Page 42 of The Rogue’s Runaway Bride (Rogue of Her Own #3)

A s she tiptoed to Jon’s bedchamber, Belle felt as if butterflies were fluttering about in her stomach.

Not quite an hour had passed since she’d left him in his study—not quite an hour since she’d asked him to make a rather daring promise—and now, her mind raced.

Not with doubt. But with anticipation flavored by a slight bit of trepidation.

Once she’d returned to her chamber after making her bold proposition, Belle faced a reality she had lost sight of in the heat of the moment. What precisely did one wear to be seduced? Or, for that matter, to seduce the man her heart desired?

She’d scanned the wardrobe Ellie had selected for her not once, not twice, but three times before coming to the conclusion that she did not possess a single garment that might be considered alluring.

That certainly had not been a consideration when Ellie had gone on her shopping spree for Belle’s benefit.

Tweed walking suits. Sensible dresses suited to teaching a small child and assisting Mrs. Gilroy about the house.

A warm flannel nightdress. Belle simply did not possess any garment that a woman might choose for her first night with the man who’d captured her heart.

With a sigh, she’d settled on the only logical alternative.

She’d undressed and soaked in a hot tub of lavender-scented water for a time, if only to relax herself, and then, she’d slipped into a white cotton chemise trimmed with a single delicate row of lace.

It would simply have to do. Tying her dressing gown around her, she quietly left her room.

She rapped lightly upon the door and stood at the threshold to his bedchamber. Heart pounding. Mouth dry. Pulse beating in her ears.

It isn’t too late , a little voice deep within reminded her. She could still change her mind. Jon would understand.

But she didn’t want to give in to the nervous flutters deep within her. She didn’t want to go back.

She only wanted to be with him.

The door opened quietly, without so much as a squeak of the hinges. Jon stood before her, wearing loose trousers and a robe he hadn’t bothered to tie. As the garment shifted, she caught a glimpse of sleek, muscled abdomen.

Her mouth went dry—with longing or nerves, she couldn’t quite be sure.

“So, it is you,” he said with a sly smile. He toyed with the robe belt that dangled loosely. “Until I was sure, I didn’t want to take a chance at shocking Mrs. Gilroy.”

She hiked her chin and met his eyes. Despite the confident half-smile on his face, questions blazed in his dark gaze. “Did you doubt I would dare to come here?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” His shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug, further opening the robe, further displaying his lean, strong upper body.

His gaze drifted over her, seeing to focus on the well-tied dressing gown that effectively shielded every inch of her below her chin from his gaze.

“You’re positive... positive you want to be with me? ”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” She struggled to keep her tone light, as if coming to a man’s bedchamber at night when the rest of the house slept soundly in their beds was as ordinary as rising with the sun.

“Yes, you most definitely are.” A charming look of amusement flashed in his eyes. “But if you cinch that robe any more tightly, you might not be able to breathe.” He took the ends of her dressing gown tie in his hands. “You’re entirely sure about this?”

“I am,” she replied, even as her heartbeat quickened.

He leaned against the doorframe, looking quite relaxed. “I do see one problem, Belle.”

Her brows hiked. Was the man actually stalling? “And what might that be?”

A grin pulled at his full mouth. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re still not in the room. I suppose I should do something about that.”

Without warning, he took her in his arms, lifting her easily in his powerful hold. A thrill coursed through her at the feel of his sleek muscles tensing against her body, at the display of purely masculine power as he carried her over the threshold.

“I’ve never done that before,” he said with a brief grin. “I could get used to this.”

“Could you now?” she teased. Truth be told, so could she.

He quietly nudged the door closed behind him with his foot, then carried her across the room. Gently, he placed her atop his bed before returning to the door to fasten the lock. When he turned back to her, a spark lit his eyes.

“Perhaps I shall carry you to my bed each and every night. This might well become a habit.”

What a wonderfully romantic thought. Belle nibbled her lip. At least until we’re both old and our bones are quite creaky.

Oh, she was letting her hopes run wild, wasn’t she?

Envisioning a life with Jon—a life in which they would grow old and cranky and creaky together—was a pleasant daydream.

But she had to be realistic. She had to focus on the present.

On the moments they would share. On the sweet memories they would make on this one delicious night.

He shrugged off the robe and carelessly tossed it over the back of a chair. Watching him intently, she pushed herself up on her elbows. The sconce on the wall cast a golden illumination over the chamber, lending a striking contrast of light and shadows to the contours of his body.

Oh, my. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen him without his shirt. It wasn’t even as if they’d never kissed or touched or tempted fate before. In New York, they’d shared many heady moments.

But never had she ever seen him look at her quite the way he looked at her at that moment. The intensity in his gaze made her mouth go even drier than the sight of his chiseled form and set her pulse racing. A primal anticipation coursed through her, tempered by a twinge of apprehension.

She gulped a breath, steadying herself. It wouldn’t do for her to make him think she was frightened. After all, this was what she wanted. What she craved. What she needed.

But it was so very new. And a bit disconcerting.

She knew the elements of what she thought was about to happen between them.

Her mother had had that talk with her—brief and awkward as it had been—quite some time ago.

But she didn’t quite know what to do. What was the acceptable sequence of events?

It wasn’t as though Mama had described the precise manner in which to seduce a man.

Or to be seduced by him, for that matter.

Lying there on his bed, she allowed her gaze to drink him in.

By Athena’s spear, he was a handsome man.

A true feast for her eyes. The slightly wanton thought brought a little smile to her lips.

And tonight, he would be hers. She would savor each and every delicious moment in his arms. And nature would take its course. Wouldn’t it?

She watched him without shyness as he quietly stalked toward the bed.

His dark trousers hung low, revealing carved hipbones and a line of dark hair—perhaps even darker than the hair that feathered over the muscles of his broad chest—that trailed beneath the waist of the pants.

She couldn’t quite explain why, even to herself, but she longed to touch the sleek muscle of his upper body, the strong biceps and powerful, athletic chest and flat, muscled abdomen.

She’d expected he would come to her then. She’d envisioned him joining her on the bed and making love to her.

Instead, he studied her, the slightest of smiles curving his full mouth. “Tell me the truth, Belle—are you nervous?”

She couldn’t lie. He would see right through her. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

“That’s natural, love.” His voice was low and edged with gravel. “I’ve had my own battle with nerves.”

She blinked with surprise. He was a rogue. A man of the world. And yet, he was standing before her, telling her that he was not as unwaveringly confident as one might’ve thought. How very surprising. And delightful. “You have?”

“At this very moment, my heart is pounding.” He prowled onto the bed, close enough that she could touch him. Very slowly and gently, he took her hand and pressed it to his chest. “Feel that, Belle. Feel the effect you have on me.”

The strong throb of his heart radiated through his chest and against her palm. “At this moment, my heart beats for you.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “Ah, my Arabelle. It’s every moment of every blasted day.”

His hands went to the tie on her dressing gown. He met her eyes, waiting. And when she nodded, he untied the robe. With exquisite gentleness, he peeled away the fabric that had covered her.

As she lay before him, she felt her nipples pebble against the delicate fabric of her chemise. When he spoke, his voice was husky and roughened with emotion. “I want to touch you, darling.” He drew his fingers over the curve of her still-closed breast. “I want to kiss you, my sweet Belle.”

“Oh, yes,” she said on a little moan.

Slowly, he unbuttoned the tiny fasteners at the top of the thin gown. His gaze heated as he exposed her to his eyes. And then, he caressed her with his hands and his lips until she was wild with sensation. Wild with wanting.

“Ah, Belle, I want to see you.” He kissed her, unleashing a fresh current of passion. “All of you.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “I’d like that.”

As he eased the chemise over her, she shimmied out of the garment. With a little smile at the sense of freedom, she took the cotton gown in one hand and tossed it aside.

Never had she felt so very free. Lying on his bed, completely bared to his eyes, it felt so natural. So very right.

Heat warmed his gaze. He cupped his fingers beneath her chin and kissed her, a soft, lingering caress that spoke of wanting and adoration. “So, love, are you ready to be wicked?”

“Of course,” she murmured. “Not so very wicked, I suppose.”

“I won’t do anything you do not want me to do.”

“I know,” she said, looping her arms around his neck and bringing him back to her.