“I said I wanted to see you.” George dismounted his knee. That really was the only word for it.

Harry spread his arms wide. “Here I am.”

“Naked.”

For the first time, there was a trace of unease in his face. “As my lady wishes.” But he made no move.

She saw it in his eyes; she’d have to undress him herself. She bit her lip, excited and uncertain at the same time. “Sit there.” She pointed to the armchair by the fire.

He obeyed, lounging back, his legs sprawled.

She hesitated.

“I’m yours to do with as you wish, my lady,” he said. The words came out a purr, as if a great cat had granted her leave to pet it.

If she balked now, she’d never find out. She knelt and carefully undid the buttons on his shirt. His hands were draped casually over the chair’s arms, and he made no move to help. She reached the last button and spread the halves of his shirt wide, examining him. The lines of his neck tendons ran down into the hills of his shoulders, smooth and taut. Below, he had small brown nipples, puckered like her own. She touched one with a fingertip and then traced the bumpy ridge of the surrounding dark circle.

He made a sound.

Her gaze flicked to his. His eyes glowed under lowered lids, and his nostrils were flared; otherwise he was still. She looked back to his bare chest. In the center grew dark hairs, and she brushed over them to feel their texture. They were smooth, damp underneath with his sweat. She followed the trail of hair down to his belly where it encircled his navel. How strange. And the hair skimmed lower. It must meet up with . . . She searched the placket of his trousers for the buttons that closed it. His manhood stood up stiffly within the fabric. From the corner of her eye, she saw his hands grip the chair arms, but he let her have her way. She found the buttons. Her hands trembled and one button popped off. She undid the placket and slowly peeled it back while struggling to draw breath.

It stood up all by itself, larger than she’d ever imagined, poking through his smallclothes. The statues lied. There was no way this could fit beneath those puny fig leaves.

It was ruddier than the flesh of his belly, and she could see veins throbbing along the length. The head was bigger than the rest, shining and red. The hair at the base was damp, and when she leaned forward—oh, dear Lord— she could smell him. Male musk, heavy and intoxicating.