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.
“So if we’re going to harvest some of that hay…” He reached for her again, fingers flexing about her waist before he slowly turned her, then stepped close, his chest to her back, his thighs to her bottom. Sliding his hands around her waist, he locked her to him; bending his head, he nuzzled the hollow behind one ear. “Then we’d better do it now… don’t you think?”
Lids falling, Caro leaned back into him, once again glorying in being wrapped in his strength. His breath wafted the fine curls about her ear; she fought to suppress a delicious shiver. Head back, resting against his shoulder, well aware they were embarking on some sensual game, she murmured, “I think… we should take advantage of every opportunity as it offers… don’t you think?”
His deep chuckle dripped promise. “Absolutely.” His lips traced the side of her throat, then he murmured, “Should we adopt that as our policy?”
His hands slid slowly upward until they cupped, then closed about her breasts; it was seriously difficult to draw breath enough to reply, “That seems an… appropriate notion.”
Her hands, loosely clasped about the backs of his, had followed them upward; eyes closing, she savored the flexing muscles as he slowly, subtly kneaded, then she sighed. “So…” Her words were a breathless whisper. “What should I do next?”
His answer came in a dark, deep murmur. “For the moment, all you need to do is feel.”
An all-too-easy assignment; her senses were already mesmerized, caught by the skillful play of his fingers. They possessed, then teased, found her nipples and squeezed… until she gasped.
Releasing her breasts, his hands roamed, tracing the curves and indentations of waist and hips, the sleek upper faces of her thighs, the rounded globes of her bottom.
“Wait.”
She blinked, felt him steady her on her feet. Then he stepped away, to the side; turning her head, she watched him pick up the second chair, and carry it back to where she swayed.
He set it down beside them, in the same movement regathered her into his arms, as before with her back to his chest, her bottom riding against his loins. Splayed, his hands were suddenly everywhere, hot and hard, sending heat pulsing through her. Bending his head, he pressed a kiss to her throat, over the point where her pulse galloped, then slowly traced his lips up the long taut curve; in the end, she turned enough to meet his hungry lips with hers, equally avid, equally greedy.
For long moments, the kiss and all it encompassed held them, then he lifted his head, waited for her lids to rise, looked into her eyes. “Your sandals—take them off.”
So that was the purpose of the chair. She looked at it, shifted her weight, and raised one foot shod in a pretty Grecian sandal to the seat. The winding ties of the sandal wrapped around her ankle and reached halfway up her calf; she had to bend over to unpick the knot.
The movement pressed her scantily clad bottom more firmly against him—an inadvertent, yet hardly unintended invitation—one he was waiting to take advantage of. Her lips lifted as his large hand curved about her bottom, as his fingers stroked, evocatively caressed; she realized how hot her skin already was, how flushed, how tight with anticipation her flickering nerves had become.
Rightly so, it seemed; as she wrestled the leather laces undone, his fingers reached further, found her softness, boldly delved. Her lungs locked; bent over her raised leg, she felt increasingly giddy as he probed, as he made free with all, courtesy of the position, she offered.
She had to battle to draw in a huge breath, then straighten, one sandal free, dangling from her fingers. His fingers remained pressing into her softness, his hand intimately wedged between her thighs. She dropped the sandal, didn’t wait for instructions but dragged in another breath, raised her other foot to the chair, and started—as fast as she could—to untie her other sandal.