Page 50 of Cocky August Rake

The candlelight made the lawn almost transparent. The pink of her nipples showed through the fine fabric, and as his gaze dropped, they tightened helplessly.

She had meant to use that.

She had not expected to feel it.

Lord Reginald’s eyes darkened. His lips parted, then closed again. One hand curled at his side, fingers flexing, as though he had to remind himself not to reach for her.

Of course, he wanted her.

It showed in the hard set of his jaw. In the heat that climbed up his neck and along his cheekbones. In the way his gaze moved over her body.

Lower still, Rose saw the hard line of his arousal behind his trousers, and felt a sharp, wicked rush of triumph.

But also… A pull.

The first part of passion, she had told him, was being wanted.

She had not lied.

To stand before him like this, to feel his hunger held back by nothing more than his own will, made her skin grow hot and hungry. Her breasts felt heavy. Her pulse beat in places she had no business noticing.

“Rose.”

Her name sounded almost feral in his mouth now. Tight.

Rough.

She stepped out of the fallen silk and left it on the floor between them.

“Yes,” she said softly, “Look at me.”

Reginald’s throat felt thicker than it had a moment earlier.

He had seen women before. Women in garments meant to seduce. Women with bare shoulders, bare ankles, bare breasts. Women with nothing on at all.

But never like this.

Rose.

“You…” He swallowed. “Beautiful. Though I suppose you know that.”

Her eyes held his. “A woman never tires of hearing that.”

No. Of course she did not. Still, the words felt like the poorest offering he could make.

She stood before him, shoulders back, one knee bent slightly. Her gown at her feet, her dark hair pinned up as neatly as if she were still fully dressed.

“You said you wished to give me pleasure,” she said. “It will please me to know what you think when you look at me.”

Reginald closed his eyes for just a second.

Such thoughts were not fit to be spoken aloud.

Thoughts of touching her. Of putting his mouth where the fine lawn clung to the hard points of her breasts. Of dragging the little ribbon loose with his teeth. Of finding out whether her skin tasted as sweet as it looked.

Of lowering her to the carpet.

Of forgetting, entirely, of the bargain he’d made with himself.