“I’m not angry. Disappointed, yes, but not angry.” He took her arm, turning her to stroll back the direction they’d come. “And I’m not the one who isn’t talking.”
“You cannot really mean to keep all that money—”
“Will you be quiet, Rose?” he asked and then turned her toward him to quiet her with a kiss.
She wound her arms around his neck and cooperated fully. She tasted of Rose and oranges, a flavor uniquely hers. A flavor he wanted to make his.
He backed her against one of the walls between two windows. Above their heads, a haughty Roman emperor gazed down from a terra-cotta medallion—a souvenir of earlier times. Kit only wanted to make new times with Rose. A new life, a happy life—a life full of the vitality he’d been missing.
He licked a bit of sweet stickiness from the corner of her mouth, then kissed that corner, then her chin. Bending his head, he tasted her long, slender throat, the pulse that beat in the hollow, that precious place where shoulder met neck. He parted the top of her dressing gown, baring the smooth, fragrant skin where her night rail had come untied at the collar.
That small triangle of flesh glowed in the dancing candlelight. Her eyes slid closed. “Kit,” she breathed, and he couldn’t tell whether the single word was a protest or an entreaty. But she didn’t push him away, and he wouldn’t stop tasting her voluntarily.
When she moved closer, he reached for the sash that secured her dressing gown and slowly drew one end until the bow came undone. The garment fell open, and then there was nothing between his hands and mouth and her body but the gossamer fabric of her night rail. No stomacher, no laces, no stays.
Only one thin barrier to the floral-scented softness that was Rose.
Kissing her, he teased her breasts through the delicate cloth, his pulse leaping when a little moan escaped her lips. His breath quickened as he felt the crests peak and harden beneath his fingers. He wanted to tear off her night rail and rip open his robe and bury himself inside her.
But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t scare her away, and he couldn’t risk getting to the point where he mindlessly took her too far. He couldn’t take her at all. Not until she was his, until she shared his name, until she wore his ring on her finger.
But Lord Almighty, he wanted her.
He lowered his head and suckled her through the filmy material. She arched, and his arms clenched tighter to support her. She smelled of roses and passion, a heady scent that almost had him breaking his promise to her mother and asking for more.
Then she was asking for more.
“More,” she murmured as she had in the square. “More.”
How could he resist such a sweet plea? Easing down the neckline of her night rail, he licked at a breast, nibbling greedily. She thrust herself closer to his mouth, responding to his attentions with an eagerness no other woman ever had.
That innate responsiveness, that unschooled sensuality, was one of the things he loved about her. One of the many, many things.
She pressed herself against his body until he feared he’d lose his mind. She worked her hands into the front of his robe, hesitating a moment when she realized he wore nothing beneath it.
“Gemini,” she whispered. Warm and smooth, her fingers maneuvered their way around him. His muscles jumped in response to her brazen exploration. When her arms completely encircled him, her hands flat on his back, she moved closer, molding her curves to fit him. “You feel entirely too good.”
“So do you, sweetheart,” he murmured.
“Touch me,” she said.
His breath lodged in his chest. “I don’t think—”
“Please.” She slid a hand from under his robe, grasped one of his, and guided it to that place he wanted to touch more than anything.
Through her night rail, he felt her heat. Searing heat.
“Touch me,” she repeated, her voice a husky rasp.
It took a stronger man than Kit to refuse such a heartfelt request. He inched up the fabric, thinking he’d never get enough of this enchanting, forward creature. Steeling himself to maintain control, he slipped his hand beneath the hem and skimmed the warm smoothness of a bare thigh. Gritting his teeth, he teased circles on her delicate, silky skin.
“Touch me,” Rose breathed. “Please touch me. Please.”
And finally, finally, he did.
When Kit cupped her like he had in the square, Rose surged against his hand, quivering with need. She thought, for one fleeting instant, that it was madness asking for this. But oh, the madness was sweet.
“More,” she begged. “More.”
For a moment he kept still. She held her breath, waiting, waiting, waiting…
“More,” she whispered again.
And he moved his hand.
A gentle slide of fingers, a tantalizing thrill. And again, tormenting, making her squirm against him. Again, and her dampness became an exquisite slickness. Again, and desire spiraled through her.
The heat built; her skin prickled.
Then he slipped a finger inside her, and her world tilted.
Sensation flooded her being, stealing her breath, making the blood surge through her veins and pound insistently in her ears. He drew out of her and plunged back in, again and again, playing her body until she teetered on the edge of awareness…until suddenly she shattered, shuddering both without and within with pleasure she’d never known.
“More,” Kit murmured, borrowing her word, wanting more than anything to give her more than she’d ever dreamed. Nothing would make him happier than to make her happy day and night. He wanted her so badly, the need was a physical ache, a heaviness in his chest. “More,” he whispered again.
And she gave him more, making his heart soar. He’d never seen anything as lovely as his Rose writhing in ecstasy. A true thing of beauty.
As her tremors abated, he kissed her,
