. He could so easily overpower her, but he didn’t. He was waiting, waiting for her to make the decision as to how far this would go.

What would it feel like to have him kiss her, touch her, make love to her? Could he help evaporate for good her nightmarish memories of abuse at the hands of her husband?

“We can go slowly, as slowly as you desire. I won’t even try to make love to you fully this night.” He kissed the bare skin above the swell of her rapidly rising and falling breasts. “Simply let me share with you a small measure of mutual passion. For a woman of such intelligence, don’t you wish to know how it could truly be between a man and woman? How it should be?”

She bit her lip, teetering on the edge of a monumental chasm. To say yes would alter her plans, she knew. She had the safety of her role as Lily’s governess. The reason the job was perfect was because of his injuries. He’d categorically stated he didn’t invite company. What if becoming his lover jeopardized her job? It would be dangerous to have to apply for other positions in England. The chance of her being recognized would grow if she had to find a position elsewhere.

Then there were her feelings. Already she felt far too much for Christian. What if she lost her heart to him? Once he grew tired of her, once he married—he would have to marry due to his title—how could she watch him be with a wife?

But, on the other hand, must she say no to him? She might never get the chance again to feel a lover’s gentle touch and not be afraid, to face her fears and regain her courage. For once in her life, she should do and have something just for herself—to think only of herself.

She knew many men and women had affairs that had nothing to do with the heart. Physical pleasure did not have to involve love. Could she separate the two? She’d been forced into the bed of a man she did not love and found no pleasure, only pain. But then Peter had never been concerned with her pleasure, only his own.

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