“Look at me, Bella,” he said softly.
She did, lifting her head, glancing at him. Her face was no longer as pale as it had been. A flush tinted her skin.
“I need you to trust me,” he said quietly, holding her eyes. “I need you to know that I’m not going to harm you in any way.”
Arabella Knightley swallowed, and then nodded. “I trust you,” she whispered, and then she blushed and looked away from him.
Adam stroked the inside of her wrist and felt her shiver again. “Good,” he said. “Because it’s going to feel a lot more dangerous than this.” And then he proceeded to show her, unbuttoning her other cuff, rolling the sleeve up, trailing his fingers up her arm and then doing the same with his mouth, making her shiver, making her blush. Then he peeled back the ruffled collar and lightly teased her throat with his fingertips, with his lips. He didn’t kiss her mouth, didn’t touch her breasts, didn’t try to remove her nightgown—nothing that might frighten her, nothing that might make her feel threatened.
Arousal began to build in him. The warmth rising inside him had nothing to do with the fire, and everything to do with the smooth texture of Arabella Knightley’s skin, the taste of her on his tongue. Take it slowly, Adam told himself. He kissed her temple, smelling the orange-blossom scent of her hair—and then lightly touched her ankle, lightly skimmed his hand up her leg. She stiffened.
“Does this feel dangerous?” Adam whispered against her temple, and stroked again, ankle, calf, the sensitive hollow of her knee.
She shivered. “Yes.”
He pressed a kiss into her hair. “Good,” he said, and pushed the footstool away. “Lie down here, alongside me.”
“Adam . . .” He heard nervousness in her voice.
Adam kissed her cheek lightly. It was warm, flushed. “Trust me,” he whispered.
He watched her face as he lightly explored beneath the nightgown, his fingers tracing paths from her ankles to her knees. Her cheeks grew pinker and her eyes even darker. His own arousal began to spiral inside him, not urgent yet, but building, tightening. When he judged her ready, he slid his hand higher, exploring the silky skin of her inner thigh with light fingertips, stroking, teasing, until she was breathless and trembling. “Adam . . .”
“Mmm?” He slid his hand higher, touching soft curls.
She gasped.
“Dangerous?” he asked in her ear.
“Yes.” It was a low, breathless whisper.
Adam smiled, and began to stroke her teasingly, rhythmically.
She gasped again and stiffened. Her fingers gripped his dressing gown. “Adam.”
“Relax,” he whispered into her ear. “Enjoy.”
He could feel her arousal beneath his hand, warm and damp, he could hear it in her ragged breathing, see it in her heated cheeks, could smell it—a faint, tantalizing fragrance that made the muscles in his groin tighten fiercely.
Adam slid his fingers inside her. She was tight, hot, wet. His erection surged against his dressing gown. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on what he was doing: teasing, drawing pleasure from her, making her pant, making her clutch the lapels of his dressing gown more tightly.
The helpless movement of her body beneath his hand almost pushed him over the edge. When the waves of pleasure surged through her, he felt an answering surge in his own body and nearly climaxed, too. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and held tightly to his control.
She let out a long, shuddering breath. He felt her body relax.
Adam chuckled. He opened his eyes. “Dangerous?”
“Very,” she whispered. Her face was turned to him, her eyes huge and dark, her cheeks flushed. Her braided hair was tumbled on the floor behind her.
Adam stared at her. I love you.
He swallowed, and glanced at the bed. From this angle it loomed even larger, was even more tomb-like, with its heavy frame and ample canopy.
It would be an easy matter to pick her up, carry her to the bed, and lay her gently on it, but he couldn’t bring himself to push up from the floor. The bed had intent; here on the rug there was nothing but firelight and warmth, nothing to scare her, nothing to intimidate her.
Adam turned back to her. “This next bit will probably hurt. I’ll try to . . . to be quick.”
He was trembling as he slid the nightgown up her legs, trembling as he untied his belt, as the dressing gown fell open. His hand shook as he gently parted her legs. “I’m sorry,” he said as he positioned himself over her. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
Arabella Knightley’s eyes were dark and grave, but her mouth smiled faintly at him. “It’s all right, Adam,” she whispered.
Adam bowed his head. God give me strength. He took a deep breath and entered her in one, swift movement.
She flinched. He felt her stiffen, heard her gasp with pain.
Adam froze, fully sheathed in her. I’m hurting her.
His body urged him to move, to thrust into her again, to find release. Adam held himself still, his head bowed and his eyes clenched shut. Arabella lay tense and unmoving beneath him. He couldn’t hear her breathe. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely against her cheek.
She released her breath. “Don’t be.”
Adam felt a surge of tenderness—intense, shocking—and almost lost his control. His hips moved once, thrusting, and he withdrew hastily, groping for the handkerchief in his pocket. He came swiftly and quietly into it. The force of his release left him shaking.
Adam belted his dressing gown with trembling fingers and helped Arabella to pull down her nightgown, smoothing it over her legs. Then he drew her into his arms, hugging her into the curve of his body.
She didn’t nestle into him, nor did she pull away. She lay quietly. She trusts me.
The realization brought tightness to Adam’s throat. It was frightening to love Arabella Knightley this much—frightening to know she could still refuse his offer.
Gradually his pulse slowed and his breathing steadied. When he was certain he had control of his voice, he asked: “Was that . . . too dreadful?”
She shook her head.
Adam pressed his face into her
