Page 78

He traced her body, slow and certain, from her knees to her thighs, to the curve of her hips, to her waist, and she tipped her head back with a sigh.

"Edward," she begged in a whisper. "Kiss me."

His hand stilled. His heart lurched. "You want me to kiss you?"

"Yes." The word trembled. "Please."

As if she had to beg.

He had craved her mouth since that innocent kiss turned hungry in the theater box. No, he had craved it since the day they wed.

On their wedding night, he had denied himself that luxury, certain that when she kissed him back she would be dreaming of Landen.

He had no such doubt tonight.

Tonight she wanted him.

Him.

Perhaps as much as he wanted her, though he doubted that was possible.

"Where?" he asked. His voice had dropped to a register he barely recognized. He lifted a hand and touched one finger to the center of her lower lip, feeling the softness there, the slight tremor. "Here?"

Her lips parted on a breath. "Yes."

He brushed his thumb across her mouth, savoring the feel of it. Then his hand moved, tracing a line down the column of her throat to the hollow at its base. He kept the touch feather-light and watched gooseflesh follow his fingers, as though her skin were asking for more.

"Here?"

She swallowed, her throat working beneath his palm. "Yes."

He slid his hand lower, over the thin silk, and cupped the curve of her breast. The nipple tightened beneath his touch, visible through the fine fabric. He circled it with his thumb, not quite touching the peak, torturing them both.

"Here?"

"Yes." The word came out ragged, stripped of pretense.

He let his hand drop away. A soft sound escaped her, nearly a whimper, and the loss in it sent a jolt straight through him.

He lowered himself to his knees on the study carpet, his face level with her hips. He settled his hands on her thighs and traced the inner seams of her legs through the silk with his thumbs, moving higher by slow, maddening degrees, feeling the heat of her through the fabric.

She looked down at him through hooded eyes, her lips parted.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice rough with want, "here?"

He pointed, his finger hovering an inch from the silk, close enough to feel her warmth.

Temperance's breath caught. Her eyes widened, dark and startled, and for a moment he feared he had moved too far, too fast. But she did not pull away. She only stared down at him, and he could see the thought moving behind her eyes.

Before she could answer, he bent his head and pressed his mouth to her through the thin silk.

The warmth of her seeped through the fabric, faint and maddening. Her hips jerked forward, and her fingers dug into the edge of the desk. He held her there, breathing her in until his lungs burned, before he drew back.

"God," he murmured. "You are already wet."

She was. The proof of it darkened the pale silk, and the sight sent a savage pulse of heat through him.

He hooked his fingers into the hem of her nightrail and drew it up, bunching the fabric around her waist. Then his hands were on her thighs again, spreading her wider, and his mouth was on her.