through him. He wanted her. Closer. Close as a man and woman could be. He wanted to stretch out beside her, pull her clothes off, and chart every sweet, creamy inch of her, then drive deep inside her and satisfy the ache in his gut. He could feel the muslin covering her breasts scratching against his chest. A part of him wanted to tear it away—she persisted in wearing her gown to bed, dammit! But the rational part of him prevailed. This was not a time for lust. Indeed, he’d promised her. She was untried. Untested. He knew it instinctively, and he didn’t want to frighten her.
When at last he raised his head, his heart was drumming. Julianna’s eyes climbed slowly to his, searching his face, her breath coming in little pants that drove him half-wild. Within the depths of her eyes he glimpsed a soft confusion, the same shattering tumult he was feeling.
Her lips parted.
A finger pressed to the center of her lips, Dane shook his head. He didn’t understand it, but he wanted nothing to ruin the spell of this moment.
He managed a glimmer of a smile. “Don’t, kit ten. Not a word. Just . . . just go to sleep.”
With a fingertip he brushed her eyes closed.
And sleep she did, clear through till morn.
Eight
or the second day in a row, Julianna arose before Dane. He woke late, but his condi tion was much improved over the day before, enough that he rose and walked about the cot tage. But she knew he was frustrated with being limited to the use of one arm. At her suggestion, they fashioned a sling for his arm, and he seemed pleased with it.
Neither of them spoke of what had transpired the night before.
Julianna was heartily glad. Indeed, she was still having trouble believing it. She went hot all over whenever she thought of it—and she could not stop thinking of it!
Why had he kissed her?
Moreover, why had she let him?
She had no answer. She knew only that Dane was a man who drew her gaze again and again, and there was no help for it.
Why? her mind screamed.
It was sheer madness. After Thomas’s betrayal, she had retreated for months. She despised scan dal as much as Sebastian. When she’d finally emerged, the gentlemen of the ton had tried to rally her attentions. She had firmly rebuffed any attempts to court her. Deep in her heart, she had told herself she would never again allow herself to be hurt the way Thomas had hurt her. That way she wouldn’t miss what she would never have.
And so she had schooled herself well. She hadn’t allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to lie naked with a man, to feel his mouth running over her skin, his touch burning into her body. Her breasts. Her belly. Even there between her thighs . . .
But last night she had. In the wee hours before dawn, she had dreamed. She had seen herself ly ing nude with Dane. Beneath him. And he had been naked, too. Gloriously naked . . .
It was a dream that was wild. Torrid. So vividly erotic she had quite shocked herself. No wonder she had practically leaped out of bed this morning!
Why should this...this...this rogue affect her so?
He’d put on a shirt, for which she was eternally grateful. But the material clung to the shape of him; the muscles of his shoulders were clearly visible, curved and hard. The shirt was open at the throat, revealing a pie-shaped wedge of hair-matted skin that brought a surge of heat to her cheeks. Oh, yes, even with that impressive chest covered, it rendered her no less aware of him!
Her eyes followed him as he rose to poke at the fire. She couldn’t deny that his profile was in triguingly arresting. She traced the bold slash of black brows, the blade of his nose—there was a slight bump she hadn’t noticed before—the squareness of his jaw. He needed to shave, she thought vaguely. His cheeks and chin were again shadowed with his beard. God rot it, his raw masculinity scrambled her senses and made her pulse skid wildly—she was appalled at herself for even thinking in such a way!
It did not
When at last he raised his head, his heart was drumming. Julianna’s eyes climbed slowly to his, searching his face, her breath coming in little pants that drove him half-wild. Within the depths of her eyes he glimpsed a soft confusion, the same shattering tumult he was feeling.
Her lips parted.
A finger pressed to the center of her lips, Dane shook his head. He didn’t understand it, but he wanted nothing to ruin the spell of this moment.
He managed a glimmer of a smile. “Don’t, kit ten. Not a word. Just . . . just go to sleep.”
With a fingertip he brushed her eyes closed.
And sleep she did, clear through till morn.
Eight
or the second day in a row, Julianna arose before Dane. He woke late, but his condi tion was much improved over the day before, enough that he rose and walked about the cot tage. But she knew he was frustrated with being limited to the use of one arm. At her suggestion, they fashioned a sling for his arm, and he seemed pleased with it.
Neither of them spoke of what had transpired the night before.
Julianna was heartily glad. Indeed, she was still having trouble believing it. She went hot all over whenever she thought of it—and she could not stop thinking of it!
Why had he kissed her?
Moreover, why had she let him?
She had no answer. She knew only that Dane was a man who drew her gaze again and again, and there was no help for it.
Why? her mind screamed.
It was sheer madness. After Thomas’s betrayal, she had retreated for months. She despised scan dal as much as Sebastian. When she’d finally emerged, the gentlemen of the ton had tried to rally her attentions. She had firmly rebuffed any attempts to court her. Deep in her heart, she had told herself she would never again allow herself to be hurt the way Thomas had hurt her. That way she wouldn’t miss what she would never have.
And so she had schooled herself well. She hadn’t allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to lie naked with a man, to feel his mouth running over her skin, his touch burning into her body. Her breasts. Her belly. Even there between her thighs . . .
But last night she had. In the wee hours before dawn, she had dreamed. She had seen herself ly ing nude with Dane. Beneath him. And he had been naked, too. Gloriously naked . . .
It was a dream that was wild. Torrid. So vividly erotic she had quite shocked herself. No wonder she had practically leaped out of bed this morning!
Why should this...this...this rogue affect her so?
He’d put on a shirt, for which she was eternally grateful. But the material clung to the shape of him; the muscles of his shoulders were clearly visible, curved and hard. The shirt was open at the throat, revealing a pie-shaped wedge of hair-matted skin that brought a surge of heat to her cheeks. Oh, yes, even with that impressive chest covered, it rendered her no less aware of him!
Her eyes followed him as he rose to poke at the fire. She couldn’t deny that his profile was in triguingly arresting. She traced the bold slash of black brows, the blade of his nose—there was a slight bump she hadn’t noticed before—the squareness of his jaw. He needed to shave, she thought vaguely. His cheeks and chin were again shadowed with his beard. God rot it, his raw masculinity scrambled her senses and made her pulse skid wildly—she was appalled at herself for even thinking in such a way!
It did not
Similar Books
