With his arms braced against the window frame, every inch of him seemed to ripple and bunch into new shapes. The shifting lines of his body were rather delicious, to be honest. He leaned on one arm, using his free hand to unbutton the fall of his silk breeches.
“I refuse to peek. I refuse to peek.” Turning from the window, she forced herself to march like a dutiful soldier to bed. She flipped back the counterpane and slipped under the covers, blocking out the temptation to see just how naked he’d get before leaving the window.
No, but really—how naked would he get before stepping out of view? Would her imagination be capable of envisioning how he’d look when his breeches slid down his heavily muscled legs? This would be a long, hard night. So to speak.
Lottie threw an arm over her face to muffle her groan.
* * *
Ethan blew out the light, then indulged in one last look across the lane. “Sweet dreams, Lady Charlotte.” The minx might have been invisible if he hadn’t noticed her bedroom’s lamplight and the shadows moving about the room. Filmy curtains preserved her privacy, although his windows had no such layer of protection—a fact he’d used to his advantage.
He usually considered his brain an orderly space where logic ruled. He’d made it that way after living through the aftermath of rash decisions several years ago. Tonight, the habits he’d built to think through every action, to weigh and measure the risk, had disappeared on that balcony, and it would seem they remained absent. Exhibitionism wasn’t something he’d ever indulged in, but knowing she watched, remembering the heat of their encounter earlier this evening—he’d wanted just a few more minutes of her attention.
But now he ached with need. She occupied a bed a few dozen feet and a narrow lane away, and his body knew it. The previously comfortable mattress seemed made of rocks when he rolled over yet again.
Lady Charlotte planned to marry. An empty society union by the sounds of it, which would be a bloody shame. Tonight he’d glimpsed beneath her layers of composure and known for certain that she was no longer the society debutante from years before. It wasn’t only her personality that had changed. Everything about her was…more. Time hadn’t just been kind to her. It had caressed and sculpted her from a lovely young lady into a lass with strong opinions and a wicked sense of humor that fascinated the hell out of him.
She’d been beautiful tonight, so polished and coiffed. But that first meeting at the inn, when her hair had been a mass of dark tangles reaching her waist, haunted him. With the trauma of her accident passed, his mind veered off the Good Samaritan path. He’d give anything to sink his hands into those waves of silky hair, wrap the strands around his fingers, and tether her to him. Those curls would flow like ink spilling over his pillow as he lowered his body to hers.
They’d stood so close tonight, their bodies aligned in a way that stayed with him. She would fit. Her curves would meld with him like an erotic puzzle piece, linking and tangling until neither could tell where they began or ended.
Lord, he wanted to trace the incredible blushes that danced over her skin. The pink flush followed the same path each time, beginning at her cheeks, then blooming across her collarbones and stretching down to the low neckline of her gown. Where the delicate color traveled from there was the stuff of fantasy.
The tent in his bedding would have been awkward to explain if he were sharing a room. Ethan lifted the blanket, glancing down in exasperation at his rigid erection. “Really, lad? Of all the women in the world, you want this one?” He rolled his eyes and dropped the covers. There was no denying it. His body wanted her. His mind craved her.
Tonight they’d been so close to a kiss, and now he had questions. Would her breathing change with increased arousal? What noises would she make when she climaxed? Were her breasts heavy and pendulous, or tight globes? Would they bounce as she found her satisfaction atop him or sway with the rhythm they found together? Lady Charlotte in the throes of passion would be a vision as her body milked him with each shudder of pleasure.
Under the sheet, his erection twitched, but he absently stroked his chest instead of sliding a hand under the blanket.
He’d asked tonight and she’d said no. Although he didn’t know her taste, he could have her scent. Back in Warwickshire, Ethan had purchased the same lemon oil the innkeeper had given Lady Charlotte. Since then, he’d smelled the oil with alarming regularity, as if trying to conjure her from the bottle like a djinn. Ethan uncorked the small bottle beside his bed. With the tangy citrus on his skin, he could almost imagine her here, instead of next door.
Finally, he reached under the blanket to spread the bead of fluid weeping from his cock over the thick head. Oil-slicked hands sliding over flesh stole his air. One stroke. Two. He hummed with pleasure as the fantasy took hold.
The fingers on his sack became her delicate hands in his imagination, small fingernails gently abrading skin that tightened with building need. His grip worked faster, squeezing until he kicked the covers away from his body because the room was altogether too hot.
More. His brain supplied the gasps and panting pleas of his imaginary lover, and he answered her aloud. A bellow roared up his throat, muffled with his arm over his face. Teeth sank into his meaty biceps, even as his back
