Tony was intrigued by her response, with the ardor he sensed beneath her restrained veneer. As he ministered to her senses, learned the curves of her breasts, their weight, their wonder, he cataloged, analyzed, noted for future reference. She was amazingly responsive; her breasts, now sensitive and swollen, filled his hands. She shifted under them, pressing back against him, sirenlike, openly sensuous.
Despite her reserve, an understandable defense for an attractive well-born widow, she couldn’t hide her reactions; she understood what lay between them as well as he. The flames that leapt into being at just a touch were more than strong—they were scorching. They could both feel them licking, beckoning, hungry yet held back.
They couldn’t take things much further yet, but their time would come. On the physical plane, the path ahead was straightforward, but there was much about her he’d yet to learn.
“Your parents.” Releasing her breasts, he nuzzled her ear, gently blew. “When did they die?”
Eyes still closed, Alicia dragged in a breath—it felt like her first in ten minutes. Then she felt a tug at her neckline; opening her eyes, she looked down—to see his long fingers easing the top button of her bodice free. “Ah… Mama died almost two years ago.”
Good Lord! She had to stop this—had to call a halt. If he touched her…
“And your father? From your brothers, I gather he’s been gone a long time.”
Her mouth was dry; she nodded. “Years and years.” Gaze fixed on his busy fingers, she licked her lips.
“And you have no other family? No one close?”
“Ah…no.” She dragged in a breath. “I really think—”
“You’re not supposed to think.”
She blinked, lifted her gaze. “Why not?”
“Because”—his fingers were inexorably descending, leaving her bodice gaping—“at the moment, you’re supposed to be enjoying, simply feeling. You don’t need to think to do that.”
He sounded eminently reasonable, even faintly amused; the idea of a missish protest and consequent retreat seemed unwise.
“Have you always lived near Banbury?”
“Ah…yes.” Once he’d opened her bodice, what did he plan to do?
He shifted behind her, easing back; the realization that she wasn’t the only one affected by his play burst across her mind, stealing what few wits she’d managed to reassemble.
“I assume Carrington hailed from that area, too?”
The words sounded distant, vague, but whether that was due to the drumming in her ears, the titillating panic locking her lungs, or because he was no more interested in the subject than she was, she wasn’t sure.
A cool wash of air slipped beneath her gaping bodice; she quelled a shiver. His hands drifted down, then fastened about her waist.
“Ah…y-yes. He came from there, too.”
“How old are your brothers?”
She frowned. “Twelve, ten, and eight.” His hands had settled; she gulped in a breath. “Why are you asking all this?”
His fingers gripped, then he stepped back, turned her and stepped forward once more, locking her against the windowsill, his hips to hers, his erection rigid against the softness of her stomach.
He trapped her gaze.
She couldn’t think—not at all. Could only stare into his black eyes, and wonder if there really were embers glowing in them. The sheer maleness of him engulfed her; his gaze dropped to her lips—she felt them throb.
His lips quirked, wryly humorous. He released her waist; one hand rose to cup her jaw, angling her face upward as he bent his head. “Because I want to know all about you.”
His lips closed on hers as his other hand slid boldly beneath her bodice, and closed about her breast.
She gasped, tensed; only a fine layer of silk lay between her sensitized skin and his burning palm. Her breasts instantly felt heavy, swelling, tightening, aching anew.
Then he entered her mouth, possessive and demanding, capturing her attention, insistent and commanding; she scrambled to meet him, to remember how, to play the experienced widow she was pretending to be. The hand on her breast shifted, knowingly cupping, then his fingers toyed with the silk, shifting it over the tightly ruched peak, heightening its excruciatingly sensitive state—then he closed his fingers around the pebbled tip, tugged gently, then tightened, tightened…