* * *
Raven kept a watchful eye on Jane as she leaned in, still not knowing what to make of this debutante.
He thought he was prepared for the first tentative brush of her fingertips, that soft silken press of her flesh against his. But he wasn’t. Gooseflesh rippled down his arm in a prickling wave, raising each hair in a way that begged to be smoothed by the stroke of her delicate hand.
And he certainly wasn’t ready for her unreserved “Oh” of wonderment. The soft exclamation drifted across his skin and sent a surge of blood gushing through every vein in a molten flood.
Then her lips began to move in that soundless murmur once more. Seeing it from such a close proximity tempted him far more than he’d thought possible, considering how much trouble she’d caused him in such a short amount of time.
“Why do you do that?” he asked, his voice hoarse and gravelly from this unfathomable desire.
The spell caster’s concentration was still diverted and she issued an absent, “Hmm?”
“It’s like you’re talking to yourself right now, but you’re not speaking aloud.”
“I’m simply jotting down a few notes in my mind,” she whispered.
“And what are you saying?”
Her hand splayed over him, curving around his bicep, her examination growing bolder. “That it’s quite remarkable. I never imagined your arm would feel so different from my own. It’s as if your musculature is formed of those thickly braided ropes that keep massive ships moored. The surface is as taut and smooth as an overfilled wineskin, and an enticing heat emanates from your flesh. Do you feel feverish?”
“No,” he lied. “Well, not unless you’re about to order me to lie down. But, be warned, I plan to take you with me.”
“And this birthmark of yours,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d spoken, “is inexplicably detailed. I’ve seen other birthmarks and normally one has to employ imagination to see shape and form. But not with this. Would you like to hear something quite odd, Raven?”
“You don’t realize it, but you almost always say something odd.”
“Prepare yourself then, for I recognize that mark.”
He grinned at the absurdity. “Is this how you flirt with all the men you examine?”
“You misunderstand,” she said, turning her head to meet his gaze. “I have an uncommonly detailed memory. A mnemonic sketchbook, of sorts. Once an image is inside my mind, it’s nearly impossible to remove. And I’ve seen that bird before, exactly as it appears on your arm.”
There was enough gravity in her expression to cause a shiver to roll down his spine once again. Every muscle on his skeleton contracted and tightened. And he decided at once that he didn’t want to be under anyone’s quizzing glass. Not even hers.
She went back to tracing the outline, and at the sensation of her warm breath coasting over his skin, he felt a restless need to stop this conversation by any means necessary.
So he settled his hands on her hips.
Jane issued a faint squeak of surprise, but didn’t bolt. She merely watched him with those deep blue eyes, as if deciphering and calculating his movements like a player counting cards in a deck.
“It’s only fair. You’re examining me, after all,” he explained baldly, ready for her to back away.
He wondered how many thoughts were turning in her mind as she looked from his face to his hands. Was she gauging his intent? Absorbing the feel of his fingers as they flexed in appreciation over the unexpected roundness of her hips, and skimmed upward to span the narrow channel of her waist?
“You’re a surprisingly curvy little creature,” he murmured as his splayed hands inched higher to the base of her rib cage. “And you’re not wearing a corset.”
“They needlessly . . . restrict respiration,” she said on a shallow breath.
“Wouldn’t want that,” he agreed absently, enjoying that spears of whalebone weren’t hindering his discovery of the supple warmth just a layer or two away.
He imagined peeling the garments slowly down her body, exposing patches of creamy ivory and blushing pink and dark sable. And he imagined how easy it would be for him to lift her out of her pooled skirts, and for her to straddle him . . .
Those visions pulsed thickly in his blood, making him forget the reason he’d touched her in the first place. Making him forget that he wasn’t interested in debutantes.
Now, every heartbeat was like a heavy thump of a drum, the rhythm rousing the more primitive side of his nature. The part that was driven by the baser desires of want and need and claim.
Usually he kept this inner beast locked tightly away, but there was something about Jane that made it reach through the bars and rattle the cage.
Distracted, his thumb began tracing the shallow rim of her navel through the violet muslin. The innocent touch caused a tremor to roll through her and into him. The faintest puff of air left her and the sound told him she was just as surprised as he.
“I wonder where Pickerington has gotten to,” he said as his gaze took a meandering climb over the rise and fall of the firm hillocks of her breasts, to a pair of full, parted lips that had tempted him from the very first moment.
The dark pink tip of her tongue darted out to wet them and he could easily imagine plundering the warm recesses of her mouth. Tasting the sweet release of her inhibitions.
“Considering Duncan’s appetite, he’s likely found the larder,” she answered with her usual logic, thinking nothing of how honesty might work against her in this circumstance.
“Then he could be gone for some time yet.”
Certainly long enough for Raven to seduce her, if he chose to. And the idea of tutoring her to the ways of pleasure was surprisingly appealing.
As if she’d read his mind, she gave him an alert glance. He held it and smiled in invitation.
Oh, the things I could show you, Jane Pickerington.
But she wasn’t like the women he bedded. Prostitutes understood passion and primal appetites. They knew that swiving was nothing more than a transaction from beginning to end—a give and take to satisfy both parties.
Jane was only a naive debutante on a foolish errand to study scoundrels for her book.
Even so, he knew he could tempt her. There was enough to encourage him in the way her hands rested on his shoulders, her fingers curling over his muscles in artless exploration. And there was curiosity in her eyes, too, her pupils expanding like spills of ink on midnight-blue silk bedlinens.
She studied his features intently, her gaze roving from his brow to his mouth to his eyes, and to his mouth again, lingering.
A few kisses and caresses in the right places and he could have her underneath him, gasping his name, before she even considered the insurmountable regret that would follow from losing her virginity to a man she would never see again.
Raven had the sense of mind to know that he should be shocked by his thoughts. And by the simmering temptation to put action in the place of idea.
“I believe you’re either teasing or underestimating me again,” she said with a calm that belied the fast pulse bumping the underside of her bare throat.
He wanted to put his mouth to that flawless skin and soothe that tender throbbing place with his tongue. “Am I?”
“If you like, I could demonstrate how a young woman with seven younger brothers has learned precisely where a man is most vulnerable.”