Baby for the Billionaire(87)
He stilled. He hadn’t realized until that moment how desperately he wanted her. But he couldn’t take her. Not after what she’d told him. He’d been so cold for so long, had looked forward to warming himself in the fiery heat of Annalise’s desire. But he couldn’t take advantage of her like that callous boy from her youth. He wouldn’t.
He fought for control, fought for the cool, calm deliberation that had once come with such ease. “Annalise—”
“You’re going to send me away, aren’t you?”
“What?” He shook his head. “No, not away. Just to the room next door.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
He froze at her words. A stinging slap couldn’t have made a harsher impact.
“Earlier today I was positive that was what I wanted,” she went on. “But I realize now that was just fear speaking.”
“Fear?”
“Last time I was sixteen,” she explained. “I don’t even remember the act itself. Now, the pain? That I recall. The embarrassment when it was over is a particularly vivid memory, not to mention the humiliation when the whispers started during the weeks and months afterward.”
He regarded her with compassion. “I’m so sorry.”
She shrugged. “I’m not sixteen anymore, Jack. My fear isn’t logical. It’s more of a wispy memory than a rational emotion.” Her mouth curved into a smile full of feminine mystery and wry humor. “Don’t you think it’s past time I changed all that?”
“Are you certain?”
“I’m positive.” She shifted to face him. “Please, Jack. Help me replace those other memories with new ones. Better ones. Special ones.”
A short, harsh laugh was torn from him. “But no pressure, right?”
“I’m fairly certain most of the pressure is on me.” She disengaged her hand from his and slid her fingers along his arm to his neck. She tugged gently. “Like this, for instance.”
He bent closer and allowed her to take charge of the kiss. Her mouth slid across his as light as a whisper. She moved in again, a slow, thorough exploration. Then she slipped inward, giving him a taste of such sweetness that it proved headier than the most potent drink. She eased backward, breaking the contact.
“See what I mean? What if I do something wrong?”
He cleared his throat. “Not a chance.”
“No? Why don’t we test your theory.”
She caught the edges of his bow tie and tugged. The scrap of silk slid away and drifted toward the floor, vanishing into the shadows. One by one she removed the studs from his shirt, placing each in turn on the windowsill in a neat line. His shirt parted. Did she have any clue what her slow, deliberate movements were doing to him? It took every ounce of willpower to allow her to take the lead, to follow instead of dictate.
Her hand slid into his and she turned it in order to have access to his cufflinks. First one and then the other joined his shirt studs on the windowsill. He wanted her hands on his skin, to feel them move on him. Warm him. Take him. Instead, she eased his shirt from his shoulders, not once actually touching him.
His breathing grew harsh. “Anna—”
“Shh. It’ll be all right.”
With a soft rustle of silk, she stood in front of him and gently lifted the circlet and veil from her head. She placed it on the window seat beside him. The tulle and lace flowed over the edge like a waterfall, a silent statement in the moonlit darkness. Never once taking her eyes from his, she lowered the side zip of the gown.
Inch by glorious inch, the beaded silk fell away, revealing skin beautifully gilded by their weeks at the beach. The gown slipped to the floor in a soft cloud of surrender. She stepped free of it, as well as her voluminous petticoats, and stood before him in a lacy bustier. He leaned back against the coolness of the window with a groan. He’d caught a glimpse of her stockings and garter when Madam had knocked them to the ground, but it hadn’t prepared him for this.
“Let me do the rest,” he demanded.
He didn’t wait for her agreement, but erupted from the window seat. Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her. Claimed her. Told her without words how beautiful he found her. And then he journeyed downward, worshipping her with mouth and tongue and teeth.
Turning her so her back was to him, he swept the ebony tumble of curls over her shoulder and unhooked her bustier, exposing the elegant sweep of her spine. He traced his fingertip from the back of her neck down to the dip just above her buttocks. Teasing her with the lightest of caresses, he finished undressing her until she stood before him clad only in the silvery rays pouring in through the window. She lifted her arms and shook her hair free. The heavy ringlets cascaded toward her waist. Then she turned ever so slightly and looked at him over her shoulder. He could just make out the sweet curve of her breast.