She wriggled-he had to move quickly to catch her other hand before she reduced him to quivering helplessness.
"Dammit, woman-you're supposed to be innocent!"
Her warm chuckle was the very opposite. "I gave you my innocence at The Angel-don't you remember?"
"How could I forget? Every damned minute of that night is engraved on my brain."
She grinned. "Like an etching?"
"If an etching can convey sensations as well, then yes." The memories had warmed him, tortured him, for weeks.
Her grin widened. "In that case, you must recall that I'm not a sweet innocent any more." Her expression softened, and glowed. "I gave you my innocence. It was a gift-won't you accept it?"
Demon stared into her lovely face-he couldn't think.
She dropped her gaze to his lips. "If you won't stay with me here, I'll come back to your lodgings."
"No."
"I'll follow you-you can't stop me." Her lips curved; she met his eyes. "I want to see your etchings."
Demon looked down into eyes so blatantly full of love he wondered how he could have doubted her answer. She loved him, and always had, regardless of whether he loved her. But he did love her-desperately. Which meant they'd marry soon. Why was he holding her away?
He blinked. The next instant, he released her hands, wrapped his arms about her, and pulled her hard against him. "God, you are so stubborn!"
He kissed her-powerfully, passionately, deliberately letting the reins go-feeling her tug them from his grasp and fling them aside.
At some point in the subsequent heated exchange, they surfaced long enough to turn the corner of the gallery and find the door to her room. Once inside, he leaned back against the door-and let her have her way with him. It was a new experience, and oddly precious-to have a woman so wantonly, ravenously, set on ravishing him.
He reveled in it, in the hot kisses she pressed on him, in the greedy clutch of her fingers on his naked chest. She'd wrecked his cravat, crushed his coat and waistcoat-his shirt had lost buttons. When she hummed in her throat and reached for his waistband, he summoned enough strength to back her to the bed. "Not yet." Catching her hands, he stayed her. "I want to see you first."
Despite having had her more than once, he hadn't, yet, had a chance to sate his senses as he wished, and view her totally naked. He wanted that-and he wanted it now.
She blinked as he sat on the bed and drew her to stand between his thighs. "See me?"
"Hmm." He didn't elaborate-she'd catch on soon enough. At The Angel, he'd seen her naked back, but not her naked front-not in any degree of light. Her male attire made undressing her easy-he had her clad only in a whisper-fine chemise in less than a minute.
By then her eyes were round.
He stood. She stepped back, swiftly scanning the room, noting the lighted candles on her dresser and bedside table, the flickering glow cast by the fire. Dispensing with his coat, cravat, waistcoat and shirt took a minute-his boots and stockings took one more.
Then he sat on the bed again, thighs wide. She turned to look at him, then shyly smiled. All but swaying with the force, the steady pounding, of desire, he went to move-to reach out and draw her to him-
She moved first.
With that same, shy smile on her lips, she grasped the hem of her chemise, and slowly drew it off over her head.
His chest locked-if his life had depended on not looking at her-not visually devouring her-he'd have died.
He wasn't sure he hadn't-he couldn't breathe, couldn't think-he certainly couldn't move. Every muscle had seized, poised, ready… It took enormous effort to drag in a breath, to drag his gaze upward from the lithe sweeps of her thighs, from the golden nest of curls at their apex, over the smooth curve of her stomach, up over her waist-one he could span with his hands-to the swells of her breasts, high, pert, and tipped with rose.
Her nipples puckered as his gaze touched them; he felt his lips curve, and knew his smile was hungry.
He was ravenous-aching to have her, to haul her into his arms and possess her, sink his throbbing staff deep into her softness, to ride her into sweet oblivion.
She still held her chemise in one hand, but she didn't clutch it close, didn't try to hide from his hot gaze. She shivered, but let him look his fill; when his gaze reached her face, she met his eyes.
There was no mistaking her glow-it was invitation and known delight-it held a siren's allure, and the confidence of a woman well-loved.