someone was an important indicator of social status.”
His boots brushed her skirts. “They describe kissing in three forms. First, there’s the osculum, which is a friendly peck on the cheek.” He bent and pressed a chaste kiss just below the cheekbone. Her stomach quivered.
“Next, we have the basium, a more erotic kiss on the mouth.”
He matched his words with a featherlight brush on her lips. It was only a casual touch, but Anya felt it right down to her toes. She was enchanted, a prisoner of sweetness, completely focused on where he touched her.
She sucked in a shaky breath. “And the last kind?”
“The savium. The most passionate of kisses.”
He gazed hungrily at her lips and her blood thundered in anticipation. Unable to bear the suspense, she rose up on tiptoe and fused her mouth to his. His arms came around her and he answered her demand with a thrilling ardency, angling his head for better access. Desire scalded through her blood.
“Very good, Miss Brown,” he groaned after long, drugging minutes. “You’re proving to be an excellent pupil.”
His fingers grazed her bare skin above the low back of the dress, leaving goose bumps in their wake. He stared deeply into her eyes. “I give you my word that I will do nothing unless you expressly allow it. I want you to explore at your own pace. My body is yours.”
Anya expelled a shuddery breath, amazed at his generosity, his understanding. How many other men would have been so accommodating? “Thank you.”
A wicked light of mischief gleamed in his eyes. “If it will put your mind at ease, I have a set of handcuffs in my rooms. You can restrain me, if you really want to.”
A frisson of something hot flashed through her at the very idea of him bound and helpless, at her mercy. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I want you to touch me. I want it so badly, I’ll give you complete control and take whatever scraps you’re willing to give.”
Anya could barely breathe. If he were bound, he couldn’t overpower her as Vasili had tried to do. He couldn’t force her to do anything. But he was nothing like Vasili; she trusted him without the need for such drastic measures. He was inherently decent. Honorable to the core. She wouldn’t force him, any more than he would force her. If they were going to do this—and they were going to—then it would be as equal partners.
“I don’t need you restrained,” she said. She stepped back, her stomach tight with excitement, her blood singing with nervous energy. “But I do want you to put your hands behind you until I say.”
She could hardly believe her own daring. She reminded herself she was a princess, accustomed to ordering people to do her bidding, and indicated the chair in front of the desk with an imperious flourish. “Sit down and hold the chair.”
She tensed, thinking he’d refuse, but all he said was, “Can I remove my coat first?”
“Of course.”
Her heart pounded as he tugged at his cuffs and shrugged out of his evening jacket. It took some contortion; the fit was very snug. He swiveled the chair on its front legs and turned it to face her, sat down, and reached behind him to clasp the back legs. He lifted his brows in haughty inquiry.
Now what?
Anya swallowed. She stepped forward until her knees bumped his, then pulled out the single gold-and-diamond stick pin that secured the front of his cravat. She placed it carefully on the desk, avoiding his heavy-lidded gaze, untied the white linen of his neckcloth, and unwound it from around his neck. She dropped that to the desk too.
He was left in a white shirt, black breeches, and top boots. Without the cravat to hold it together, the neck of his shirt fell open, revealing an exciting glimpse of tawny skin. Fascinated, she stroked her fingers over the jut of his collarbone and the intriguing hollow at the base of his throat. His skin was warm. Smooth. Delicious.
And hers to explore.
Gaining confidence, she let her hands skim the bunched muscles of his shoulders, pulled taut by the unnatural position of his arms. He shuddered under her touch and spread his knees. She stepped between his muscled thighs.
“Take off my shirt,” he commanded hoarsely. “Touch me.”
With hands that were not quite steady, she tugged his shirt from the waistband of his breeches, avoiding the prominent bulge clearly visible beneath. “You may release the chair,” she breathed. “For a moment