at her. Her eyelids lowered, and a smile lengthened her lush lips, reddened from the kisses he’d pressed on her during the eventful afternoon.
He loved all her smiles. The wry twist of her lips when she expressed her characteristically dry humor. The tender, dreaming smile after they made love. The teasing smile she couldn’t hide when she used her mouth on him. The wild triumphant smile when she reached her climax.
Oh, yes, he loved that smile.
This one was inquiring. She was sharp, perhaps the sharpest person he’d ever met. He needed to be careful, or she’d guess he was up to something. Today he took matters into his own hands. He couldn’t wait any longer for her to capitulate into trusting him.
When he met her curious gaze, he kept his expression blank. He would have tried for innocent, but he knew when he was beaten.
“What?” she asked softly, her hands pausing on her shapely calf. Her shift hiked, revealing her leg to the thigh.
He swallowed and told himself he’d only had her an hour ago. It was uncouth to fall on her again as if she were a juicy sirloin, and he hadn’t eaten for a month.
He arched his eyebrows. “Can’t a man admire a beautiful woman?”
“Oh.” She blushed and looked away.
One of the many things he liked about her was her lack of conceit. She had no idea how spectacular she was. When he mentioned her looks, she always acted as though no man had praised her.
Her husband had obviously been a blundering dunderhead.
Perhaps he still was. That was one mystery he intended to solve today.
He laughed, and even he heard fondness in the sound. “Particularly a beautiful woman several feet away and half-naked.”
Her blush deepened. He found her confusion charming. She was an intriguing mixture, his Diana.
Except, damn her, she wasn’t his Diana.
That implied a level of intimacy he was yet to achieve. In spite of their wild antics in bed—and out of it, he recalled two hectic sessions on the rug and another explosive occasion against the heavy armoire near the window—she’d kept him at a distance in every way except the physical.
He’d tried several times to get her to confide in him. He’d tried direct questions, he’d tried tricking her into revealing her secrets, he’d tried using the soft intimacy after sex.
All to no avail. He knew little more now than he had when they’d met. Most of that he’d surmised from hints she dropped, not because she trusted him enough to tell him anything, devil take her.
Frustration and curiosity spoiled his sleep, disturbed his waking hours, gnawed at his peace. He was unused to elusiveness in a lover. The other women he knew desperately wanted him to know about their lives. The other women he knew took sharing confidences, or at least forcing them on him, as a sign he was interested. When generally, he wasn’t.
Perhaps this torment was the Deity’s way of punishing him for a misspent youth. And a far-from-spotless record in his maturity, he regretted to admit.
He tried not to think of another way the Deity could punish him. When it came to protecting his lover against pregnancy, he’d been fatally careless.
Diana tugged a rich green frock over her head. He hardly cared what she wore. The woman could prance about in a sack, and he’d still believe her the most glorious creature in Christendom. He was in real trouble here, and he knew it. Worse, he couldn’t see how to resolve that trouble. If he broke with her, he’d feel even more like a starving dog, chained and howling at the moon.
He felt like that now when he had her. Or at least her lissome, responsive body.
The subject of his discomfiting musings sauntered across to the wreck of the bed and presented her back. “Stop loafing and be of some use.” She lifted her disheveled blond hair. The gesture was so naturally sensual, a bolt of desire sizzled through him.
Yesterday morning, after she’d stayed all night—she rarely did that—he’d used breathless kisses to persuade her to remain through the day. The idea of doing that again crossed his mind before he reminded himself of his plans. The sooner he put them into action, the sooner he’d be out of his misery.
He hoped.
He sat up and started to lace her gown, pausing only to place an occasional kiss on her shoulder. She’d washed after she crawled out of his bed, but she still smelled deliciously warm and womanly. Sweet like green apples.
Apples had become the scent of paradise.
The urge to lure her back for play strengthened, but he stifled it. He had to break this impasse, or he’d lose his mind.
“If the Ashcroft estates ever fail, you’ll have no trouble finding work as a lady’s maid.” Her voice was warm with amusement.