“I adore you,” he murmured, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. He kissed the delicate hollow over her collarbone, reveling in her soft mewl of pleasure. His fingers found the lacy edge of her bodice. “I have dreamed of this.”

“So have I,” she said tremulously, gasping when she heard the unmistakable sound of ripping fabric.

“Sorry,” he said, glancing cursorily at the small tear at the bodice of her frock.

“No you’re not.”

“I’m not,” he agreed cheerfully, taking the edge of the fabric between his teeth.

“Richard!” she nearly shrieked.

He looked up. God, he was like a dog with a bone, and he didn’t care one bit.

Her lips quivered with unspent laughter. “Don’t make it worse.”

He grinned wolfishly, tugging gently with his teeth. “Like this?”

“Stop!”

He released the fabric and used his hands to push her dress down, revealing one perfect breast. “Like this?”

Her only answer was the quickening of her breath.

“Or like this?” he asked huskily, taking her into his mouth.

Iris let out a keening cry, and her hands sank into his hair.

“Definitely like this,” he murmured, teasing her with his tongue.

“Why do I feel that . . . ?” she whispered helplessly.

He looked up in bemusement and echoed, “Why do you feel it?”

Her flush spread from her cheeks to her neck and down. “Why do I feel it . . . down . . . there?”

Maybe he was a rogue. Maybe he was just very very wicked, but he could only lick his lips and whisper, “Where?”

She shuddered with desire, but did not speak.

He slid her slipper from her foot. “Here?”

She shook her head.

His hand slid up her slender calf to the inside of her knee. “Here?”

“No.”

He smiled to himself. She was enjoying their game, too. “What about”—he brought his fingers higher, resting them at the soft crease between her hip and her thigh—“here?”

She swallowed, and her voice was barely audible when she whispered, “Almost.”

He moved closer to his goal, trailing the tips of his fingers through the soft thatch covering her womanhood. He wanted to look at her again, see the impossibly blond curls in light of day, but that would have to wait. He was too busy watching her face as he slid his finger inside her.

“Richard,” she gasped.

He groaned. She was so wet and ready for him. But she was tiny, and as they both well knew, still a virgin. He would have to make love to her with great care, moving slowly and with a gentleness at complete odds with the raging fire burning within.

“What you do to me,” he whispered, taking a moment to regain at least a portion of his composure.