Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake
Page 61
It was quite obvious.
Ralston seemed to read her thoughts, taking the linen back from her. “You should be discovered in seconds, Empress. Best let me help.” His gaze took on a wicked gleam. “I promise to be the perfect gentleman.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled at his words, so ridiculous were they. His face broke into a wide grin and, after a moment’s thought, she gave in. Slipping out of the jacket once more, she shyly turned her back to him, holding one end of the fabric tight against her br**sts. She waited for him to begin wrapping her in the linen, but he did not move. After a long minute, she looked over her shoulder to find him mere inches away, watching her. She offered him a questioning look.
“Turn.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. He wanted her to spin into the bandages, instead of standing still and allowing him to wrap her. She did so, slowly, understanding almost immediately the seductive nature of the situation. Something about the movement, about his dark blue eyes on her as she spun, made her feel like a temptress—his Salome. He did not touch her as she turned, dancing only for him; instead, he allowed her to choose the speed and the strength with which she was bound. And when she reached the end of the fabric, she spun right into his arms.
Holding her gaze, Ralston tucked the end of the linen into the bindings before he took her face in one hand and tilted it up for another kiss. This one was soft and sweet, his lips brushing gently across hers in an excruciatingly slow caress, leaving her heart pounding and her mind reeling. With his other hand, he stroked one flattened breast gently, teasing the protected skin until she wanted to tear off the bindings again.
He broke off the kiss and leaned down, setting his lips to the edge of the linen, softly laving the sensitive skin straining above the bindings. “Poor, lovely darlings,” he murmured, worshipping her with hands and mouth, raising her temperature and sending another wave of passion pooling deep within her.
Just as she thought she might not be able to stand if he continued, he stopped, bending to retrieve her fencing jacket, carefully pulling it over her bandaged arm and tucking her into it, deftly fastening the buttons as she watched, her emotions wreaking havoc on her ability to accomplish anything useful.
When he was done, he stepped away, toward the pile of fencing accoutrements they had abandoned earlier. She watched as he stopped just off the mat to pick up the piece of paper that had fallen unseen when he had removed her bindings. She immediately recognized it and was spurred into motion, calling out, “Wait. Don’t.”
He paused in the act of opening the folded sheet and, curiosity in his blue eyes, watched her approach. She placed one hand over his, taking hold of the paper and attempting to pull it from his fingers, but his grip tightened.
“Why not?” he asked, his words smooth and teasing.
“It’s mine.”
“It seems you misplaced it.”
“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to unbind my—” She stopped, unwilling to finish the sentence.
His raised a brow. “Yes, well, I’m certainly not going to apologize for that.”
She squared her shoulders, attempting her most regal of poses. “Nevertheless, it’s my property.”
With a quick move of his wrist, Ralston ensured that she had lost her grip on the paper and he, once more, was in full possession of her list. Her heart jumped into her throat as he moved to open it once more. “Please, Gabriel. Don’t.”
Whether because of the use of his given name, or because of her pleading tone, he would never know, but Ralston stayed his movement, instead meeting her gaze, and saying, “What is it, Callie?”
She shook her head, looking away from him, and stammered, “It’s nothing…It’s silly…It’s personal.”
“Tell me what it is, and I shan’t look at it.”
Her eyes flew to his. “That rather defeats the purpose of your not looking at it, doesn’t it?” she said, peevishly.
He was silent, turning the crinkled paper over and over in his hand. She sighed, irritated. “Fine. It’s a list.” She put out one hand, as though he would place the paper in her palm, and that would be that.
His look turned quizzical. “What kind of list?”
“A personal list,” she said, attempting to infuse her voice with ladylike disdain, hoping the tone would make him feel ungentlemanly and relinquish this particular battle.
“A personal shopping list? A list of inappropriate books you’d like to read? A list of men?” She blushed at the thought, and he paused, his eyes widening. “Dear God, Callie, is it a list of men?”
She stomped her foot in irritation. “Good heavens, no! It isn’t really relevant what the list contains, Ralston. What is relevant is that it belongs to me.”
“Not a good answer, Empress,” he said, and began to unfold the paper.
“Wait!” She placed a hand over his once more. She couldn’t bear the idea of him seeing her secret desires. Refusing to meet his gaze, she said, “If you must know, it is a list of…activities…that I would like to try.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Activities. Most of which men can partake in but women are barred from for fear of our delicate reputations. I’ve decided that, considering few care a whit for my reputation, I have no reason to sit quietly whiling away the rest of my days doing needlepoint with my sisters in spinsterhood. I am tired of being thought of as passive.”
He raised a brow. “You may be many things, Empress. But I would never label you as passive.”
Ralston seemed to read her thoughts, taking the linen back from her. “You should be discovered in seconds, Empress. Best let me help.” His gaze took on a wicked gleam. “I promise to be the perfect gentleman.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled at his words, so ridiculous were they. His face broke into a wide grin and, after a moment’s thought, she gave in. Slipping out of the jacket once more, she shyly turned her back to him, holding one end of the fabric tight against her br**sts. She waited for him to begin wrapping her in the linen, but he did not move. After a long minute, she looked over her shoulder to find him mere inches away, watching her. She offered him a questioning look.
“Turn.”
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. He wanted her to spin into the bandages, instead of standing still and allowing him to wrap her. She did so, slowly, understanding almost immediately the seductive nature of the situation. Something about the movement, about his dark blue eyes on her as she spun, made her feel like a temptress—his Salome. He did not touch her as she turned, dancing only for him; instead, he allowed her to choose the speed and the strength with which she was bound. And when she reached the end of the fabric, she spun right into his arms.
Holding her gaze, Ralston tucked the end of the linen into the bindings before he took her face in one hand and tilted it up for another kiss. This one was soft and sweet, his lips brushing gently across hers in an excruciatingly slow caress, leaving her heart pounding and her mind reeling. With his other hand, he stroked one flattened breast gently, teasing the protected skin until she wanted to tear off the bindings again.
He broke off the kiss and leaned down, setting his lips to the edge of the linen, softly laving the sensitive skin straining above the bindings. “Poor, lovely darlings,” he murmured, worshipping her with hands and mouth, raising her temperature and sending another wave of passion pooling deep within her.
Just as she thought she might not be able to stand if he continued, he stopped, bending to retrieve her fencing jacket, carefully pulling it over her bandaged arm and tucking her into it, deftly fastening the buttons as she watched, her emotions wreaking havoc on her ability to accomplish anything useful.
When he was done, he stepped away, toward the pile of fencing accoutrements they had abandoned earlier. She watched as he stopped just off the mat to pick up the piece of paper that had fallen unseen when he had removed her bindings. She immediately recognized it and was spurred into motion, calling out, “Wait. Don’t.”
He paused in the act of opening the folded sheet and, curiosity in his blue eyes, watched her approach. She placed one hand over his, taking hold of the paper and attempting to pull it from his fingers, but his grip tightened.
“Why not?” he asked, his words smooth and teasing.
“It’s mine.”
“It seems you misplaced it.”
“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to unbind my—” She stopped, unwilling to finish the sentence.
His raised a brow. “Yes, well, I’m certainly not going to apologize for that.”
She squared her shoulders, attempting her most regal of poses. “Nevertheless, it’s my property.”
With a quick move of his wrist, Ralston ensured that she had lost her grip on the paper and he, once more, was in full possession of her list. Her heart jumped into her throat as he moved to open it once more. “Please, Gabriel. Don’t.”
Whether because of the use of his given name, or because of her pleading tone, he would never know, but Ralston stayed his movement, instead meeting her gaze, and saying, “What is it, Callie?”
She shook her head, looking away from him, and stammered, “It’s nothing…It’s silly…It’s personal.”
“Tell me what it is, and I shan’t look at it.”
Her eyes flew to his. “That rather defeats the purpose of your not looking at it, doesn’t it?” she said, peevishly.
He was silent, turning the crinkled paper over and over in his hand. She sighed, irritated. “Fine. It’s a list.” She put out one hand, as though he would place the paper in her palm, and that would be that.
His look turned quizzical. “What kind of list?”
“A personal list,” she said, attempting to infuse her voice with ladylike disdain, hoping the tone would make him feel ungentlemanly and relinquish this particular battle.
“A personal shopping list? A list of inappropriate books you’d like to read? A list of men?” She blushed at the thought, and he paused, his eyes widening. “Dear God, Callie, is it a list of men?”
She stomped her foot in irritation. “Good heavens, no! It isn’t really relevant what the list contains, Ralston. What is relevant is that it belongs to me.”
“Not a good answer, Empress,” he said, and began to unfold the paper.
“Wait!” She placed a hand over his once more. She couldn’t bear the idea of him seeing her secret desires. Refusing to meet his gaze, she said, “If you must know, it is a list of…activities…that I would like to try.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Activities. Most of which men can partake in but women are barred from for fear of our delicate reputations. I’ve decided that, considering few care a whit for my reputation, I have no reason to sit quietly whiling away the rest of my days doing needlepoint with my sisters in spinsterhood. I am tired of being thought of as passive.”
He raised a brow. “You may be many things, Empress. But I would never label you as passive.”
