She swallowed hard. “You’re not going to want to try these, then?”
He could only laugh. “I’m afraid I’d end up in bed for a month. And I don’t mean passing a pleasant time.”
“Thank God,” she said, and turned to launch herself at him again.
SIXTY-FOUR
THE BOOK FELL from Kit’s hands to the floor. “What’s this?” he asked, still laughing.
Rose couldn’t remember ever being quite so relieved. She kissed his eyes and his cheeks and his chin. “I’m just so happy to find that you share Charles’s preference for catholic lovemaking.”
He drew back a little, looking puzzled. “Charles?”
“King Charles.”
Kit’s brow didn’t clear. “While it’s true I’ve heard rumors that he’s secretly Catholic, they’ve never been proven. And I’m a member of the Church of England.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “Nell told me Charles was catholic in his lovemaking, not that he’s a secret Catholic. She explained that he’s enthusiastic but not imaginative.”
“Ah. Poor Nell.”
“Pardon?”
“I can assure you, sweetheart, one needn’t be a gymnast to be imaginative.”
The look in his eyes made the bottom drop out of her stomach.
The emotion must have shown on her face. “Nothing frightening, I promise,” he added quickly.
But she wasn’t frightened. Kit’s laughing reaction to the engravings had cured her of that. Now she was just intrigued. Very, very intrigued.
And eager. She began peeling off her loosened gown.
He stopped her hands with his own. “Let me have the pleasure of that.” And those hands went to work undressing her.
Leaving her sitting on the bed, he knelt at her feet and pulled off her shoes. He reached under her skirts to pluck off her garters one by one. Rolling down her stockings was a production all itself, a sensuous slide of silk. His fingertips smoothed her calves, making her wish they’d move up higher.
“You make an excellent ladies’ maid,” she said shakily.
A faint smile was his only response. Taking her hands, he stood and brought her up with him. In no time at all, her gown was a memory, her chemise gone along with it.
He stepped back, his gaze roaming her hungrily. “You’re exquisite,” he said in a tone so husky it squeezed her heart.
She knew she had a pretty face, and men had often ogled her clothed body. But no one had ever seen her nude. Part of her wanted to fold her arms across her breasts, turn away, grab the red counterpane off the bed and cover herself.
But a larger part loved the way he was looking at her. She reveled in it. The appreciation in his eyes made her feel powerful.
She didn’t cross her arms, instead striking a pose with one hand on a cocked hip. “I’m not too slim?” she asked teasingly, fishing for compliments.
Though the court ideal was quite a bit plumper, Kit seemed to like her the way she was. “You curve in all the right places.”
His gaze kept skimming her body, making the bubbles dance in her stomach, the ache begin down lower. “Or too tall?”
“Hell, no, sweetheart. I don’t get a crick in my neck kissing you.” He stepped closer and gathered her into his arms, demonstrating by lowering his lips just a little to meet hers. While his mouth plundered recklessly, his hands wandered her back, raising goose bumps in their wake. “You’re the perfect height,” he murmured, his hands moving down, warm on her bare bottom, pressing their bodies together where the ache was building. “We fit.”
They did. Already the ache was becoming insistent, nearly intolerable. Wanting him closer, she broke from the embrace. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
He laughed and shrugged out of his surcoat.
“More,” she said, moving closer to the fire, hoping the burnished light would look pleasing on her skin.
Apparently it did. The green in his eyes deepened as he stripped off his long waistcoat and let it drop to the floor. “Your breasts are beautiful,” he said.
Just hearing the words, she felt them tighten. “Your shirt,” she ordered, presenting him with her back as she bent to stir the fire.
She heard his sharp intake of breath, and he couldn’t get out of the shirt fast enough. By the time she straightened and turned, he had his shoes and stockings off as well.
Gemini, he looked magnificent. Firelight danced over the planes of his face and flashed gold and red on his body. She moved closer and laid her palms on his chest, closing her eyes as her hands learned the feel of a man. Taut skin over bone and muscle, the springy softness of dark hair. She smoothed her hands down, down, until they rested against the waistband of his breeches.
“This, too,” she said.
“Not yet.” He swung her around, backing her toward the bed and finally pushing her onto it. She laughed as she landed on her back.
He rested a knee on the mattress and raised one of her feet. “You’re beautiful here,” he said, his expression one of concentration. His fingers slid between her toes, his thumb massaged her instep.
She arched her foot in response. “You’re beautiful, too.”
The concentration turned to amusement. “Am I?”
“Oh, yes.”
He smiled, sliding his hands slowly up her leg, paying special attention to her knee. “You’re beautiful here,” he said, flexing it and straightening it. He raised her leg higher and kissed her behind it, sending a shiver rippling through her.
She’d never imagined the back of her knee was so sensitive. A hot stab of lust speared her right between her legs.
He watched her face as his hands moved up higher, higher, dancing on her thigh, a gentle, swirling torment. He was close, so close to where she wanted him. She wanted not only his hands, but all of him. Most especially that part of him that was meant to slide into
