it’s merely that . . . well . . . I’m no more a beauty naked than I am clothed.”
Just like that, his amusement vanished. “Who the hell told you that you weren’t a beauty?” When she chewed on her lower lip, his face darkened. “Ah, right. Your arse of an uncle, I suppose.” Walking up to where she stood by the bed, he caught her chin in his hand. “Let’s get this straight once and for all. You are not merely a beauty—you’re the queen of beauties.”
She glared at him, her throat aching at the blatant untruth. “There’s no need to lie, Grey. You’re already in my bedchamber. It’s not as if I’m going to kick you out.”
“I’m not lying.” He scowled. “Didn’t we agree to always speak the truth to each other?”
“We did.”
“And haven’t I done so?”
She cocked her head. “You didn’t tell me you were investigating my brother.”
“Because you didn’t ask. Not once have I lied to your face. I’ve probed, I’ve urged, and I’ve coaxed. But I haven’t lied. I’m telling you the truth now, as I always have.” He skimmed his fingers over her cheek. “With enough fine clothes and subtle cosmetics and a lady’s maid to dress her hair to greatest advantage, anybody can be a beauty.”
He stared her down. “But only a few have beauty bred in the bone. And you, my dear lady, even in your mourning clothes, with your lovely locks simply dressed, are one of those. I daresay once you have your debut, in your fine gown, with your hair dressed properly, you will be positively majestic.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “Indeed, I shudder to think how many men I shall have to thrash just for looking at you.”
“Grey . . .” she said, hardly able to fathom his compliments.
“Take it off.” His eyes shone a smoky green in the firelight. “Let me see what those fellows will never get the chance to. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
The words were nearly a promise. She wanted to believe him, even if he only meant it for this one night. So she took off her nightdress. What else could she do? She wanted him in her bed, and he wanted her naked.
Though if there had been even a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, she would have bounded out of there, naked or no. But the only thing she saw was heat and want and need. And desire. Lots and lots of desire. He skimmed his gaze down her neck past her shoulder to her breasts, lingering there only a moment before he took in the rest of her, including the part between her legs that still throbbed from his ministrations.
Then he lifted his eyes to her face and cupped her head in his hand. “Majestic, I tell you.”
He bent his head as if to kiss her, but she jerked away. “My turn,” she said, and reached for the buttons of his drawers.
His eyes solemn, he caught her hand. “Tell me one thing—are you doing this only to drive out memories of your uncle?”
She considered the question, unsure what to say. That was part of it, yes, but not by any means all. Yet she was afraid to give him the real answer—that she was starting to fall in love with him.
So she settled on another perfectly honest reason for wanting him to take her to bed. “No. I’m doing this for me.”
Apparently, he recognized the truth of that, because with a shuddering breath that resonated through her, he quickly unbuttoned and shucked off his drawers. “God help us both if that’s a lie.”
She got only a glimpse of the heavy ballocks between his legs and his rather large staff, thrust out with typical masculine impudence, before Grey was tumbling her down upon the bed.
In moments he had her panting for him again. With only a few caresses of her breasts and a stroke or two between her legs, he made her as eager for him as he obviously was for her. Which only proved how shameless she was, at least when it came to him.
And now at last he was . . . he was . . . forging up inside her? That was the only word she could think of for how it felt to have that . . . massive “yard” of his pushing steadily forward.
She was rather disappointed. She’d expected something different, something more . . . well . . . glorious.