She watched his hand as he caressed her. It was so big, so powerful, and so thrillingly male against her pale skin. He moved slowly, a stark contrast to the feverish kissing of just a few minutes earlier. He made her feel like a priceless work of art, and he was studying every curve.

She caught her bottom lip beneath her teeth, a little moan of pleasure slipping through her lips as his hand drew slowly away, teasing her skin until their only connection was his fingertips at her nipple.

“You like that,” he said.

She nodded.

Their eyes met. “You’ll like this even better,” he growled, and then, as she gasped in surprise, he leaned down and took her into his mouth. His tongue rolled across her, and she felt herself tighten into a hard little bud—the sort she normally only felt in the chill of winter.

But she was the farthest thing from cold.

His touch was electric. Her entire body tightened, arching until she had to plant her hands on the bed behind her just to keep from falling over.

“George!” she practically squealed, and once again he shushed her.

“You never learn, do you?” he murmured against her skin.

“You’re the one who’s making me scream.”

“That wasn’t a scream,” he said with a cocky smile.

She eyed him with alarm. “I didn’t mean it as a dare.”

He laughed aloud—although more quietly than she’d done—at that. “Merely planning for the future, when volume is not an issue.”

“George, there are servants!”

“Who work for me.”

“George!”

“When we are married,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers, “we shall make as much or as little noise as we wish.”

Billie felt her face go crimson.

He dropped a teasing kiss on her cheek. “Did I make you blush?”

“You know you did,” she grumbled.

He looked down at her with a cocky smile. “I probably shouldn’t take quite so much pride in that.”

“But you do.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “I do.”

She lifted her gaze to his face, finding that despite the urgency in her body, she was content to take a moment just to look at him. She caressed his cheek, tickling her fingertips with the light growth of his beard. She traced his eyebrow, marveling at how such a straight, firm line could arch so imperiously when he wished. And she touched his lips, which were so improbably soft. How many times had she watched his mouth when he was speaking, never knowing that those lips could bring such pleasure?

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a husky smile.

Her lashes swept up as her eyes met his, and it was only when she spoke that she knew the answer. “Memorizing you.”

George’s breath caught, and then he was kissing her again, the levity of the moment giving way once again to desire. His mouth moved to her neck, teasing along the side, trailing fire in its wake. She felt herself descending, lying back against the bed, and then suddenly he was on top of her, skin to heated skin. Her nightgown slid past her legs, and then it was off completely. She was nude beneath him, without a stitch, and yet somehow it didn’t feel awkward. This was George, and she trusted him.