“Why?” he asked again. “Why would such an exquisite woman insist on hiding herself in the dark?” When she remained silent, he said softly, “This cannot be due to modesty-you’re far too passionate.”
“Don’t you mean wanton?” The words came out more harshly than she’d intended, yet they were true. God knows what he’d think of her if he knew the truth-that she wasn’t really a respectable widow, but had spent her entire adult life as a mistress to a nobleman.
A frown creased his brows and he shook his head. “Not if you’re attaching any sort of lewd or unsavory connotation to the word, and it sounds as if you are. Please don’t tell me you regret what happened between us.”
“I don’t.”
“Good. Because I certainly don’t. As for you being wanton…” He touched her face with a tenderness that threatened to undo her. “You are the most exciting, passionate lover I’ve ever been with. I think you are stunning and I want to see you, all of you, when we make love.” He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. “I want to watch your skin flush and your eyes glaze as you become aroused. Watch as I thrust inside you. Watch you ride me. Watch you come.”
Her breath caught at the mental pictures his vivid words painted. “I want that too, but…I cannot. We must meet in darkness or not at all.”
He leaned back and studied her for several long seconds. Then slowly released her. Relief filled her at his acceptance, but it was short-lived, because, rather than stepping away from her as she’d expected, he instead gently clasped her gloved hands and raised them to his chest. She tried to jerk away from him, but he pressed her palms more firmly to him and shook his head. “Your hands are why you don’t want to make love without darkness.”
It was a statement rather than a question. Anger rushed through her and she had to clamp her lips together to stop herself from snapping out that it was none of his damn concern. She forcefully yanked her hands away from him and stepped back, ignoring the shaft of pain that darted through her fingers. “My reasons are my own.”
“Tell me,” he said softly. Once again he reached for her hands and to her horror he brought them to his lips and pressed gentle kisses against her gloved palms. His heat branded her skin through the thin kid leather and she gasped. “They felt so good on me last night, touching me, stroking me. Your touch excited me, inflamed me. Pleasured me beyond anything I’d ever experienced. That is something to be celebrated, not hidden. Tell me why you hide them.”
Dear God, his persuasive voice, his gentle touch, the warmth of his breath beating through her gloves all conspired to evaporate her resolve. Her anger died as quickly as it had flared, replaced by weary resignation. Clearly he wasn’t going to let the matter drop. What difference did it really make if she told him? It wasn’t as if their time together wasn’t temporary. Telling him didn’t mean showing him.
She pulled in a deep breath. “My hands…cause me pain. The condition is called arthritis. My joints swell and become stiff, making it difficult for me to perform certain tasks. I coat them with a special cream that offers me some relief and therefore I wear gloves to keep the cream intact.” She didn’t add that she hated looking at them, at the daily reminder of why the man she’d been foolish enough to love had cast her aside.
“Do they hurt now?”
“A bit, although not too badly today. It’s worse when the weather is damp.”
He took her hands and very gently massaged them between his. “Does this help at all?”
“That feels-” Lovely. Knee-weakeningly so. “-nice.”
“Your hands are why you settled in Little Longstone. To be close to the springs.”
She nodded. “They offer me a great deal of relief. The pain started several years ago, just as an occasional twinge, but it grew worse over time, as has the swelling.”
“You’ve seen a doctor?”
“Several. Other than the springs and the cream, they say nothing can be done.”
“I’m sorry they cause you pain.” Once again he raised her fingers to his lips. “Take off your gloves, Genevieve. Touch me. In the light. I felt your hands on me last night and they were pure magic. Let me see them touching me.”
“No.” She could barely choke out the word. “I…can’t.”
“Why? I have a number of scars. I’m hardly perfect.”
She snatched her hands away. “Has anyone ever rejected you because of them?” The question came out in a harsh whisper, and to her horror, she felt hot tears push behind her eyes.
He studied her for several long seconds with an expression she couldn’t read. Indeed, his only outward sign of emotion was the muscle that ticked in his jaw. “No, but I take it that’s what happened to you.”
Given her question, her reaction, it would have been ridiculous to deny it. She confirmed his statement with a tight jerk of her head. “My…husband couldn’t tolerate ugliness and came to abhor my touch.” Her husband, her lover, what did one more lie at this point matter?
Again that muscle in his jaw flexed. “I’m sorry he hurt you. But Genevieve, I’m not him. I’m aching for your touch.” He reached out and took one of her hands. Held it between his as if it were a precious treasure. Then slowly, he slid one long finger inside her glove to caress her palm.
She gasped at the intimacy of the gesture. Her mind told her to pull away, but the feel of his finger caressing her, the heat and desire burning in his eyes, rendered her unable to move.
“Beautiful doesn’t mean perfect,” he said softly, “and there is nothing about you that isn’t beautiful. Exquisite. No part of you that I don’t want next to me. This is how badly I want you.” He grasped her other hand and pressed it to the hard ridge of flesh tenting the front of his breeches. A shiver of pure want rippled through her, and when her fingers involuntarily curved around him, his eyes darkened. “Trust me, Genevieve. Please. If you harbor any fear, it shouldn’t be that I’ll reject you, but that I’ll keep you locked in this room with me for the next fortnight.”
She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Staring into his eyes, feeling his arousal pulsing against her palm, his finger stroking her, she couldn’t deny him. Trust me…She pulled in a shuddering breath, then eased her hands away from him. With her insides quaking, she slowly pulled off her gloves. His gaze never left hers, not until she’d dropped both gloves to the floor. Then she stood before him, fully clothed, yet feeling utterly naked. And more vulnerable than she’d ever felt in her life.
Without looking away from her he pulled his shirt from his breeches then lifted the linen garment over his head and let it fall to the floor. Then he picked up both her hands. Settled them against his chest. Dragged them across his skin.
His eyes slid closed and he let out a long breath. “You cannot know how good that feels.” He opened his eyes and her breath halted at the fire burning in their green depths. “Again. Do it again.”
Genevieve swallowed and slowly dragged her palms over his skin. He felt hot and hard and his muscles jumped beneath her fingers. He lightly encircled her wrists and pulled her hands away from him and looked down. Genevieve’s throat tightened and her every muscle tensed as she braced herself for the passion in his eyes to turn to disgust at the sight of her skin, reddened from the swelling, and the joints that were larger than they should have been.
He studied her hands, gently turning them over. Then, he brought them to his mouth. And gently kissed them.
Genevieve sucked in a harsh breath. “Magic,” he whispered against her fingers. “Just like the rest of you.” He drew the tip of her index finger into his mouth and slowly swirled his tongue around it before letting it free. “Delicious. Just like the rest of you.” He pressed her palm to his cheek. “Beautiful. Just like the rest of you.”