Hello Stranger (The Ravenels 4)

“Garrett . . . doing this will make everything worse.”

Pressing her mouth beneath his jaw, she drew in the delicious scent of him, and rubbed a kiss into the texture of shaven beard. “Take off your clothes,” she whispered.

She felt his swallow ripple beneath her lips. He took an unsettled breath and stood.

While Garrett sat up in the small bed to watch, Ethan undressed without haste. One by one, the garments were tossed into a careless heap.

He had the most beautiful form Garrett had ever seen, long-limbed and sleek, his shoulders and chest broad, his flesh toughened and polished to a hard sheen from years of brutal exertion. The light from a frosted glass lampshade caught multiple curves of muscle as he moved, silvered crescents gleaming over the powerful surface of his body. She had already known he was well-endowed, but that wasn’t the same as actually seeing him like this. Oh, he was something. Handsome all over. A potent male in his prime, completely comfortable in his nakedness.

Whereas she, who was hardly ever disconcerted by nudity, felt nervous, embarrassed, shaky with desire.

Before returning to the bed, Ethan’s gaze swept over the personal objects on Garrett’s dresser and vanity table: a mother-of-pearl brush-and-comb set, an embroidered lamp mat she’d made in school, the hairpin box with a crocheted cover—a long-ago gift from Miss Primrose—and a little porcelain jar of almond-oil salve. He paused to look more closely at the small framed object on the wall, a pair of tiny knitted baby’s mittens, each with a ribbon-work flower on the back.

“My mother made them for me,” Garrett said, a bit sheepishly. “Perhaps it’s silly to keep them on the wall, but I have very little to remember her by. She was clever with her hands.”

Ethan came to sit on the bed. He took her hands and lifted them to his lips, kissing her fingers and palms. “That’s where you came by it, then.”

Garrett leaned forward to press her cheek against the thick layers of his hair. “Did you bring the picture?” she asked.

“I set it by the door.”

Resting her chin briefly on his shoulder, she saw a wrapped rectangular parcel leaning against the wall. “May I see it?”

“Later,” Ethan said. “God knows what you’ll make of it. The monkey looks homicidal.”

“I’m sure he has good reason,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “Bicycle seats can cause chafing and perineal numbness.”

For some reason, Ethan seemed to find the comment more amusing than it warranted. Laughter glimmered in his eyes, and the dimple appeared in his cheek. Garrett was unable to resist touching the tempting little hollow with her fingertip. She leaned forward to press her lips against it.

“Every time I see this, I want to kiss it,” she told him.

“Kiss what?”

“Your dimple.”

Ethan looked genuinely perplexed. “I don’t have a dimple.”

“Yes, you do. It shows when you smile. Has no one ever mentioned it?”

“No.”

“Haven’t you seen it in the mirror?”

The outside corners of his eyes crinkled. “I don’t usually smile at the mirror.” His hand curled around the back of her neck, and he possessed her mouth with warm, hungering pressure. She opened to the silky intrusion of his tongue, the exquisite taste of him making her head swim. He eased her back onto the bed, kissing her lazily, filling her senses with slow fire. Gentle hands moved over the nightgown, learning the shape of her body through the thin muslin.

Tentatively she touched the light mat of hair on his chest, the curls soft and crisp against her fingertips. She reached around him, and her eyes flew open as she felt how deeply developed and distinct the muscles of his back were. “Good heavens.”

Ethan lifted his head and gave her a questioning look.

“Your trapezius and deltoids are remarkable,” she said dreamily, her hands wandering over him. “And your latissimus dorsi are so perfectly defined.”

A low laugh broke from him as he unfastened her nightgown. “You’ll embarrass me with all these flowery compliments.”

His weight settled partially over her, his thigh nudging hers apart, and she felt his lips on her chest, skimming softly over newly revealed skin. Her breathing deepened, her pulse rushing, while his hands wandered everywhere, tugging at her nightgown, slipping under it. Soon she was naked, with all the textures of him, roughness, smoothness, hardness, silk, covering her gently. He was utterly in control, guiding her into a realm where he was the master and she was the novice.

His strong hands moved over her slim body with gossamer-light strokes. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long,” he whispered. “The first time we met, part of my brain said, ‘I want that one.’”

Garrett smiled against the furry surface of his chest. She nuzzled against the neat, dark circle of a male nipple and touched her tongue to it. “Why didn’t you pursue me, then?”

“I knew you were too fine for me.”

“No,” she protested softly. “I’m not a highborn lady, I’m a commoner.”

“There’s nothing common about you.” Ethan began to play with her long hair, sifting his fingers through it, lifting a lock to brush the ends against his lips and cheeks. “Do you want to know why I gave you violets? They’re beautiful and small, but tough enough to grow in the cracks of city pavement. More than once, I’ve been in some dark place and seen them clustered near a broken stoop, or at the base of a brick wall, bright as jewels. Even without sunlight or good soil, they show up to do a flower’s job.”

He bent to press his lips against the gilded curve of her breast, as if he could taste the light on her skin. “There was no need to leave a lamp burning in your room,” he whispered. “I could find you anywhere, in daylight or darkness.” Slowly he kissed and licked a trail of heat between her breasts, leaving faint traces of wetness that cooled in the wake of his breath. He delved into her navel and blew gently into the small hollow . . . and paused as an unexpected scent caught his attention. “Lemon,” he murmured, hunting for the source of the fragrance.

“It’s . . . a sponge,” Garrett said cautiously, a wash of color spreading over her throat and face. One of the ways to guard against pregnancy was to insert a piece of soft sponge dampened with lemon juice. “It . . . it goes inside . . .”

“Yes, I know,” Ethan murmured, nuzzling lower on her stomach.

“You do?”

A smile curved against her skin. “I’m no fledgling lad.”

Gently his hand parted her thighs, his fingertips sliding down the insides to her knees, and back up again. Down . . . up . . . the stroking was hypnotic, undulating, as if she were being teased by delicate tentacles. His mouth ventured along the crease of her leg and groin, an electrifying hint of bristle rasping across the tenderness as he nudged deeper, lower. Slowly his fingers slid into the protective curls that covered her sex, kneading and stroking, his thumbs parting the soft furrow. He pushed his tongue in and upward, separating the folds with a long, sinuous lick.

Garrett stiffened and gasped, pushing at his head.

Ethan propped himself on his elbows, a gleam of tenderly mocking amusement in his eyes. “Have I shocked you, love?”