This wasn't the way she'd imagined it. She'd expected him to hold out his arms and take over. "We're-we're married. It's not right for us to be sleeping apart."
"I see." He tilted his head toward the bed. "It's a matter of observing the amenities, is that it?"
"Not exactly that."
"Then what?"
A slight sheen of perspiration gathered between her shoulder blades. "I just want to." Too late, she realized she couldn't do this. "Forget it." She turned toward the door. "Forget I ever said anything. It was a stupid idea." She reached for the knob just as his hand settled over hers.
"Giving up so easily?"
She wished she'd never started this, and she couldn't even blame her behavior on Veronica Gamble. She'd wanted to taste him, to touch him, to experience the mystery of lovemaking again. Veronica had merely given her the excuse.
She realized he'd moved away from her, and she looked up to see him leaning against the mantel of the fireplace.
"Go ahead," he said. "I'll wait for you to start."
"Start what?"
"A man can't perform on command. I'm afraid you'll have to arouse my interest."
Had she thought to drop her eyes, she would have seen that his interest was already well aroused, but she was too busy trying to fight down the queer jumble of feelings twisting about inside her. "I don't know how to do that."
He rested his shoulders against the mantelpiece and crossed his ankles indolently. "Experiment. I'm all yours."
She couldn't bear having him making fun of her. Her throat constricted, and she moved back to the door. "I've changed my mind."
"Coward," he said softly.
She turned in time to see the mockery fade from his expression and something different take its place, something both seductive and challenging. "I dare you, Kit Weston."
A wild pounding reverberated deep inside her. Follow your instincts, Veronica had advised. But how would she know what to do?
He lifted a brow in silent acknowledgment of her dilemma, and a rush of courage that defied logic surged through her. Slowly she raised her fingers to the single button that held the peignoir together. The garment slid to the floor in a cascade of black lace.
His eyes drank in her body. "You've never been one to refuse a dare, have you?" he said huskily.
Her mouth curved into a smile. She walked toward him slowly, feeling a sudden, unreasonable surge of self-confidence. As she moved, she let her hips sway ever so slightly so that the slim skirt of the gown clung even more revealingly. She stopped in front of him and stared into the smoky depths of his eyes. Without dropping her gaze, she reached up and rested the palms of her hands lightly on his shoulders.
She sensed his tension beneath her fingers, and it gave her a feeling of power she'd never known in his presence. She lifted herself on her toes and pressed her lips to the dancing pulse at the base of his throat.
He groaned softly and buried his face in her hair, but otherwise he kept his arms at his sides. Excitement at his uncharacteristic passivity quivered through her. She parted her lips and flicked at the pulse with the tip of her tongue until its rhythm beat faster and faster.
Greedy for more of him, she tugged at the buttons on his shirt. When it was open, she pushed the fabric out of her way and slipped her hands beneath. She splayed her fingers over the mat of hair on his chest and then touched her lips to the hard, flat nipple that she'd exposed.
With a strangled sound, he caught her in his arms and pulled her body against his. But it was her game now, and she'd make him play by her rules. With the soft, wicked laugh of a vixen, she eased out of his grasp and backed across the room.
Lifting her eyes to his, she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Then she slid the palms of her hands over her ribs, her waist, and the curve of her hips in deliberate provocation.
His nostrils flared. She heard his quickening breath. Slowly she slid her hands back up again, this time over the front of her. Thighs… stomach… ribs… A woman seduces a man by following her instincts without giving the slightest thought to what she's heard is proper or improper. She cupped her breasts in her palms.
A muffled exclamation escaped his lips. The word was unintelligible, but he uttered it with a sense of wonder that made it seem a tribute.
Confident now of her power, she moved so that the bed was between them. She lifted her gown and climbed up onto the mattress. With a shake of her head, her hair tumbled forward over her shoulder. She smiled a smile that had been passed down from Eve and let her sleeve fall down on her arm. Beneath the veil of her hair lay one exposed breast.
It took all of Cain's self-control not to rush to the bed and devour her as she was meant to be devoured.
He'd vowed to himself he wouldn't let this happen, but now he couldn't hold back. She was his.
But she wasn't done with him yet. Resting on her heels with the skirt of her gown puddled over her knees, she played with her tousled hair so the raven locks fell open and closed in an erotic game of peekaboo.
The last thread of Cain's self-restraint snapped. He had to touch her or die. He came to the edge of the bed and reached out with his scarred hand to push the dark curtain of her hair behind her shoulder. He gazed down at the perfectly formed breast with its taut crest. "You learn fast," he said thickly.
He reached for her breast, but once again she eluded him. She glided back against the pillows so that she was resting on one elbow, the black silk skirt of her gown loose across her thighs. "You wear too many clothes," she whispered.
His bottom lip curved. With a few deft motions, he unfastened the cuffs of his sleeves and pulled the garment off. She watched him undress. Her heart pounded with a wild, savage rhythm.
Finally he stood before her fiercely naked. "Now who's wearing too many clothes?" he murmured.
He knelt on the bed and placed his hand on her knee, just under the hem of her gown. But she sensed the gown excited him, and she wasn't surprised when he didn't remove it. Instead, he slid his hand beneath it and moved along the inner flesh of her thigh until he found what he was seeking. He touched her lightly once,, then again, then once again, going deeper.
This time she was the one who moaned. As she arched her back, the black silk fell free from her other breast. He dipped his head to claim first one and then the other of her nipples. The double caress at her breasts and beneath her gown was more than she could bear. With a moan that came from her very soul, she shattered beneath his touch.
It could have been seconds or hours later before she came back to herself. He was stretched beside her, staring intently into her face. As she opened her eyes, he dipped his mouth to hers and kissed her lips.
"Fire and honey," he whispered.
She looked at him questioningly, but he only smiled and kissed her again. She returned his passion in full measure.
His mouth traveled to her breasts. Finally he pushed her gown high above her waist and moved on to her stomach.
She sensed what was to happen even before she felt the brush of his lips against the soft inner surface of her thigh. At first she thought she must be mistaken. The idea was too shocking. Surely she must be wrong. It couldn't be… He couldn't…
But he did. And she thought she would die from the pleasure he gave her.
After it was over, she felt as if she would never be the same again. He held her close and stroked her hair, idly curling the tendrils around his finger, giving her the time she needed to recover. Finally, when he could be patient no longer, he pressed himself over her.
She settled the heels of her hands on his chest and pushed him away.
Now the question was in his eyes as he lay back against the pillows, and she rose to her knees beside him. He watched her cross her arms modestly in front of her kneeling body, pick up the hem of her gown, and pull it off.