details to fill in. She certainly had not imagined
the heavenly sensory experience that touched every aspect of her being. The
touch of his fingers, strong yet gentle; the sound of his voice, sonorous and
seductive; the look in his eyes, pleading yet determined; the scent of his
flesh, heated with desire.
The taste of his mouth…
He tasted soft and comforting. It was the only way she could
describe it. She traced a naked finger over her still-sensitive lips trying to
relive his touch, his taste.
When you’re with someone you love…
Helena pondered the words over and over. Did he love her?
How could he? They barely knew each other. And yet, there was something
electric, exciting, so utterly perfect every time they met. She became herself
around him. She did not need to pretend to be something she was not, did not
need to be dishonest for propriety’s sake. She had been thinking of him since
the first time she saw him, then more so after their first conversation,
fantasizing he was with her when she pleasured herself and constantly wondering
when she might see him next.
Was that attraction? Was it inspiration?
Was that love?
She really wasn’t sure. Her mother always pined for her
father when he was abroad, and they most certainly were in love. And when he
returned, her father always kissed her mother in very much the same manner
Nicholas had just kissed her.
She touched her finger to her lips again, then traced them
with her tongue. They felt tender, almost bruised. Would everyone at the
Shotwick ball know what she had just done? Could they tell just by looking at
her?
As she pulled her gloves from her reticule, she realized how
much she did not want to return to the ballroom. It was filled with dull,
uninspiring men, men who did not thrill her, who did not attract her, who could
never send her mind and body reeling, spinning, like Dr. Nicholas Ramsay could.
As she tugged her gloves on, she decided she did not care
very much what anyone thought, even if they could tell she had just had the
most incredible experience of her life.
She smiled. She still felt Nicholas’ kiss in a million
different places, some of them very far from her lips.
Chapter Eight
“Doctor, sir, who is that woman?” Grace asked from behind
the modesty screen as she took off her dress.
“Which woman, Grace?” asked Dr. Christopher absently.
“The one what comes over and sleeps here.” She tugged at the
hooks on her corset.
“She is a very dear friend of mine. Her name is Mrs.
Phillips.”
Dear friend? “Is she in love with you?”
“Never you mind that, girl! Are you ready yet?” The doctor
seemed annoyed.
Grace stepped out from behind the screen.
“On the table.”
Grace got on the examination table and placed her feet in
the stirrup-like holders. Propped up on her elbows, she watched Dr. Christopher
make his preparations.
She liked watching the doctor when he was busy, when his
handsome features were unclouded by insincere expressions of concern or
interest. When Dr. Christopher concentrated on something scientific, his eyes
became soft and dreamy, he would suck in his lower lip, wetting it, and he
would even talk very quietly to himself, his seductive baritone growling
indistinguishable syllables.
“Right,” he concluded to no one. “Now, Grace, my girl—”
Grace loved it when he embellished her name with little
terms of endearment.
“You understand what I need you to do, correct?”
“I’m to think about the feelings I feel, then describe them
to you.”
“Very good.” He took off his jacket and laid it neatly over
a chair. “Then we’ll compare what you’ve felt with the vibration device with
what you feel with penetration.”
That was a word Grace was not sure she knew. “Doctor, sir?
What do you mean? Penet—”
“Penetration. Inside you. When a man places his member
inside you.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat. “You said you were not a virgin.”
“No, sir. I mean yes, sir, I
the heavenly sensory experience that touched every aspect of her being. The
touch of his fingers, strong yet gentle; the sound of his voice, sonorous and
seductive; the look in his eyes, pleading yet determined; the scent of his
flesh, heated with desire.
The taste of his mouth…
He tasted soft and comforting. It was the only way she could
describe it. She traced a naked finger over her still-sensitive lips trying to
relive his touch, his taste.
When you’re with someone you love…
Helena pondered the words over and over. Did he love her?
How could he? They barely knew each other. And yet, there was something
electric, exciting, so utterly perfect every time they met. She became herself
around him. She did not need to pretend to be something she was not, did not
need to be dishonest for propriety’s sake. She had been thinking of him since
the first time she saw him, then more so after their first conversation,
fantasizing he was with her when she pleasured herself and constantly wondering
when she might see him next.
Was that attraction? Was it inspiration?
Was that love?
She really wasn’t sure. Her mother always pined for her
father when he was abroad, and they most certainly were in love. And when he
returned, her father always kissed her mother in very much the same manner
Nicholas had just kissed her.
She touched her finger to her lips again, then traced them
with her tongue. They felt tender, almost bruised. Would everyone at the
Shotwick ball know what she had just done? Could they tell just by looking at
her?
As she pulled her gloves from her reticule, she realized how
much she did not want to return to the ballroom. It was filled with dull,
uninspiring men, men who did not thrill her, who did not attract her, who could
never send her mind and body reeling, spinning, like Dr. Nicholas Ramsay could.
As she tugged her gloves on, she decided she did not care
very much what anyone thought, even if they could tell she had just had the
most incredible experience of her life.
She smiled. She still felt Nicholas’ kiss in a million
different places, some of them very far from her lips.
Chapter Eight
“Doctor, sir, who is that woman?” Grace asked from behind
the modesty screen as she took off her dress.
“Which woman, Grace?” asked Dr. Christopher absently.
“The one what comes over and sleeps here.” She tugged at the
hooks on her corset.
“She is a very dear friend of mine. Her name is Mrs.
Phillips.”
Dear friend? “Is she in love with you?”
“Never you mind that, girl! Are you ready yet?” The doctor
seemed annoyed.
Grace stepped out from behind the screen.
“On the table.”
Grace got on the examination table and placed her feet in
the stirrup-like holders. Propped up on her elbows, she watched Dr. Christopher
make his preparations.
She liked watching the doctor when he was busy, when his
handsome features were unclouded by insincere expressions of concern or
interest. When Dr. Christopher concentrated on something scientific, his eyes
became soft and dreamy, he would suck in his lower lip, wetting it, and he
would even talk very quietly to himself, his seductive baritone growling
indistinguishable syllables.
“Right,” he concluded to no one. “Now, Grace, my girl—”
Grace loved it when he embellished her name with little
terms of endearment.
“You understand what I need you to do, correct?”
“I’m to think about the feelings I feel, then describe them
to you.”
“Very good.” He took off his jacket and laid it neatly over
a chair. “Then we’ll compare what you’ve felt with the vibration device with
what you feel with penetration.”
That was a word Grace was not sure she knew. “Doctor, sir?
What do you mean? Penet—”
“Penetration. Inside you. When a man places his member
inside you.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat. “You said you were not a virgin.”
“No, sir. I mean yes, sir, I
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