Page 116 of Frankly, My Dear

But he didn’t want her satisfied yet. Abruptly he flicked her gown back to her ankles and pulled her to her feet, kissing her gently on the lips.

“You’re going to stop now?” she asked incredulously.

“Oui,” he said, hugging her to his side and drawing her toward the stairs.

“I’m in agony.”

“Savor the agony…of anticipation.”

“Are you in agony, too?”

“Most definitely.”

When they stood at the bottom of the wide staircase, he regarded her with a slight, knowing smile.

Then she understood.

With the skill of a pure Southern gentleman, he scooped her into his arms and proceeded to carry her up the stairs, fulfilling her fantasy. Halfway up, he warned her with a sexy growl, “I swear, Selene, if you call me Rhett, I’m going to drop you.”

Chapter Nineteen

Dusk had turned quickly to nightfall by the time James carried Selene into her bedchamber. He set her on her feet, then held her at arm’s length, gazing at her with wonderment. His heart thundered wildly with the knowledge that they had finally come to this point in their relationship—the beginning.

Selene had pulled her dark hair off her face with a green ribbon. He reached behind her neck and undid the bow, watching appreciatively as the curly tresses ballooned out around her, down to her shoulder bones in the back and the upper curve of her breasts in front.

A primitive, elemental need exploded in his vitals.

“Would you like to take off your gown, or shall I?” he asked with husky bluntness.

Through the shadowy light, he saw her jaw drop into a gape.

He struck a match, moving toward the many-pronged candelabrum on the dresser. A full moon cast sufficient light in the room through the French doors, but he didn’t want to miss one single detail of the night to come.

“Why didn’t we go to your room?” she asked, shifting self-consciously from bare foot to bare foot, her slender toes digging into the carpet.

Hah! You’d better not turn shy on me now, Selene. Not with the plans I have in mind for you. “Because my room doesn’t have that mirror.” He pointed to the freestanding, pedestal mirror in the center of the room.

She tilted her head questioningly.

“I have plans for the mirror, chérie. And you.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yes, I definitely do,” he said, patting her bottom suggestively as he passed behind her. Reaching for two oil lamps, he lit and placed them on either side of the mirror.

Her face colored becomingly as she began to comprehend his plans. “I don’t know, James. This looks a little perverted.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” he agreed unabashedly, then winked at her. “It’s all your fault, Selene. You gave me the idea.”

“I never did.”

“Selene, Selene, Selene,” he chided her. “You talk incessantly about your Gone With the Wind fantasies. Did it never occur to you that I have a few fantasies of my own?”

“Fantasies?” she gulped.

“And, believe me, chérie, none of my fantasies involve gallant Southern gentlemen or sweet, simpering belles.”

“More like wicked men and wickeder women, I bet,” she said with a slight smile.