First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(69)

“Good morning,” she whispered.

“Georgie,” he said again. He sounded a bit more lucid this time. And happy.

“You were sleeping,” she said, not really knowing what to do with herself. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He yawned, and she took the moment to rise from the bed, but his hand tightened on her. “Don’t go,” he said.

She did not leave the bed, but she did sit up. “We probably need to get ready. It’s—” She looked around. If there was a clock, she didn’t see it. “I don’t know what time it is.”

He rustled in the bed behind her, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him sit up and look toward the window. “It’s barely dawn,” he said. “The sun is still very low on the horizon.”

“Oh.”

What was he really trying to tell her? That she didn’t need to get out of bed yet? That he didn’t want her to get out of bed?

“I love the dawn,” he said softly.

She should turn around. He was right there behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat from his body, even beyond the hand that still rested on her hip. But she was nervous, and she felt oddly misplaced, and she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do.

And no one liked not knowing what to do.

“You were asleep when I came in last night,” he said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Thank you, I mean—” She shook her head, just a little, in that way people did when they weren’t sure what to say. “I mean, thank you,” she said again. Not that it sounded much different backward. “I was very tired.” She turned to face him. She was a coward if she didn’t, and she did not want to be a coward. “I meant to wait for you.”

He smiled. “It’s all right.”

“No, I don’t think it is.”

“Georgie,” he said, affection coloring his voice. “You needed to sleep. Hell, I needed to sleep.”

“Oh.” Did that mean he did not want her? That didn’t seem to make sense after the hours they had spent in the carriage. He’d kissed her like he wanted her. He’d kissed her like he wanted more.

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Stop thinking so hard.”

She frowned at him, taking in the amusement in his azure eyes. “How do I stop thinking so hard?” she asked, with perhaps just a touch of peevishness in her voice. This was easy for him. Or if not easy, at least not quite so complicated and new.

He gave a shrug. “I don’t know, but I swear if you think any harder, steam will start coming out of your ears.”

“Steam. Really.”

He grinned. “Smoke?”

“Nicholas.”

“You’d be surprised what they teach us these days in medical school,” he said, his expression oh-so-innocent.

“Apparently so.”

His fingers walked their way up her thigh, crossing to her hand, and then up her forearm. “I’d like to kiss you again,” he said softly.

She nodded. She wanted that, too, but she wasn’t sure how to put it into words. Or even into action. It wasn’t that she felt frozen—that was far too cold a sensation to describe what had come over her body.

But she was still. Utterly motionless save for her breath, which had, in opposition to everything else, begun to quicken. She didn’t know how to move; she’d lost the ability to do so. All she could do was react, and once he touched her … really touched her …

She wasn’t sure what would happen, only that it would be like nothing she’d ever known.

He sat up, his nightshirt gaping a little at the neck to reveal a sprinkling of chest hair. It seemed so intimate, especially since she, too, was dressed in the loose white muslin of sleep.

“Georgie,” he said, and his hand came to her cheek, part caress, part entreaty. He leaned in, and she leaned in, and they kissed.

It was exactly how it had been in the carriage.

And at the same time completely different.

He groaned her name again, and his other hand came up so that he was cradling her head, holding her close as he explored. The kiss was deep, and it was hot, and it stole everything from her in a way that made her just want to give more.

The entire moment was a contradiction—the same but different, stealing but giving. It was all so new to her, and yet he seemed to know exactly what to do.

How did he know how to do this? How to move and touch and give and take in exactly the right way to make her simmer with desire?

“Tell me what to do,” she whispered.

“You’re already doing it.”

She did not see how this could be the truth, but she wasn’t sure she cared. She just kept kissing him, doing what felt right and trusting that he would tell her if it was wrong.

He touched her leg, his hand trailing delicious shivers along her skin. “You tell me what to do,” he whispered.

She felt herself smile. “You know what to do.”

“Do I?”

She drew back, feeling the confusion on her face. “Haven’t you done this before?”

He shook his head.

“But—but—you’re a man.”

He shrugged, the very picture of nonchalance. But his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “Everyone has to have a first time.”