“Don't touch you?” His hand snaked over her midriff and along her hip. “I'm far too gone for that.”

His lips found her jaw, then her neck, then nibbled on her ear. She tasted sweet and clean, and smelled vaguely like the lather he used to shave. He wondered what she'd been doing with herself up in his bathroom, then decided he didn't much care. There was something wildly satisfying about smelling his scent on her.

“Blake,” she said, her voice lacking conviction, “I'm not certain this is what you really want.”

“Oh, I'm certain,” he said with a masculine laugh. “I'm very certain.” He pressed his hips against her as he worked her hair free of its fastenings. “Can't you feel how certain I am?”

He moved his mouth to hers and devoured her, his tongue skimming first along the line of her teeth, then moving to the soft skin of her inner cheek.

“I want to touch you,” he said, his words a soft breath against her mouth. “Everywhere.”

Her dress was flimsy, with few buttons and bows, and it took mere seconds for him to push it over her head, leaving her clad only in a thin chemise. His body tightened yet again as he hooked his fingers under the thin straps that held up the soft slip of silk.

“Did I buy this for you?” he asked, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.

She nodded, gasping as one of his large hands closed over her breast. “When you got me the dresses. It was in one of the boxes you brought back from town.”

“Good,” he said, then pushed the strap over her shoulder. His lips found the elegantly stitched lace that edged her bodice, and he followed it as he pushed it down, stopping only when he reached the pinkened edge of her nipple.

She whispered his name as he kissed the dusky aureole, then nearly shouted it when he closed his mouth around her nipple and began to suck.

Caroline had never felt anything as wonderfully primitive as the sensations curling in her belly. Pleasure and need were unfolding within her, spreading from the very center of her being to every inch of her skin. She'd thought she'd felt desire when he'd kissed her that morning, but it was nothing compared to what was devouring her now.

She looked down at his head at her breast. Good Lord, he was devouring her.

She was hot, so hot, and she thought she must be burning up wherever he touched her. One of his hands was now creeping up her calf, and his trouser-clad knee was using gentle pressure to open her legs. He settled his weight between them, and the hard proof of his arousal pressed up against her intimately.

His hand moved ever higher, past her knee, along the smooth skin of her inner thigh, and then it paused for a moment, as if giving her one last chance to refuse.

But Caroline was too far gone. She could refuse him nothing, for she wanted everything. Perhaps she was wanton, perhaps she was shameful, but she wanted every wicked touch of his hands and mouth. She wanted the weight of him pressing her into the ground. She wanted the rapid beat of his heart and ragged rasp of his breath.