Page 35 of The Lady Was Lying (Greydon #3)

He remained still as she took off her gown and tossed it aside.

His attention was heady, and her lips curved up of their own accord at the heat in his gaze when she loosened her stays.

She dropped them to the ground, shed her stockings, and then pulled her chemise gently over her head, careful not to dislodge any hair pins.

Washing her hair was an ordeal she did not want to deal with when there were more interesting things she could be doing.

The fire she saw reflected in his eyes as he watched her was almost enough to make up for the fact that he was still on the other side of the room.

Almost, but not quite.

She knew she was beautiful, and she liked being looked at, but she wanted him closer. She wanted his hands touching her. His mouth kissing her. His body blanketing her.

In her imagination, more than just his eyes were tracking her movements, and even though she was ready for more than being stared at, he clearly needed more encouragement, so without artifice or uncertainty she took a handful of steps to the tub and gracefully slid into the warm water.

* * *

James had thought about bedding Belinda.

Of course he had.

Even before he’d decided he was going to marry her, he’d imagined what it would feel like when he sank into her body, and yet in all his imagining, he’d never once considered her pleasure.

His lack of consideration branded him an idiot. Thankfully, she would not allow him to remain one. He desperately hoped that her confidence in him was not misplaced.

In an abstract sense, he had assumed she would enjoy their coupling, but her enjoyment had been a product of the act itself rather than any competence that he possessed.

Or in his case, didn’t possess. Admitting failure before he failed was presumptuous.

It would also probably be smart. Or at least necessary.

What did he know of feminine pleasure?

Not nearly enough.

Appropriately setting her expectations meant she was less likely to be disappointed and therefore was less likely to leave him if he failed. He hadn’t come this far to lose her now.

“I don’t…uh…know much about ravishment.”

Sinking to her chin in the small tub, she closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the edge. “But you do know that it requires proximity.”

A nervous chuckle escaped as he shuffled closer. “I suppose that’s true.”

With her eyes still closed, her hand rose out of the tub and beckoned him to her side.

Powerless to resist, he approached, not stopping until his thighs met the side of the tub and he had a clear view of her pale skin, flushed from the heat of the water.

Not much was visible except for the tops of her knees and the swells of her breasts.

Had kneecaps always been erotic? Was that why women wore gowns that fell to the floor?

He’d always thought it was their ankles they were trying to keep covered, but maybe he’d been wrong.

Slowly, her eyes cracked open, and she smiled ruefully. “Bathing in front of you was sexier in my imagination. It’s difficult to achieve alluring in such a tight space. I’m so cramped that all my best bits are hidden.”

A cramped bath couldn’t diminish her beauty.

“You are alluring no matter what you are doing.” Even fully clothed she was stunning.

She chuckled throatily, the sound almost like a caress.

“Besides, you weren’t hidden before you slid into the water.” He would never forget his first glimpse of her bare torso. His gaze had touched every part of her exposed skin, and it had been impossible to look away.

“You still seem nervous,” she observed, using the lavender scented soap that had been provided to wash away the grime of travel.

“Of course,” he grumbled. “I just told you I don’t have much experience at ravishing.” He wasn’t completely inexperienced, but he’d never initiated anyone to pleasure.

“You know how to please yourself.” It didn’t sound like a question.

His cheeks heated to match hers, even though he wasn’t the one immersed in hot water. “Of course.”

“The way I see it, you’re an expert at finding your pleasure, and I’m an expert at finding my pleasure.” She paused, and her hands dipped under the water, swirling it around and further obscuring his view. “It seems as if we ought to be capable of teaching one another what we like.”

How unexpected . “Is it that simple?”

“I believe so.”

Belinda was unique.

Challenging, sometimes. Demanding, others. She always pushed him to consider what he needed from a partner. And what he could give. At the moment, she had done the impossible. She had given him confidence when he had none.

“It might not be perfect between us,” he told her. “Not right away.”

“Who needs perfect?” she asked, rising to her feet, water running rivulets down her flushed torso. “Hand me a towel.”

He complied, watching as she stepped out of the water and used the small towel to pat herself dry.

She tossed the towel on the chair and moved across the room, sprawling out on the bed while making no move to cover her pert breasts or the dark curls nestled between her thighs.

She was comfortable in her nudity in a way he wasn’t sure he would ever achieve. It was undeniably attractive.

“You’re staring,” she said when he made no move to join her on the bed.

“It’s impossible not to,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful.”

He was studying her so closely that it was impossible for him to miss her reaction to his words. The slight stiffening of her limbs. The faint line between her brows. The subtle shifting of her legs.

Did she doubt that she was beautiful?

Or did she just not like when he mentioned it?

“Beauty doesn’t do me much good if you remain on the other side of the room. It can’t bring me pleasure on its own.”

It was jarring to realize he had frozen again. Where was the confidence she had bestowed upon him mere moments ago? “I should join you in bed.”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t.” If he kept hesitating, she was going to doubt that he wanted her. He stumbled forward, his knees hitting the edge of the bed, and looked down at himself. “Maybe I should take off my jacket first.”

“Probably a good idea. At some point, you might want to consider removing more than your jacket. Ravishment requires significantly less clothes, but as you said, we have time…”

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered, still not moving.

“James. If you’ve changed your mind, we don’t have to do this tonight. I promise that I’m ready, but if you aren’t?—”

“I am.” Her words spurred him into action.

“I’m ready. I haven’t changed my mind. Not at all.

” He ripped the lapel of his jacket over his shoulder and yanked the sleeve off his arm.

Once it was free, he was decidedly more graceful as he took the jacket the rest of the way off.

He stripped his waistcoat and then tossed his cravat toward the table before tumbling onto the bed, landing next to her.

“Shirt too,” she said, tugging at the single layer that kept her fingers from touching his bare skin.

Flopping around inelegantly, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor. “Better?” he asked breathlessly.

She smirked. “Much. Now kiss me.”

They moved slowly, perfectly in sync, meeting halfway and pressing their lips together. Just like the last time, lust flooded his senses, obliterating every thought that wasn’t connected to the feel of her. She paused the kiss long enough to whisper, “Touch me.”

Instead of reaching out and running his hand over her lush body, he shifted so they were pressed together, their legs tangling, her soft breasts against his hard chest.

He couldn’t resist rolling until his body blanketed hers. Pleasure exploded everywhere, and he completely lost himself. He kissed her like he’d die if he didn’t. No finesse. No careful exploration. He took and took, and she responded with the same level of fervor.

Moaning loudly, she spread her legs and locked her ankles around his back, anchoring his body to hers. In that position, it was impossible to ignore the way his erection strained the fabric of his trousers.

Why was he still wearing his trousers?

And his boots?

Could he be any more ridiculous?

He tried to lever himself up, and her legs clenched around his hips.

“No,” she said with a gasp. “Don’t go.”

A strangled laugh exploded from his chest. “I’m still half dressed.”

“Ugh. Why?” Her tongue ran along the edge of his beard. “You taste good here. Slightly spicy.”

He groaned and tipped his head to offer better access.

“Mmmm,” she purred, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin below his jaw.

Without any direction from his brain, his body sank against hers once again. Her silky warmth pulled a groan from his chest. The pressure on his cock resumed and he was reminded that he was still wearing his damn trousers.

He needed them off. Now.

“Belinda, please,” he practically begged. “Let me get the rest of my clothes off. It’ll only take a second. I’ll return. Promise.” Nothing could keep him from coming back to her.

Her legs fell open and dropped onto the bed, remaining splayed wide. Resisting the urge to get lost in the gorgeous display she presented, he rose and fumbled through removing his boots and trousers and then tumbled back onto the bed, crushing her into the mattress and locking his lips onto hers.

Minutes passed while they kissed with reckless abandon. Harder. And harder still. As if neither of them could get enough. These kisses were different from the previous ones they had shared, full of passion, almost unchecked and unbelievably good.

Maybe it was because they were committed now.

Or maybe this was how kisses were always meant to be.