“This is important,” he said. “It’s the most vital, undeniable force in Creation. You can’t deprive the whole village of it just because you’re afraid of losing control.”
Laughter burst from her throat. “I’m afraid to lose control? Oh, Bram. Please.”
This, from the man so desperate to order someone—anyone—about, he was paying shepherds and fishermen exorbitant wages just to march at his command. Let it not be forgotten, he’d bombed a flock of sheep.
He was the one afraid of losing control. Terrified to his core. And she would happily remind him of all this—perhaps even admit she found it oddly endearing—if only he’d permit her the use of her lips and tongue.
But no. The impossible man had to conquer those, too.
He swept her into a kiss so wild and unrelenting, she had no choice but surrender.
Her mouth softened, and his tongue swept between her lips, probing deep. She accepted the challenge, parrying his thrusts with her own, enjoying the way they sparred so equally. He moaned with satisfaction, and she smiled against his lips. Apparently, she was good at this. She loved the way he brought out new strengths in her; talents she hadn’t known she possessed.
He covered her neck with kisses, grinding his hips against hers in a crude, delicious manner. “God, how I’ve been aching for you. Have you any idea what kind of dreams laudanum gives a man?”
“Did you dream of me?”
“Frequently.” Kiss. “Vividly.” Kiss. “Acrobatically.”
Laughing softly, she pulled back to meet his gaze. “Oh, Bram. I had dreams of you, too. They all involved very high cliffs and very sharp rocks.” She touched a hand to his cheek. “And sea monsters.”
He smiled. “Little liar.”
Perhaps she should have been offended, but she was too busy being stupidly thrilled. No one ever called her “little” anything.
“And just look at you,” he said, stepping back and skimming his possessive hands over her waist and hips. “I don’t even have words for how beautiful you are. You wore this for me, didn’t you?”
“Predictable arrogance. I always dress for dinner.”
“Ah, but you thought of me as you dressed. I know you did.”
She had. Of course she had. And though she always dressed for dinner, she seldom wore anything this fine. Tonight she’d selected her best. Not because she planned for him to see it, but for a much simpler, more selfish reason. He’d made her feel beautiful inside, and it only seemed fitting that her outward appearance should match.
“And these bits of your hair, curling down . . . They’re for me, too.” He caught a stray lock and wound it about his fingers. “You can’t know how I’ve been dying to touch your hair. Even softer than I dreamed.” His touch dipped to her neckline, where he eased the violet silk aside to reveal a pale sliver of her white chemise. “Look at this,” he said, fingering the neatly hemmed edge. “White and crisp and new. It’s your best, isn’t it? You wore your best for me.”
She nodded, so entranced by his low, sensual whisper that she’d lost any capacity for denial.
“I want to see it,” he said. “Let me see it.”
“What?” Surely he couldn’t be suggesting she remove her gown here, in the middle of the village green.
His hands slid to her back, and the closures of her gown. “You wore it for me, so let me see it. Just the shift, love. Just the shift. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a girl in a plain white shift?”
Susanna didn’t like speculating on the answer to that question. She only knew she hated all the girls who had come before.
His lips brushed her cheek, her neck. The scrape of his whiskers set her senses ablaze. “Let me see you. I only want to look.”
“Only look?”
“Maybe touch, just a little. But only through your shift. I swear, nothing more. I’ll remain clothed. If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.” He tipped her chin. “You can trust me.”
Could she? She felt herself nod.
His hands slid around her ribs and went to the closures at the back of her gown. “Are these false buttons?”
Without waiting for her answer, he eased the top hook free. Then another. And another. Her bodice began to gape in front. Cool night air rushed over her skin, drawing her ni**les to tight peaks.
“Bram. We can’t do this. Not here.”
“Should we go somewhere else?” He loosened another closure at the back of her gown. Her left sleeve slipped from her shoulder in a ripple of violet, baring more of her crisp white chemise. Her ribs pressed against her stays as she struggled for breath.
Her gaze darted to the Blushing Pansy.
“No one can see,” he murmured, pulling her close. His lips brushed the side of her neck. “They’re all occupied in the tavern. Don’t think of anyone else. It’s just the two of us right now.”
Another hook surrendered, and she felt her gown falling away. He drew the right sleeve down her shoulder, trailing kisses down the side of her neck. As if by instinct, she tilted her head to give him better access. His tongue slid lazily over her pulse, setting her senses aflame.