Page 57 of Beguiling the Baron

She dropped his shirt. Her hands fell away from her body.

He swallowed painfully, once. Twice. “Tia—”

“You dry me.” Her voice was an inviting purr. “Afterward, I’ll dry you.”

Slowly he picked up the shirt, then feasted his eyes on her moon-slick nakedness. The urge to run his hands and his lips over every single inch of her was overpowering. She was well-named Galatea, for every line, curve, shadow, dip and mound of her body was absolute perfection. She could have been the model for Pygmalion’s statue, a breath of ecstasy captured in marble. The gods had truly blessed him tonight, but he was far from worthy of such a gift.

It took every ounce of his self-control, but he did as she wished and started rubbing the shirt briskly across her enticing curves, making sure his fingers never made direct contact.

She moaned softly as he worked across her buttocks and when he came to her rosy-peaked breasts, she reached for him, gripping him hard by the shoulders.

The need to take each peaked nipple in his mouth was so strong, he was dazed and shaken by his efforts to resist.

No. He wasn’t going to tumble her on the ground like some love-crazed country boy but do the thing properly in the comfort of his bed, with plenty of time at their disposal and no fear of discovery.

He stood back, trying to ignore the painfully throbbing demands of his manhood. “Lift your arms,” he ordered roughly. As soon as she did so, he slipped her nightgown on. Now she was decently covered, he hoped to give his violently aroused body a moment’s respite.

“Let’s go inside. We have much to talk about. You haven’t given me your answer yet, and I want to be sure you give the correct one.”

“And how will you persuade me to do that, pray?”

“You’ll see. You’ll see.” He swept her up in his arms and carried her toward the house and the welcoming softness of his bed.