Page 62 of Winter's Waltz
“With what?” she asked as she continued to torture him.
“You know what,” he said, savoring this side of her.
It was bold and wicked. Heady and wild. Passionate and wanton and unlike anything he had ever known. Distinctively Genevieve Winter.
“This?” She stroked again.
His ballocks tightened. “Yes.That.”
He could scarcely allow her to continue unchecked.
“I like touching you,” she murmured.
He had unleashed a siren.
Max plucked her hand away with a mixture of reluctance and determination. “You may touch me all you like. But first, I want you naked.”
“As the marquess pleases.” Holding his stare boldly, she untied the knot in her cravat.
One flick of her fingers sent the linen sailing to the carpets.
She shrugged off her coat and set upon the buttons of her waistcoat.
Max’s mouth went dry. The marquess wasmuchpleased. He did not know if he could stand being more pleased. Every part of him was acutely aware of her. The scent, floral and sweet, the heat emanating from her, the vibrancy.
“I love your scent,” he told her.
“Winters soap,” she said, sending black silk to the floor before plucking the buttons at the neck of her shirt from their moorings. “One of the benefits of being a Winter, albeit a bastard one.”
He frowned even as she whisked her shirt over her head. “I dislike that word, especially in conjunction with you. Cease calling yourself that.”
“It is what I am.” She faced him, unapologetic, clad in nothing but the binding she had wrapped around her breasts, and her trousers.
He trailed his finger down the center of the linen. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
“Keeps them from getting in the way.” She smiled shyly and caught the lapels of his coat, tugging. “Off.”
“It is a sin,” he grumbled, but allowed her to help him shuck his coat first and his waistcoat next.
“It is practical. No one has ever complained before you, Marquess.”
“As it should be.” He caught the knot on her binding and undid it, beginning to unravel the linen. “If another man speaks of your breasts, I’ll choke him with his own cravat.”
Her smile deepened. “I like your bloodthirsty side.”
She would. He rather liked hers, too.
The last of the binding fell to the floor. Her breasts sprang free, her nipples already hard. He lowered his head and sucked first one, then the other. Her fingers sifted through his hair, and she arched into him. He flicked his tongue over the stiff peaks, gratified when she moaned.
“One night,” she said as he blew a stream of warm air over a straining tip. “That is all we can have.”
One night? Fine time for her to decide to place limitations upon them.
He sucked hard on her nipple, then released it. “Why not more?”
She shook her head. “You know why.”
He did, and he did not like it. Nor did he agree. But there would be time for that later, when his body was not raging with uncontrollable need for her. So he kissed the rosy nipples beckoning him and found the fall of her trousers.
