Stranger in My Arms(36)

Hawksworth’s gaze remained on her face as he touched her, his finger sliding up her stockinged ankle in a luxuriously slow ascent. Lara began to quiver, her legs stiffening as her husband urged her chemise up to her thighs. He found her knitted garter and untied it, and she couldn’t prevent a little sob of alarm. He peeled back the itchy stocking, his fingers brushing the inside of her thigh, knee, calf, giving her a small, sweet shock each time he touched the tender skin.

He turned his attention to her other leg, stripping the stocking away and dropping it to the floor. Lara sat half na**d before him, her fingers curled around the edges of the chair seat. She thought of the way it used to be between them, the rank smell of his breath when he had come to her after a drinking spree, the way he had climbed on top of her with few preliminaries and shoved himself inside her.

Painful, embarrassing… and worse, the feeling she’d always had afterward, as if she had been used and discarded. According to her mother’s helpful advice, she had always remained on her back for several minutes after Hawksworth had left her, giving his seed every possible chance of taking root Secretly Lara had always been glad when it didn’t.

She hadn’t liked the idea of his child growing in her belly, overtaking her body, affording Hawksworth the opportunity of pointing to her as an example of his all-important virility.

Why had he never touched her then as he was doing now?

The tip of his forefinger brushed the top of one pale leg, where the garters had chafed her and made reddish marks. He reached past her for the blue Bristol glass jar on the dressing table, which contained a cream blended with extracts of cucumber and roses.

“Is this what you use on your skin?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” she said faintly.

He opened the jar, releasing a fresh, flowery scent into the air.

Scooping up a small amount of the cream, he spread it evenly between his palms, and smoothed his hands over her legs.

“Oh-” Lara’s muscles twitched in reaction, her weight shifting in the chair.

He concentrated on his task, soothing the chafed areas of her skin.

Her gaze followed his long brown hands as they moved gently over her.

The hem of her chemise rode up her legs, and she pushed it back down, trying to retain the last shreds of modesty. The attempt was futile.

His hands glided rhythmically back and forth, higher and higher, making her breath stop each time he reached her inner thighs. She didn’t understand the reactions of her own body, the urge to open and push herself against him, the sudden swelling warmth in her private place.

His fingertips reached far up her legs, just brushing the edge of the nest of dark hair beneath her chemise.

Lara gasped and caught at his wrists. There was a silken ache in her loins, a peculiar surge of moisture.

“Stop,” she whispered shakily. “Stop.”

He didn’t seem to hear her at first, his gaze riveted on the shadow of curls beneath the thin cambric. His hands tightened on her flesh.

Stop. She asked the impossible, but somehow Hunter made himself do it.

He closed his eyes before the sight of her drove him insane,... ....

the soft, pale skin, the fluff of dark hair that lured his fingers to dive beneath her chemise. She couldn’t possibly understand how desperately he wanted to touch her, taste her, bite, devour, suck, kiss every sweet inch of her body.

His muscles were as stiff as iron, not to mention the battering ram that surged against the tight fabric of his pantaloons. He was close to exploding.

When he was able to move, he took his hands from her and stood. Not paying much attention to where he was going, he crossed the room until he nearly walked into a wall. He braced his hands against it and concentrated on restoring his shattered selfcontrol. “Cover yourself,” he said brusquely, keeping his eyes fixed on the garishly papered wall before him. “Or I won’t be responsible for what I do.”

He heard her move like a startled rabbit, fumbling in the armoire for clothing. While she dressed, he breathed in a controlled pattern. The fragrance of the skin cream lingered on his hands. He wanted to go back to her, rub his rose-scented fingers over her br**sts and between her thighs.

“Thank you.” Her voice traveled to his ears.

“For what?” he asked, staring fixedly at the papered panel before him.

“You could have asserted. your rights without regard to my wishes.”

Hunter turned and braced his back on the wall, crossing his arms over his taut chest. Lara had donned a prudish white robe with rows of intricate tucks. The garment was shapeless and all-enveloping, but it did little to cool his desire. She was so lovely, her cheeks tinted with a delicate pink flush. He gave her a devil-may-care smile. “When I make love to you,” he told her, “you’ll be more than willing.

You’ll beg for it.”

She laughed unsteadily. “You’re too arrogant for words!”

“You’ll beg,” he repeated. “And you’ll love every moment of it.”

Alarm flitted across her features, and then she managed a look of cool disdain. “If it pleases you to think so.”

Hunter watched as Lara went to the dressing table and sat before the mirror, brushing her long sable hair. She braided the dark locks and pinned them into a coil near the top of her head, her composure seeming to return. However, there was still a trace of chagrin that pulled at her forehead, making her look troubled. Any man would have given his fortune to have the chance of comforting her.