The hem of the nightgown had been pushed to my hips, exposing my backside and the length of my leg. His fingers trailed up and down, delicately tracing the curve of my thigh and the dip between my buttocks. Teasing me softly. Burning me slowly.

My nipples puckered, and the muscles low in my belly clenched lazily, heatedly. It was the best torture. And the worst. If I rolled toward him and let him know I was awake, would he stop?

Please, don’t stop.

But he did. Yanking away his hand, he shifted to his back and released a tight breath. My heart thrashed in my ears as I waited, anticipating the heave of his body leaving the bed. In three…two…one…

Right on cue, he rose and treaded toward the balcony.

I understood his conflict. If he made love to me, he would no longer be putting his country before himself. A man of his stature and moral rightness didn’t bed his prisoners. I was his enemy just as he was mine.

But that line had already blurred, whether or not we consummated our forbidden desires.

I made a decision.

Quietly, I slipped from the bed and pulled off my nightgown. On silent feet, I crossed the chamber to the balcony and stood a few paces behind the lord and master.

Completely nude, he bent at the rail and stared out at the sea, the muscles contracting in his back as he sluggishly stroked himself. Defined sinews etched his biceps. Cords strained along his neck. Twin depressions dimpled the muscles above his taut arse. The sight of his glorious, battle-honed physique flooded me with need.

Then he paused.

“I know you’re there.” His voice rasped, thick with lust. “You’ve been watching me like this most nights.”

Languid, slow-burning eddies pooled in every corner of my body. I opened my mouth, yet no sound came forth.

He began to stroke anew, harder, rougher, his deep voice snapping like a whip. “Come here.”

31

Cautious excitement streamed through my veins, shimmering with barmy bubbles of desire.

As I padded toward Ashley’s nude back, he didn’t turn, didn’t remove his hand from that which he stroked between his legs.

Reaching for him, I ran my fingers across the tight muscles flanking his spine. His breath rushed out, and his body grew impossibly harder, stiffer. Closer, I teased my bare nipples against his back. Then my lips. My tongue.

A violent tremor raced through him, and we shuddered together.

I kissed his shoulder blades, tasting salt mist and lust on his damp, velvety skin. My hand trailed down his bulging arm. I kept going, past his elbow, around to the front of his hips, and gripped him where he gripped himself.

Thick, swollen, masculine need overfilled my palm. He groaned, deep and throaty. My mouth dried. My skin caught fire.