realization that getting her stripped down and on the bed wasn’t going to be accomplished as easily and quickly as he wanted. Having spent the day frustrated to one degree or another, and now being so close to relieving it only to be thwarted . . . “Where the hell are the buttons on this thing?”
She chuckled and stepped out of his loose embrace, saying sweetly, “Allow me.”
She lifted her left arm slightly, reached across herself with her right, and nimbly began undoing a row of tiny royal blue buttons that ran down her side. Buttons he’d noticed, but had assumed were there for the sole purpose of drawing panting male attention to the alluring curve.
But the dress didn’t open as the buttons parted with their holes. “What the . . . ?” he muttered, fascinated as the front ruching of her gown slipped down as a single, separate panel. And beneath it, hidden until that moment, was the line of blue satin-covered buttons he’d been looking for along her spine.
And the feminine form that ruching had hidden and those pretty buttons accentuated . . . It was a glorious sight to behold. His jaw dropped. Not that he cared.
“Women who don’t have maids to help them dress,” she explained, unbuttoning the lowest one in the line, “have to be able to do and undo the buttons on their own. It’s much easier to reach them when they’re in the front.”
“Let me,” he said, gently moving her hands aside.
“If you insist.”
Oh, he did. She pressed her arms into her sides to hold the dress in place as he worked his way up, his fingers nimble and efficient and seemingly detached from his conscious mind—what there was of it. He was nearing the top when what he’d been seeing finally registered in his brain. There weren’t any petticoats tied about her waist. He glanced down at the opening. There were petticoats, but they’d been sewn into the dress itself so that they and the outer fabric went on and came off as one piece. “How ingenious,” he marveled.
And considerate of a man’s desperation.
“Thank you. I designed it myself.”
“A woman of many talents,” he said, smiling down into sparkling eyes as he undid the last button. He was wondering what talents she had that he’d yet to discover when she lifted her arms ever so slightly, wiggled her hips and showed him.
If he’d been an old man, or one not used to a strenuous life, the delight would have stopped his heart. As it was, his skipped several beats before it slammed hard into his rib cage and began to race.
“And truly exceptional understanding,” he whispered in amazement. And in deep, breathtaking appreciation for her creative talent. Her creative, utterly wanton talent.
There was no chemise to obscure the realization that he’d never in his life seen anything so decadently inviting as the white thing that functioned—in a sinfully transparentway—as a corset. As far as he could tell, its sole purpose was to hold in place several short strips of curved whalebone whose sole purpose was to hold her perfectly round breasts up for proper adoration.
“Understanding of what, Drayton?”
His gaze slowly skimmed downward over the white ribbon lacing that held the thing closed. Down over the gentle pillow of her bare abdomen to the small triangle of blond curls to the sheer white stockings gartered high on her shapely thighs.
“Men,” he said, offering his hand to help her step out of the satin puddle at her feet. The spark of creativity that flashed through his mind was a pale one compared to those she apparently had, but there was potential in it. He drew her around to the short, flat-topped traveling chest the porter had placed at the foot of his bed. She stepped up onto it obediently and then allowed him to turn her to face him. Just as he’d thought it would, the adjustment for their height differences put all of her within easy reach.
“Perfect,” he declared, releasing her hand to unbutton his jacket, strip it off
She chuckled and stepped out of his loose embrace, saying sweetly, “Allow me.”
She lifted her left arm slightly, reached across herself with her right, and nimbly began undoing a row of tiny royal blue buttons that ran down her side. Buttons he’d noticed, but had assumed were there for the sole purpose of drawing panting male attention to the alluring curve.
But the dress didn’t open as the buttons parted with their holes. “What the . . . ?” he muttered, fascinated as the front ruching of her gown slipped down as a single, separate panel. And beneath it, hidden until that moment, was the line of blue satin-covered buttons he’d been looking for along her spine.
And the feminine form that ruching had hidden and those pretty buttons accentuated . . . It was a glorious sight to behold. His jaw dropped. Not that he cared.
“Women who don’t have maids to help them dress,” she explained, unbuttoning the lowest one in the line, “have to be able to do and undo the buttons on their own. It’s much easier to reach them when they’re in the front.”
“Let me,” he said, gently moving her hands aside.
“If you insist.”
Oh, he did. She pressed her arms into her sides to hold the dress in place as he worked his way up, his fingers nimble and efficient and seemingly detached from his conscious mind—what there was of it. He was nearing the top when what he’d been seeing finally registered in his brain. There weren’t any petticoats tied about her waist. He glanced down at the opening. There were petticoats, but they’d been sewn into the dress itself so that they and the outer fabric went on and came off as one piece. “How ingenious,” he marveled.
And considerate of a man’s desperation.
“Thank you. I designed it myself.”
“A woman of many talents,” he said, smiling down into sparkling eyes as he undid the last button. He was wondering what talents she had that he’d yet to discover when she lifted her arms ever so slightly, wiggled her hips and showed him.
If he’d been an old man, or one not used to a strenuous life, the delight would have stopped his heart. As it was, his skipped several beats before it slammed hard into his rib cage and began to race.
“And truly exceptional understanding,” he whispered in amazement. And in deep, breathtaking appreciation for her creative talent. Her creative, utterly wanton talent.
There was no chemise to obscure the realization that he’d never in his life seen anything so decadently inviting as the white thing that functioned—in a sinfully transparentway—as a corset. As far as he could tell, its sole purpose was to hold in place several short strips of curved whalebone whose sole purpose was to hold her perfectly round breasts up for proper adoration.
“Understanding of what, Drayton?”
His gaze slowly skimmed downward over the white ribbon lacing that held the thing closed. Down over the gentle pillow of her bare abdomen to the small triangle of blond curls to the sheer white stockings gartered high on her shapely thighs.
“Men,” he said, offering his hand to help her step out of the satin puddle at her feet. The spark of creativity that flashed through his mind was a pale one compared to those she apparently had, but there was potential in it. He drew her around to the short, flat-topped traveling chest the porter had placed at the foot of his bed. She stepped up onto it obediently and then allowed him to turn her to face him. Just as he’d thought it would, the adjustment for their height differences put all of her within easy reach.
“Perfect,” he declared, releasing her hand to unbutton his jacket, strip it off
Similar Books
