“You have a freckle,” he murmured. “Right” – he leaned down and dropped a light kiss near the inside of her elbow – “here.”
“You’ve seen it before,” she said softly. It wasn’t in an immodest spot; she had plenty of frocks with short sleeves.
He chuckled. “But I’ve never given it it’s proper due.”
“Really.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He lifted her arm, twisting it just a bit so that he could pretend to be studying her freckle. “It is clearly the most delightful beauty mark in all of England.”
A marvelous sense of warmth and contentment melted through her. Even as her body burned for his, she could not stop herself from encouraging his teasing conversation. “Only England?”
“Well, I haven’t traveled very extensively abroad…”
“Oh, really?”
“And you know…” His voice dropped to a husky growl. “There may be other freckles right here in this room. You could have one here.” He dipped a finger under the bodice of her nightgown, then moved his other hand to her hip. “Or here.”
“I might,” she agreed.
“The back of your knee,” he said, the words hot against her ear. “You could have one there.”
She nodded. She wasn’t sure she was still capable of speech.
“One of your toes,” he suggested. “Or your back.”
“You should probably check,” she managed to get out.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and she suddenly realized just how much he was holding his passion in check. Where she was joyously setting herself free, he was waging a fierce battle against his own desire. And she knew – somehow she knew – that a lesser man would not have had the strength to treat her with such tenderness.
“Make me yours,” she said. She had already given herself permission to let go. Now she was giving it to him, too.
She felt his muscles contract, and for a moment he looked as if he were in pain. “I shouldn’t…”
“You should.”
His fingers tightened against her skin. “I won’t be able to stop.”
“I don’t want you to.”
He drew back, his breath coming in shaky gasps as he put a few inches between their faces. His hands were at her cheeks, holding her absolutely still, and his eyes burned into hers.
“You will marry me,” he commanded.
She nodded, her only thought to give her agreement as fast as she could.
“Say it,” he said savagely. “Say the words.”
“I will,” she whispered. “I will marry you. I promise.”
For about a second he stood frozen, and then before Billie could even think to whisper his name, he’d picked her up and practically thrown her onto the bed.
“You are mine,” he growled.
She edged up onto her elbows and stared up at him as he stalked closer, his hands first tugging his shirt from his breeches and then moving to pull it over his head entirely. Her breath caught as his body was revealed. He was beautiful, as odd as that seemed to say about a man. Beautiful, and perfectly made. She knew he did not spend his days thatching roofs and plowing fields, but he must do some sort of regular physical activity because there was no softness to his form. He was lean and defined, and as the candlelight danced across his skin, she could see the muscles flex beneath.
She scooted up into a sitting position and reached out, her fingers itching to touch him, to see if his skin was as smooth and hot as it looked, but he was just beyond her grasp, watching her with hungry eyes.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. He stepped closer, but before she could touch him he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “When I saw you tonight I think my heart stopped beating.”
“And is it now?” she whispered.
He took her hand and laid it over his heart. She could feel it pounding beneath his skin, almost hear it reverberating through her own body. He was so strong, and so solid, and so wonderfully male.
“Do you know what I wanted to do?” he murmured.
She shook her head, too entranced by the low heat of his voice to make a noise of her own.
“I wanted to turn you around and push you right back through the door before anyone else saw you. I didn’t want to share you.” He traced her lips with his finger. “I still don’t.”
Heat flared within her, and she suddenly felt more daring, more womanly. “I don’t want to share you, either.”
He smiled slowly, and his fingers trailed down the length of her neck, across the delicate hollow of her collarbone, resting only when he reached the ribbon that tightened the neckline of her nightgown. Without ever taking his eyes from hers, he gave one of the strands a tug, sliding it slowly from the knot, its corresponding loop getting smaller and smaller until it finally popped through, and she was undone.