Deliberately, he used the flower to caress the arch of her foot, back and forth. Her toes curled in response, and she sighed but didn’t pull away.

“How was that?” he murmured.

“Unexpectedly…” She blinked, searching for the word. “… Arousing.”

“We’ve only just begun,” he said, feeling hopeful—and, maybe, a little smug. Using the lightest touch of the flower petals, he traced a path from her ankle to her knee to her thigh.

She remained still as a statue, but he heard her sharp intake of breath. “Reese,” she said, his name a plea on her lips.

“Will you lie down, Sophie?” he asked. “Lie down and try to relax.”

She tucked a pillow under her head, stretched out on her side, and smiled. “Our roles have reversed. I’m supposed to tell you to lie down and relax.”

“Then I’ll lie down too,” he said, propping himself on an elbow and facing her.

When she gazed at him sensuously, expectantly, he chuckled. “You might be the death of me,” he said. “And if you are, I can think of no better way to go.”

“But I haven’t done anything,” she said, mildly affronted.

The rock-hard erection in his trousers was evidence to the contrary, and, if she happened to look in that direction, the proof would be difficult to miss.

“I meant it purely as a compliment,” he assured her, trailing the flower lightly across her forehead. “Close your eyes, Soph.”

Her eyelids fluttered shut and the corner of her mouth curled in a half smile. “Very well. But I’m only agreeable because I find myself exhausted after beating you so soundly in our race.”

He chuckled again. “Stands to reason,” he said, letting the petals drift over her eyes and cheeks and under her chin.

“That feels so … nice,” she breathed, snuggling into her pillow.

“Imagine that it’s me touching you,” he whispered. “My fingertips running over your skin. My mouth tasting your lips.” He brushed the peony over her bare shoulder and down the length of her arm, lingering on the back of her hand.

“You shouldn’t say such wicked things,” she teased, her thick lashes still flush against her cheeks.

“Saying wicked things isn’t against the rules,” he quipped. “Besides, there was nothing wicked in what I said.”

“No?”

“No. I keep the wicked things in my head. It’s a mad crush of improper thoughts in there.” For example, at that very moment he was imagining ripping open the front of her shift and burying his head between her breasts before working his way down her belly, spreading her thighs apart and—

“Reese?” she said, her voice raspy.

He shifted to make more room for his erection. “Yes?”

“I’m pretending, like you said. I’m imagining that you’re touching me, and while I know it’s probably not as good as the real thing…”

“Definitely not as good,” he confirmed.