Page 55 of To Seduce a Stranger

Beneath his touch, she swallowed. “Yes.”

With a string of kisses, he traced the same path, sucking the pulse point at the base of her throat, then nibbling his way back to her ear to trace its graceful whorl with his tongue.

“Yes.” More exhalation than speech.

Smiling into her neck, he murmured, “Best not give me carte blanche just yet.”

Some of the familiar stiffness returned to her frame, and she drew back. “I did not mean—”

“I know.” She was not ready to be teased. At least, not with words. He returned his hands to the arms of the chair. Held his mouth over hers, almost, but not quite touching. And waited. Counted to ten, while she ventured closer by fractions that would defy measurement. Knew, felt when she wetted her lips with the very tip of her tongue right before she reached him, before their mouths met in a kiss so cautious it hardly deserved the name. Still, it sparked along his skin, made him dig his fingers into the worn upholstery to quell a shudder of need. At this pace, the night would slip away and leave them both unsatisfied.

What better excuse did he need to turn one night into many nights? Into forever.

She leaned closer, increased the pressure of her mouth against his, more eager, but still obviously uncertain. It was his turn to whisper “Yes,” to breathe that word of encouragement across her trembling lips, which parted, although no word passed them. Merely a kiss. Innocent, sweet. The sort that would bring a hardened rake to his knees.

Well, he was already on his knees, but certainly no rake—in truth, his experience was so limited as to be laughable. In this moment he hardly knew whether that was something to be celebrated or regretted. He could almost wish himself as perfectly innocent as she. But also, somehow, skilled enough to feel certain he could bring her perfect pleasure.

Out of their shared uncertainty, they built the kiss with care. Instinctively, she tipped one way, he the other. The soft brush of lips grew firm. The tentative flick of one tongue became a slick tangle of two. Deeper. Longer. Until the air they drew was nothing more or less than one another’s breath, leaving them both light-headed and panting.

When he drew back, her plump lips released him with obvious reluctance. Gradually, her eyes opened, as if she were awakening from an enchanted slumber. What expression did he hope to see in their depths?

He was not fortunate enough to find out. Her lids lifted only far enough to discover that the blanket in which she had been wrapped had slipped to her waist, revealing her shift. With a quick movement, she grabbed it in both hands and tugged it firmly up to her chin, then winced.

“What’s wrong?”

“My—my—” One finger creeped out of its hiding place enough to gesture at the point where her neck and shoulder met.

He recalled her struggle to brush her own hair. “Still sore from all that cleaning you shouldn’t have done?”

A tiny, guilty nod. Two more of her fingers slipped free to work at the knotted muscle.

“Will you let me do that?”

Her dark brows dipped together. “I—I suppose.”

He laid his hand on her shoulder, firmly ran his thumb over the point she had indicated, kneading her soft skin. A gasp parted her lips. When he repeated the motion, her eyes drooped closed and some of the tension began to ebb from her body. On the third pass he leaned in, just to brush her mouth with his, and in another moment, all his ministrations were for her sweet, coaxing lips. Her aching neck and shoulders had been forgotten.

Until he cupped her head with his hand to draw her closer, and her answering whimper spoke more of pain than pleasure.

Chiding himself for his selfishness, he broke the kiss. First things first. After a momentary study of the best way to proceed, he rose and dragged his makeshift bed closer to the fire. “Here,” he said, patting the center. “Sit.”

Hesitantly, she uncurled from the chair, rose, and did as he asked, arranging herself with her legs crossed beneath her, facing the fire. The blanket she wrapped around herself, shawl fashion, allowing it to sag just enough that the tops of her shoulders showed. He sat behind her, his back propped against the chair she had abandoned. “This way, I won’t be tempted to kiss you instead.”

True, the position hid her face from him. But he had not reckoned on the temptations every other part of her seemed to provide. The way a few loose tendrils of hair curled along her neck, marking out winding paths to all the other places he longed to kiss. The curve of her throat, the plump lobe of her ear. Well, the rest of him was simply going to have to be as strong as years of hard work had made his hands. With care, he began to massage her shoulders with long, even strokes that moved steadily upward and outward, drawing her discomfort away. Each touch was rewarded with a moan or a murmur that seemed designed to direct his fingers where she most wanted them to go. Harder. Higher. Here—just here. With each sound, he felt an answering thickening in his groin.

Still, he held his desire in check. Seeking the tender spot behind one shoulder blade, he met the edge of her shift and prepared to pass over it, when the tightly gathered fabric seemed all at once to loosen and let his fingers slip beneath instead. Charlotte must have untied the bow between her breasts. With the sweep of his palms, her shift slid lower, and then there was nothing between his hands and the silky skin of her upper back. Gently—as gently as he could manage—he eased every knot, every ache, every twinge he could find, each one set free with a gasp or a sigh that settled over him like a touch.

On one pass upward, almost to her hairline, the tip of his thumb brushed against something rough. The scratch from her fall the morning after they arrived. “Does that still hurt?”

“No.” As if she had not spoken for days, her voice was husky, too low almost to be heard. She shook her head, too, making the firelight shimmer over her skin.

He sat more upright, desperate, suddenly, for the power to heal all her hurts.

“May I kiss you there?”

This time she did not speak, merely tipped her head forward in a nod of assent that bared the back of her neck to his lips.

“Better?” he asked, when he lifted his head.