She’d freed only three buttons from their mooring when he stretched his arms up, grabbed the back of his shirt, and tugged it over his head, a wider expanse of skin coming into view to delight her as he tossed the shirt aside. By inches, it missed the chair where his other clothing had been relegated earlier.

Without thought, merely giving in to her instincts, she flattened her palms against his chest, so warm, so firm. She flicked a finger over one of his erect nipples. He groaned low, grabbed her hips, and pressed her more solidly against him. She’d been shocked the first time to feel the hard length of him, to know he was well and truly prepared to possess her. But it seemed now he was even more ready.

Then his mouth once again claimed hers, with fervent devotion. Each time she thought he’d given all he had to give, he gave more. She glided her hands up his chest, around his neck, up into his hair, relishing the feel of the thick strands curling around her fingers. Pressing her knees against his hips—feeling power in his accompanying growl—she wrapped her legs around him, bringing him ever nearer. In spite of the layers of silk and satin separating them, she could feel the strength and heat of him. He caused her to burn for him, to experience wild and incredible sensations she hadn’t even known were available to her. He made her feel alive, as though lightning rather than blood coursed through her veins.

She became aware of his hands at her back, of those long, nimble fingers making short work of her lacings, causing her bodice to loosen and fall forward slightly. Leaning back, he dipped his gaze to his fingers as they slowly trailed along her skin at the edge of the fabric, easing the gown off her shoulders. The heat flaring in his eyes was an aphrodisiac in its intensity. She’d longed to have a man gaze on her just so, to see his want and need bared—raw and primal.

“Shouldn’t we douse the lamps?” Her voice sounded small, as though it were enthralled by him and didn’t want to be disturbed from the enjoyment he was delivering.

“No.”

So simple, yet so profound an answer. As a delicious shudder rippled through her, she considered it a miracle that she continued to find the wherewithal to draw in breath. The appreciation for her washing over his features held her captive.

Her bodice slipped away, and the heat in his eyes burned hotter, his nostrils flaring, his breathing going shallow. Using the side of a single finger, the one that bore the scar, he traced the path of her chemise where it lay against her skin, his finger deliciously rough against the soft mounds of her bosom. “Your skin reminds me of silk, only softer.”