The huskiness of his voice robbed her of breath. Desire, swift and fierce, clenched her stomach.
“I want you, Emmy Danvers. And I want to take my time.”
How on earth was a woman supposed to resist that?
He was still wearing his breeches. Emmy couldn’t prevent her gaze from dropping to the proud bulge that strained against the fabric. He wasn’t lying; he wanted her quite desperately.
Sally had always told her that virginity was overrated. “Men make such a fuss over being the first,” she’d said blithely. “But think of how many times you’ll make love in your life. Hundreds, if you’re lucky. The first time’s always a trial because you don’t know what to expect. It’s like riding a horse. At the start, it’s more daunting than enjoyable. But with a little practice, and the right mount”—she’d giggled softly at that—“you’ll soon find it extremely pleasurable. If something feels good, make sure he keeps doing it. Don’t just lie there and expect him to read your mind. Tell him. Move him. Or move yourself into a better position.”
Emmy’s face had been as red as a beetroot by that point, but Sally had chuckled bawdily. “Telling him what you like, what you want him to do, can be half the fun, believe me. Men love it when a girl does that.”
Emmy had been a virgin last night, but she’d found the whole thing intensely pleasurable. Harland was clearly an accomplished lover, one who cared for the enjoyment of his partner. She couldn’t have wished for a better introduction to the sensual arts. The idea that there could be more than she’d already experienced was something she both doubted and prayed was true with equal fervor.
She wanted to experience it all. Everything he had to give. Even if it was only for one night.
Her heart pounding, she took a step toward him. “Yes.”
He opened his arms and tugged her against him, trapping her in his embrace. She rested her cheek against his sternum. His heart beat, steady and sure, beneath her ear. Giving in to temptation, she opened her mouth and tasted him with an experimental flick of her tongue.
He tightened his arms. “Emmy. You’re killing me.”
His hand came up to her hair and she lifted her face, silently demanding a kiss. This was madness, weakness, stupidity. She didn’t care.
He dipped his head and kissed her with slow deliberation. “You taste like honey,” he groaned. “And smell like heaven. God, you drive me mad.”
They were nose to nose. Heat radiated from him, despite the chilly room. His hardness pressed insistently against her stomach.
“I haven’t forgiven you for your British Museum taunt, you know,” he growled against her lips. “You naughty girl. You implied I was dense.”
“And hard,” she added mischievously.
He rocked against her. “Allow me to demonstrate just how hard I can be.”
Wicked heat coiled through her, burning her from the inside out. He drew her hand down between them and pressed himself into her palm. Her fingers tightened around him of their own volition, and he groaned, a deep rumble in his chest.
“Is that hard enough for you, Emmy?”
He slipped the edge of her chemise off her shoulder and kissed the skin he’d exposed. He teethed her lightly, a nip that sent shudders racing through her. She made a wordless sound of assent and tilted her head to give him better access, but he stepped away with a rueful shake of his head.
“Wait. I need a bath. I’ve ridden all day. I’m filthy.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t care; she wanted him exactly as he was, all sweaty and rain-slicked, but he sat on the edge of the bed and removed his stockings. She stared in fascination at his bare feet, at the hair that grew on his legs below the knee. He was so undeniably masculine.
With a mocking, challenging glance he stood and slowly flicked open the fall of his breeches, as if daring her to tell him to stop.
She didn’t.
He caught the waistband with his thumbs and pushed the damp buckskin down over his narrow hips, and she caught her breath as he stepped out of them and tossed them carelessly onto the chair.
Naked. He was wonderfully, gloriously naked.
She’d caught a tantalizing glimpse of him that morning in his bedroom, but now she looked her fill. He was beautiful, a creature built for pleasure and sin. The candle glow flickered over him, and her gaze followed the intriguing line of hair that