All nonsense, of course. If she had any more gowns in her armoire like the one she was wearing, no one would wonder at his sudden decision.
On the thought, his gaze lowered; he frowned at the offending article. "Have you any more gowns like that?"
She glared, then looked down at her gown, spread the skirts. "What is it about this gown that so irks you?"
He had wisdom enough to know to keep his lips shut; instead, he heard himself growl, "It's too damned inviting."
She seemed taken aback. "Is it?"
"Yes!" He'd thought the effect bad enough in his hall, and even worse under the chandeliers. Yet the worst, most dizzying effect was now, in half-light. He'd noticed it under the trees; it had been partly to blame for his unwise words. In poor light, the gown made her skin shimmer, too, as if her bare shoulders and breasts were part of a pearl, rising from the froth of the sea. Offered, waiting for the right hand to recognize and seize, take, reveal the rest that the gown concealed…
Small wonder he could barely think.
"It's…" He gestured, struggling to find the right words to talk his way out of this morass.
She was looking down, considering. "Inviting… but isn't that how I should look?"
It was the way she lifted her head and met his gaze — head-on, direct — that shook his laggard wits into place. His eyes slowly narrowed as he considered — her words, and her. "You know." He took a menacing step toward her. She dropped her skirts and straightened, but didn't step back. He halted and glared down into her eyes. "You know damned well how you — in that damned gown — affect men."
Her eyes widened. "Well of course." She tilted her head, as if wondering at his thought processes. "Whyever did you imagine I'd worn it?"
He made a strangled sound — the remnants of the roar he refused to let her hear. He never lost his temper — except, these days, with her! He pointed a finger at the tip of her nose. "If you wish me to marry you, you will not again wear this gown, or any like it, unless I give you leave."
She held his gaze, then drew herself up, folded her arms—
"For God's sake, don't do that!" He shut his eyes against the sight of her breasts rising even higher above the rippling edge of her bodice.
"I'm perfectly decent."
Her tone was clipped, distinctly acid. He risked lifting his lids the veriest fraction; his gaze, predictably, locked on the ivory mounds flauntingly displayed by the distracting gown. Her nipples had to be just—
"Anyone would think you've never seen a lady's breasts before — you can't expect me to believe that." Amelia kept her delight at his susceptibility firmly in check. Not hard; she didn't like the direction this discussion was taking.
His gaze was unabashedly locked on her breasts; beneath the thick fringe of his sooty lashes, his dark eyes glittered. "At this point, I don't much care what you believe." There was a quality in his voice, in the slowly and precisely enunciated words, that made her still, that alerted every instinct she possessed. His gaze slowly rose, and fixed on her eyes. "I repeat: if you want me to marry you, you will not again wear this gown, or any like it."
She lifted her chin. "I'll need to some time — toward the end—"
"No. You won't. Need to. Or do so." She felt her jaw lock, could almost feel her will and his collide, but while hers was like a wall, his was like a tide — it flowed all around, surged, tugged, weakened her foundations. She knew him too well, knew she couldn't push him and didn't dare defy him at this point.
It didn't happen easily, but she forced herself to nod. "Very well." She drew in a breath. "But on one condition."
He'd blinked, his gaze lowering; he jerked it back up to her face. "What condition?"
"I want you to kiss me again." He stared at her. A moment passed. "Now?" She spread her hands, widened her eyes. "We're here — completely private. You locked the door." She gestured to her gown. "I'm wearing this. Surely our charade suggests a certain script?"
Luc looked into her eyes — he was perfectly sure he'd never felt so torn in his life. Every instinct, every urge, every demon he possessed wanted nothing more than to seize the slender body so provocatively displayed and feast. Every instinct bar one. Self-preservation was the only naysayer, but it was screaming.
Increasingly hoarsely.
There was no way he could argue his way out of her suggestion. Aside from anything else, his mind baldly refused to be a party to that much deceit.
He lifted his shoulders, making it look like a shrug, in reality trying to ease the tension that had already locked every muscle. "Very well." His voice was even, his tone commendably nonchalant. "One kiss."
One rigidly controlled, absolutely finite kiss.
He reached for her; she stepped toward him. Before he could catch her and hold her back, she was in his arms, her distracting gown shushing against his coat, her supple figure stretching against him as she reached up and twined her arms about his neck.
Bending his head, he found her lips, covered them — all without the slightest thought. His hands gripped her waist, but his arms were powerless to ease her away from him. Their lips melded and the compulsion to instead draw her closer grew.
She parted her lips under his, and he did.
Let his hands slide over the sumptuous silk, over the curves it concealed, then he deliberately drew her against him, molding her softness to his much harder frame. Drew her breath from her, then gave it back, took her mouth slowly, thoroughly.
He sensed not the slightest hesitation through their increasingly explicit exchange; her tongue boldly met his with a ladylike eagerness that was unfeigned and oddly tempting. Enticing. As if she and she alone could offer him something his experienced senses had never encountered before.
As if she was confident of that, knew it with a sureness that left no room for doubt.
Her body remained pliant yet vibrant in his arms; not passive, yet limited in her ability to script their interaction purely by lack of experience. He could sense through her lips, through her responses, an unfettered commitment to the pleasures inherent in the kiss. To inciting, as she had before, subsequent delights.
That he'd expected; that was where he drew his line. This time, he was prepared for her pushy nature — for her attempts to lure him into rushing headlong into a situation his finely honed instincts were strongly warning would not be one he was accustomed to. This woman was to be his wife; nothing — no temptation — would ever be sufficient to make him forget that, and all its connotations.
For all his experience, his instincts urged caution. In this arena, he was no more experienced than she — and he had more to lose.
As she returned his kisses avidly, Amelia had no thought of winning or losing; she'd demanded the kiss purely to enjoy it, and to leam more. More of the dizzying delight he so effortlessly conjured, that seemed to warm her from her bones to her skin.
Their second kiss was indeed living up to her expectations. He seemed to have accepted holding her close; her senses purred at the pleasure inherent in having all that hard muscle and heavy bone surrounding her, pressed to her breasts and the swells of her thighs, his arms banding her shoulders and back. She was tempted to wriggle closer still.
He hadn't even tried to turn the kiss into a single peck, as she'd suspected he might. She had absolutely no doubt he was, instead, enjoying the exchange — the succession of caresses, him to her, her to him — every bit as much as she.
So what came next? The thought floated through her mind; she followed it. Mentally caught her breath, then kissed him back even more flagrantly — distracted him long enough to press closer still, to sink against him, her breasts flush against his chest.
The pressure eased the ill-defined ache that seemed to be burgeoning in her breasts; she shifted slightly, seeking further relief. His arms had instinctively tightened, supporting her. As the tide of the kiss shifted, he kissed her back — with greater fire, with the promise of flames. She inwardly gasped, felt his arms ease, his hands slide… suddenly knew what next she wanted, what next she needed from him.