He was entirely too clothed compared to her. It wasn't fair. Maybe she should do something about that. But that would mean drawing away and perhaps even breaking their kiss, which was making her head swim in the most lovely manner.
She sighed into his mouth as he ran his hands over her back, learning her body through her chemise. Her skin prickled pleasurably everywhere he touched. When his hands drifted lower, skimming her bottom, it took everything she had not to squirm in response. His fingers molded themselves to her rounded curves, cupping to pull her closer—
And froze.
"Tris?" she murmured against his mouth.
"Holy Christ." His voice a husky whisper, he moved his hands experimentally. "Sweetheart, what happened to your drawers?"
THIRTY-THREE
OBVIOUSLY SURPRISED at the question, Alexandra pulled away. "Drawers would ruin the lines of my dresses. I never wear them."
"Never?" Tristan imagined all the times they'd been together the last few months, going all the way back to their first kiss up on Cainewood's wall walk. Had she not being wearing drawers then? He remembered all the meals when she'd sat beside him, bare bottomed and mere inches away. That time in the library when he'd reached around her, her backside against his front. Walking alone together after the picnic, teaching her to waltz, dancing with her and reaching to kiss her in the minstrel's gallery…
Had she never been wearing drawers?
His body reacted to that thought with such violence, it took all he had not to throw her on the bed then and there.
"How about your sisters? Your cousins? The other women of your acquaintance? Do they never wear drawers, either?" He raked a hand through his hair. "Never mind. I don't think I want to know."
The last thing he needed now, when he'd promised to take things slowly, was visions of being surrounded by women who went without drawers.
No, forget being surrounded—the thought of Alexandra alone was enough. More than enough. Forget the recollections of the past—how about all the times they'd be together in the future? Would he ever be able to think straight again in her presence?
"A lot of ladies don't wear drawers," she said. "Current fashion being as it is, they would show. And they're still rather new, you know. Some women consider them scandalous. And—"
He stopped her with a kiss. He couldn't stand hearing any more about drawers. Not without finishing this evening a lot sooner than he'd expected.
Her mouth, warm and willing, soon claimed his attention. He'd never known anyone who put as much of herself into a kiss as Alexandra. When she was kissing him, he was convinced she was thinking of nothing and no one else. She matched his every move and made some bold moves of her own. Recalling her shocked hesitation the first time they kissed, he found it hard to reconcile that innocence with the way she was kissing him now.
His pulse quickened as he wondered whether she'd take to lovemaking as rapidly.
He trailed his lips to her delicate chin and continued down the slim column of her throat, lingering in that sensitive place where neck met shoulder. He smiled when he sensed her shiver, then pulled back when he felt her fingers go to the line of tiny buttons on his white waistcoat.
By God, she was learning fast. "You're undressing me now?"
Her fingers fumbled. "It seems so." When she finally got the waistcoat open, she slid her hands underneath and up. The white garment fell down his back to join her frock on the floor. "Shall I fetch you a dressing gown?" she asked, watching avidly as he divested himself of his braces.
"Hmm?"
She skimmed her hands over his thin cambric shirt, making his muscles twitch underneath. "Griffin said you would put on a dressing gown."
"For what, five minutes? I would only take it back off."
She nodded knowingly. "I told him that."
He wasn't at all sure he liked his friend discussing his love life. He did, however, like his friend's sister running her hands all over his torso, even when she grazed bruises that still hurt.
"You feel good," she said, her eyes filled with wonder.
He ran his own hands down her sides. "You feel good, too," he told her, his gaze dropping from her intent expression to the swell of her cleavage beneath the plain, low-cut chemise.
The rosy tips of her lovely breasts tightened under his perusal, and her cheeks turned a delicate pink. "I suppose you're not going to lift my nightgown then, either?"
"Pardon?"
"He said when you were ready, you would lift my nightgown."
"What nightgown?" he asked, gesturing at her half-clad form.
"Never mind."
Alexandra swallowed tightly. This wasn't going at all the way Griffin had led her to expect. Despite what she'd said earlier, she was starting to feel a bit nervous. Her legs were trembling. She was grateful when Tris led her to a chair—until he pulled her sideways onto his lap.
She hadn't sat on anyone's lap since she was about four years old. Tris's fragrance surrounded her, filling her head with the scents of soap and starch and warm man. He began plucking the pins from her hair. "Do you know," he said, "how long I've dreamed of doing this?"
"How long?" she whispered.
"Too long." He lowered the heavy mass, finger-combing the curls down her back to her waist. "It's beautiful."
"It's terribly unruly."
"I like it."
Somehow he got her shoes and stockings off, and when he rose with her in his arms, cradled against his chest, she was glad of it. For surely she couldn't have walked to the bed, considering her knees had dissolved.
He laid her gently on the sheets, then straightened to remove the rest of his clothes. As he pulled his shirt over his head, she gasped and reached to touch him, her fingertips brushing the bruises. "Do they hurt?"
He flashed her a wicked grin. "I think you need to kiss them to make them better."
She nodded, thinking that sounded like an excellent plan. In
