Page 135 of A Portrait of Love

“You should finish your supper,” she said, mortified by her emotional display. Only Simon could make her come apart this way.

He shook his head and then winced.

“What is it?” she demanded. “Are you hurt?”

He grimaced. “A bit of chaffing on my left side from all that walking,” he admitted.

“Lie down on the bed and I shall put on your salve.”

His beautiful lips curled up at the edges, his sinful smile causing the predictable reactions in her body. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered.

Honey froze like a startled hare, her heart pounding at the hungry glint in his eyes.

Simon stepped away from her and pulled the sash that held his robe closed, shrugging the heavy brocade garment to the floor.

Honey wasn’t surprised to see that he was erect—she rarely saw him any other way.

“Turn around,” he said, “I’ll be your maid.”

“Simon, you need to—”

“Hush and turn.”

Honey complied.

He nibbled at the back of her neck while his fingers worked on her gown. “You smell so good,” he murmured, thrusting his hard shaft against her lower back, the heat of him scorching even through several layers of dress. “What is it?”

“It’s lemon verbena soap,” she said, her voice quivering.

“Mmm,” he nuzzled, his hips lazily thrusting.

“You need your salve first.” She’d meant the words to sound like an order, but they came out more like a plea.

He chuckled and pushed her dress to the floor. A moment later he had her out of petticoat, stays, and chemise, down to only her stockings and shoes.

He dropped to his haunches and Honey stared down at his broad, muscular back as he removed her slippers and rolled down her stockings, his motions gentle and almost worshipful.

His body was every bit as much of a canvas as those she stretched and prepared. He was raw, masculine beauty, the scars and burns only adding to his appeal. Her heart ached for the painful story his battered skin told—as clearly as any painting—and she loved him with a fierce, almost primal desire.

He stood, his eyes black with need. “I want—”

Honey shook her head. “Salve, first. Go lie on the bed.”

His expression went from lusty to shocked to delighted. “Yes, ma’am.”

He pulled back the bedding and sprawled out like a starfish, his erection jutting proudly.

Honey rolled her eyes at his shameless behavior.

“I can’t believe you are so cruel,” he murmured, his big hand curling around the base of his endlessly fascinating organ. “Can’t you see my need?”

She snorted. “I think your need is probably visible from several miles away.”

He gave a roar of laughter. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Honey yanked her gaze away from evidence of his need, fetching the salve from his dressing table before returning to the bed.

He was stroking himself, beads of moisture leaking from the tiny slit.