kiss, very much. The subtle scent of spirits tinged his breath, suggesting he had not been tippling long. His eyes were lucid and clear. She wondered why he had lingered here on his own when he could have come to her.
“Mayhap I am attempting to understand you,” she told him, irritated with herself for the husky quality of her voice, the overwhelming manner in which his touch, his nearness, affected her.
All her good intentions fled.
Her heart was beating so hard, she would not be surprised if he could hear its frantic pounding.
“Sweet of you,” he said, his brilliant gaze dropping to her lips. “Perhaps you ought to have done that before you destroyed my reputation.”
His pointed barb hit its mark.
Regret washed over her, joining the desire.
“I am sorry.” The words spilled from her lips before she could think better of them, before she could contain them.
She had wronged him so badly. Little wonder he had been furious enough to hold her captive until she agreed to marry him. His properties were in ruins. His funds were depleted. He scarcely had any servants, and he had a mother who required constant supervision.
“Why are you sorry?” His hand slid from her waist to her breast, cupping it, his thumb unerringly finding the stiff peak.
She inhaled and arched into his touch. “I am sorry I destroyed your reputation. Sorry I wrote Confessions of a Sinful Earl. Sorry I hurt you.”
“You are not wearing a corset beneath this dressing gown, are you?” he growled.
Of course, he must feel she was not. He rolled her nipple, then plucked at it with devastating intent. Heat surged between her thighs. Need weighed her down. The very air surrounding them seemed to change, growing heavy and potent.
“I am not wearing anything beneath it,” she told him.
He exhaled, and the warmth of his breath flitted over her lips in the ghost of a kiss.
Sin pinched her nipple, sending an exquisite blend of painful pleasure through her. “You are sorry, princess?”
She nodded, unbearably aware of him. Her every sense was heightened to delicious acuity. “More sorry than I can say. It was wrong of me, making assumptions, leaping to the wrong conclusions, and then setting out to get my vengeance.”
“Show me,” he said, his voice a low, decadent rasp laden with sensual promise.
The ridiculous thought struck Callie that she would do anything he asked of her.
“How?” she whispered.
“I want you naked.” He released her breast, his fingers traveling to the line of pearl buttons down the front of her dressing gown. “Take this off for me.”
His words should have shocked her. Insulted her, perhaps. All Callie felt was a rush of desire so sudden and all-encompassing that it almost brought her to her knees. As quickly as he had yanked her into his tall, lean form, he released her and stepped away. He watched her with a hooded gaze, his countenance harsh and uncompromising.
She could not be certain if he intended to punish her or pleasure her. Strangely, she would accept either from him. She had wronged him. Grievously. And she could not deny the way he made her feel.
She trusted him. He would not hurt her.
With his gaze upon her, she brought her fingers to the buttons lining the front of her dressing gown. One by one, she slid the buttons from their moorings. He reached for his half-empty glass on the mantel, draining it in one gulp. As she reached her breasts, she fumbled a button, then hesitated, shyness overcoming her.
“Go on,” he urged in that smooth, delicious baritone that sent a frisson down her spine. “I want to see you.”
Finding her courage, she continued. The dressing gown gaped as she traveled farther down the line of buttons. Cool evening air bathed her naked skin, but her husband’s hot stare chased away the chill. She reached the end of the buttons, just above the apex of her thighs. Holding his gaze, she shrugged the fine cotton and silk from her shoulders, then pulled it past her hips.
The ivory garment fell to the floor in a whoosh, pooling about her ankles. Fighting the urge to shield herself from his dark gaze, she stepped free of the material, standing before him in not one stitch.
Silence fell as his eyes scoured her. Though he had seen her—and had touched, kissed, and caressed all of her—before, she could not shake the bashfulness warring with the desire.
“There is no need for shyness, darling,” he said, his voice thick with desire.