“You’re nervous.” Indulgently, he relieved her of her glass and replaced it with his own, encouraging her to take another sip, which she did. Slower this time, and with more relish.
He strode to the end table next to the bed and made a show of opening each drawer.
Curiosity overcame her. “What are you doing?”
“I’m searching for a notepad,” he explained, flashing her a charming half-smile. “I’ve the feeling a list might lend you courage. A schedule, maybe? Or did you have your seduction notes nearby? I shouldn’t mind picking that up where we left off.”
The very fact that he’d evoked a smile in such a moment also brought her dangerously close to tears.
When had she become such a wretched mess?
Alexandra set the glass on the nightstand. “Do you remember the conditions?”
She noted he didn’t smile as much with his lips as he did with his eyes. They wrinkled at the corners, his cheeks tightening with mirth.
Perhaps smiling caused him physical pain?
“Let me see…” He ticked them off on his fingers. “I’m not allowed to use my tongue. We’re to be completely nude. We’re to face each other—” He paused, eyeing her pensively. “Oh dear, I’ve broken a rule.” At this his lips split in a crooked devilish smirk, disavowing her previous notion. “We never did discuss a punishment for just such an occasion. Something appropriately dastardly, no doubt.”
Alexandra couldn’t tell if it was the whisky or the unsettling appearance of his wicked smile, but something warm glowed in her middle, threatening to melt the icy daggers of fear. “You forgot one.”
That warmth was mirrored in his eyes as he reached for her, his hand grazing the curve of her cheek, the rasp of his calluses catching her downy skin. “No, I didn’t.” He stepped closer, bringing his other hand to hold her face, cradling it in his palms as though she were made of glass. “My appearance, my manners, and my voice may be harsh, Alexandra, but I promise you my hands will never be anything but gentle with you.”
Moved beyond words, Alexandra slid her fingers into his open suit coat and encircled his lean, hard waist. She couldn’t say if he pulled her close, or if she stepped in, but she found herself delving into his embrace once again, luxuriating in the scent of him. Warm and rich and undoubtedly male.
It encouraged her, she thought, that she could not only endure his nearness, his touch, but that she could enjoy it. That she could see herself becoming not just accustomed to him, but also forming an attachment.
Was that such a terrible thing? To like one’s husband?
“You may have read everything there was to read about what we’re about to do,” he murmured, finding a spot on her temple with his lips he seemed fond of kissing. “So, it isn’t any wonder you’re dreading it.”
She drew back, tucking a thread of hair behind her ear. “It isn’t?”
He caught her hand, lifting it to his mouth. “Did your books teach you about desire? About sensation? Could they adequately explain how the lightest of touches, the whisper of a kiss, can be felt throughout your entire body?” His breath scalded her skin as he turned her palm up and pressed reverent lips to her fingers, letting them feather across his mouth with an expectant patience.
His eyes fluttered closed when she traced the seam of his scar, the healed skin a shiny, smooth dissection from the velvety feel of his lips.
Mesmerized, Alexandra did her best to remember just what she’d read about … about anything. Ever. She couldn’t. Her entire being was focused on his mouth. “I—I don’t recall that passage,” she breathed.
His beard scraped against her fingertips as he moved his attentions to her palm. He slid the lace of her nightgown back, discovering the delicate skin of her wrist, nibbling at the iridescent vein he found, then smoothing a kiss over it. “You must know, Doctor, that there is so much more to be learned in application, than can ever be taught in a lecture hall or read from a book.”
“T-true.” Something melted in her knees, turning the bone to liquid. Her breasts were suddenly tender, the tips rigid and sensitive against the worn cotton of her night rail.
He released her hand, and it dropped against his chest, her wrist limp and fingers trembling.
“What did your texts teach you about temptation, anticipation, longing, rapture, or bliss?” he queried. One hand skimmed her spine, the other investigating the modest, spun-lace collar held together by a trail of pearl buttons.
She struggled through a swirling fog of a thousand, thousand emotions, sensations, and reactions to reply to him. “N-nothing.”
His eyes crinkled with a masculine arrogance, tempered with a glint of an emotion so genuine, so incredibly foreign, Alexandra couldn’t identify it if she tried.
He leaned in, his lips pausing before they brushed hers. “Let me teach you about pleasure,” he said against her mouth, nudging her nose with his in an oddly affectionate gesture. “And I’ll do my best to spare you pain.”
Alexandra shared hot, whisky-scented breath with him for an eternal moment. She expected him to take her mouth. To press those warm, aching kisses against her as he’d done before. But he stood impossibly still, his lips so close a moth’s wing wouldn’t have survived between them, his great body quivering beneath her hands. His ribs bunched and grooved like those of a thoroughbred before the start of a race.
Did she have the courage to unleash his desire? All the straining lust and male need she sensed boiling beneath his herculean restraint?
She had to.
Besides, he seemed so certain. So absolutely sure that he could bring her pleasure.
He already had, hadn’t he? With gentle kisses and patient caresses, he’d already dissolved some of her frigid distance. He’d already taught her something about need.
And perhaps desire.
Because she wanted to kiss him again.
“Yes, husband,” she exhaled. “Yes.”
His first kiss was just a whisper. A chaste press of his warm, dry lips against hers. He did that for a moment, putting her at ease, vanquishing her defenses. It was only after her blood ceased its riotous pulsing that Alexandra noticed his lips were behaving so eminently civilized, while his hands, however, were anything but.
Her nightgown slipped down one of her bare shoulders before she realized with no little alarm that he’d expertly undone the entire placket of buttons.
“Can we douse the lights?” she asked.
His gaze lingered at the line of her collar. Had his expression graced features any less savagely masculine than his, she’d have called it a pout. “I want to see you.”
Alexandra chewed her lip. She had to go through with this, but she had no idea how she’d react. What if terror seized her? What if she wept?
What if the sight of his aroused … sex overwhelmed her, and she fainted? It would be better, easier, if she only had a few senses activated at a time.
“I—I don’t … I’m not ready.”
A shadow darkened his gaze before he carefully wiped it away. He released her to reach for the lamp, his hand slipping over his beard, to brush his scars, before he plunged the room in darkness.
To reward him for his patience, Alexandra undid the rest of the buttons on her nightgown, allowing it to slide from her shoulders into a puddle beneath her.