“Just a minute,” Alex said, his voice suddenly raspy. “I need a moment to recover.” Charlotte was wearing a creamy silk nightdress of the type he wouldn’t have thought proper ladies ever wore. It had wide lacy straps over her shoulders—but the unique part of the gown was that one of the lacy straps continued straight into the silk. It wandered over Charlotte’s left breast, and Alex could clearly see a small rosy nipple peeping at him. It seemed to wind around the back, and curved to the front just below the waist. But because Charlotte had her legs tucked under her, he could just glimpse a bit of curly dark hair through the lace. Oh, God, she wasn’t wearing anything under the gown.

Alex’s arousal had reached an excruciating point. He tore his eyes away from Charlotte’s waist, taking a deep breath, and readjusted his pantaloons. It would be heaven to take them off, but he didn’t dare frighten her at this point. Still, he looked up and caught her looking at his hands. Instead of looking like a hypnotized deer, she was looking distinctly interested, it seemed to him.

“The next verse?” Charlotte demanded. Alex cleared his throat.

“You sound very tired,” his wife said. “Maybe I could … give you some energy.” To Alex’s utter surprise, Charlotte closed the inch or so between them, so her side was touching his. She swung her legs over his. Then she leaned back on her hands and smiled at him enchantingly.

“Charlotte,” Alex said hoarsely. “If you want me to keep singing, you can’t torment me like this.”

His eyes kindled a blaze in Charlotte that made her simply arch one delicate shoulder, delighting in the way the silk draped over her full breasts. Alex’s hand reached out and almost roughly traced the enchanting, heavy weight of one breast. Charlotte’s eyes darkened but she didn’t push him away. She let her breast stay in his hand and somehow found her voice in the midst of the raging feelings surging through her body. She felt like shamelessly pressing herself into his arms, but instead she said:

“My verse!”

Alex made a strangled noise and pulled his hand back from her breast. He grabbed the two glasses of champagne on the side table and took a gulp from his glass, handing her the other. After he gave her an admonishing look, Charlotte also drank.

“All right,” Alex said finally. “But—for this kind of ballad a singer cannot be as uncomfortably dressed as this particular singer is.” He stood up, swinging Charlotte’s legs off his knees while continuing to talk in a conversational tone. “You know what I mean, Charlotte. That Indian chanter we saw at Astley’s—what was he wearing?”