She sighed through the kiss, sank, openly seductive, against him, flagrantly invited him to take all he wished, to show her more of his hunger, and hers.
Sunshine shone through the wide windows, bathing the cottage’s interior and them in a soft golden light. As they stood, bodies twining, mouths melding, knowing this was but a prelude—that they had no need to rush, that they had all day to orchestrate as they wished—memories of playing here while her mother painted slid into her mind, another time of discovery, of wonder found in the myriad flowers in the garden, in the variety of leaves, the strange and varied effects made by paint and brushes…it seemed all of a piece.
Today she was intent on exploring a fresh landscape, here, in the place of her childhood.
She arched against him, felt his hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing her already sensitized breasts. It was his turn to tease, to artfully, skillfully tighten her nerves with caresses that promised, that made her flesh yearn, but which never assuaged.
Relief would come later. Possibly much later. As his hands continued to slide, to stroke her limbs, her curves through the fine muslin of her gown, as if he were learning her anew, she sensed…not a backtracking but a retracing of previous steps, so that he and she could dally at places along the road they’d hurried somewhat precipitously down the day before.
She made no demur, any temptation to impatience overridden by curiosity, by her determination to know all of what he felt for her, all of what he might reveal to her of his desire—for her, for what they, together, could conjure between them.
That much yesterday had taught her, that the power they both craved was created of them both, an amalgam of desires and needs and passions that necessarily required the input of two. Together, they could create the most wondrous whirlpool of sensations, the deepest, most satisfying of emotional connections.
They both wanted that, a shared goal, a mutual desire. As they stood locked together, the warmth of the sun like a benediction sinking into them, and gradually, step by slow step, allowed the kiss to deepen, she knew that beyond thought, beyond doubt.
Their lips parted; they paused to catch their breath. She felt his hands slide around her, felt his fingers tug at her laces. Eyes closed, she savored the moment, drank in every last sensation—the feel of his body, hard and aroused against hers, the steely muscles that surrounded her, that flexed in his arms as he loosened her gown, as he prepared to strip it from her, the aura of strength that, more real than
all else, engulfed her, sank into her bones and reassured, the sense of safety she found in his arms.
What if…?
The thought teased. What if they’d come here years ago, when she’d been sixteen—what would have happened if he’d taken her in his arms then, and kissed her with the slow burning hunger with which he kissed her now?
Impossible questions with no answer; they weren’t who they had been all those years ago. She was who she now was, twenty-eight, confident and assured for so long that those attributes were part of her character, acknowledged and known to her, coloring her relative innocence, allowing her to explore her newfound sensuality, her newfound appreciation of sexual interaction, of sexual intimacy, without guilt or regret. And he…he was the man in her arms. No youth, no young gentleman about town, but a man in his prime. In all his strength, his desire mature, multilayered, and strong, powerful and potent as, her laces all undone and her gown loosened, he drew her back to him, into his embrace, into his arms.
He kissed her; she willingly sank into the caress, into the welling tide. The temptation to simply let go and flow with it, let it and him take her as he would, burgeoned, yet…she’d led him here today; she had her own agenda. Yesterday, of necessity, she’d had to follow his lead. Today…it ought to be her turn.
When his hands rose to her shoulders, she readily shrugged out of her gown. Let him break from the kiss to help her from it; released from his arms, she stepped out of the gown’s folds, took the garment from his hands, shook it out, and, turning, walked the few steps to a chair.
The cottage, outwardly small, contained only a single large room. A dresser stood by the wall near the door, alongside a washbasin and ewer on an iron stand. Other chests and benches and a long artist’s desk were placed around the walls; the fireplace and hearth took up half the wall opposite the door. The center of the room had always been left clear, reserved for her mother’s easel, but that was now folded away and propped in one corner, leaving only the beautiful daybed, two straight-backed chairs, and two small side tables deliberately placed, posed about the tiled space.
Thanks to Mrs. Judson, devoted to her mother and now to her, everything was dust-free, spick-and-span, always kept ready for her use, as was her room in the main house.
Laying her gown neatly over the back of one chair, she turned, met Michael’s eyes across the room. Deliberately, she let her gaze wander down, over the long length of him. Returning her gaze to his eyes, she arched a brow. “Take off your coat.”
Michael felt his lips ease, not in a smile; his features were already too set to permit that. He shrugged out of his coat, ready to play whatever game she wished—as far as he was able.
Her silver eyes gleamed at his obedience; she sauntered, hips swaying, closer; he let his eyes roam over the curves seductively shifting beneath her chemise. She paused before him until his eyes returned to hers, then lifted the coat from his hand. “The waistcoat, too.”
He obliged. Handing the garment over, he asked, “Am I allowed to inquire just what your pleasure is?”
Brows rising, she draped coat and waistcoat over her gown; facing him, she smiled. “You may inquire, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you.” Her smile deepened as she returned to him. “Yet.”
She reached up, boldly cupped a palm about his nape, and drew his lips to hers for a long, slow kiss, one intended to ignite every fire they’d laid and left waiting. He reached for her, hands sliding over skin screened only by diaphanous silk.
Hand splayed on his chest, she pushed back, broke the kiss. Met his eyes directly. “You still have on far too many clothes.” She frowned disapprovingly. “Why is it men wear so much more than women? It hardly makes for evenhandedness in this sphere.”
He fought for a sufficiently languid tone. “True, but there’s hay to be made there, after all.”
As he’d intended, the allusion intrigued her. “From that? How?”
Looking innocent wasn’t easy. “If I could make a suggestion?”
She smiled, as intent as he. “Suggest away.” Her sultry tone indicated she’d seen straight through his ploy, but was interested nonetheless. That message was echoed in the shimmery silver of her eyes as he looked into them, as he paused to assure himself his control was strong enough to, even with her, attempt such sexual games. A sense of anticipation gripped viselike about his chest, an eagerness he couldn’t recall feeling since adolescence infused him. Wound him one notch tighter.
“Once we’re both naked, there won’t be any reason to get dressed before we leave—I seriously doubt either of us will feel inclined to waste the energy. True?”
He arched a brow at her; puzzled, she nodded.