her.
Earlier, she’d pulled away from him, a frightened little girl. But she wasn’t frightened anymore. And she wasn’t a little girl. She was a woman. Wasn’t that made crystal clear by the portrait? The image on that canvas wouldn’t shrink from her desire. She’d embrace it. And that’s just what Lila wanted to do.
She moved closer. And then—before she could talk herself out of it—she took his hand in hers and put it on her breast.
“Are you sure?” he asked, but he had to already know the answer, because her body was answering for her. Her nipple was peaking, her feet moving closer to press against him.
“I’m sure,” she said. “I want to go a little wild. Just once. Just with you.”
He didn’t require any more convincing. Instead, his mouth closed hungrily on hers, and she felt the low moan escape her and her knees go weak. His arm slid around her waist, holding her up. And then he picked her up, cradling her as he took her the short distance to the bed.
He made quick work of the rest of the buttons, pulling her shirt open and then unfastening her bra. Her breasts popped free, and his thumb found the nipple of one while his mouth closed over the other, sucking and licking and sending a hot wire of heat shooting through her body to tingle between her thighs.
She writhed against him, wanting to lose herself to sensation, but needing to say just one more thing first. Slowly, almost regretfully, she urged his head up, making him look at her.
“Please,” he said. “Don’t tell me to stop.”
“No,” she whispered. “But I need to hear something, even if it’s a lie. I need you tell me that I’m different. That I’m not like all the women before. The ones the magazines say are always in and out of your bed.”
Her words seemed to amuse him, and she fought not to blush. The request was idiotic, of course, but she still wanted the lie. She wasn’t different, and she knew it. But this night was about her. About taking this experience all the way. About being wild and letting go. She could be Delilah Burnett again tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to be the woman on the canvas.
“Nick?” she prodded.
“You’re nothing like the other women I’ve had,” he said, so earnestly that she almost believed him. “You’re special, Delilah. Let me show you just how special you are.”
‡
Chapter Six
L ila was not a virgin, a fact that would surely have shocked her father had the Reverend Burnett had a clue. But she might as well have been, because certainly she’d never felt before the way Nick made her feel now.
His hands stroked her body, which sounded simple enough. But there was nothing simple about the trill of electrical sparks that seemed to skip from his fingertips into her blood, firing her desire and loosening her inhibitions.
His kisses, too, were beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Deep and hot and all consuming, she thought she could get lost in them, and she writhed against him, desperate for that deep heat to fill her—and frustrated that he hadn’t simply ripped her clothes off and thrust himself into her.
“Patience,” he whispered, his voice laced with a small chuckle. “All in good time.”
“How can you do that? How can you know what I’m thinking?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in a grin, and he urged the shirt off her body, leaving her clad only in her bra, and that hanging open, the cups lost somewhere under her arms. “Your body,” he said, pressing a kiss on her neck, and then moving down to kiss between her breasts. “It tells me.”
“Yeah? Well, good.” At least her body was still managing coherent thought. Her mind wasn’t doing nearly as well, dipping low as it was into the swirling abyss of pleasure.
True to his word, Nick understood what she craved even though she could never have voiced her needs, not in a million years. He trailed kisses down her belly, pausing to pay special attention to her navel, his tongue flicking in
Earlier, she’d pulled away from him, a frightened little girl. But she wasn’t frightened anymore. And she wasn’t a little girl. She was a woman. Wasn’t that made crystal clear by the portrait? The image on that canvas wouldn’t shrink from her desire. She’d embrace it. And that’s just what Lila wanted to do.
She moved closer. And then—before she could talk herself out of it—she took his hand in hers and put it on her breast.
“Are you sure?” he asked, but he had to already know the answer, because her body was answering for her. Her nipple was peaking, her feet moving closer to press against him.
“I’m sure,” she said. “I want to go a little wild. Just once. Just with you.”
He didn’t require any more convincing. Instead, his mouth closed hungrily on hers, and she felt the low moan escape her and her knees go weak. His arm slid around her waist, holding her up. And then he picked her up, cradling her as he took her the short distance to the bed.
He made quick work of the rest of the buttons, pulling her shirt open and then unfastening her bra. Her breasts popped free, and his thumb found the nipple of one while his mouth closed over the other, sucking and licking and sending a hot wire of heat shooting through her body to tingle between her thighs.
She writhed against him, wanting to lose herself to sensation, but needing to say just one more thing first. Slowly, almost regretfully, she urged his head up, making him look at her.
“Please,” he said. “Don’t tell me to stop.”
“No,” she whispered. “But I need to hear something, even if it’s a lie. I need you tell me that I’m different. That I’m not like all the women before. The ones the magazines say are always in and out of your bed.”
Her words seemed to amuse him, and she fought not to blush. The request was idiotic, of course, but she still wanted the lie. She wasn’t different, and she knew it. But this night was about her. About taking this experience all the way. About being wild and letting go. She could be Delilah Burnett again tomorrow. Tonight, she was going to be the woman on the canvas.
“Nick?” she prodded.
“You’re nothing like the other women I’ve had,” he said, so earnestly that she almost believed him. “You’re special, Delilah. Let me show you just how special you are.”
‡
Chapter Six
L ila was not a virgin, a fact that would surely have shocked her father had the Reverend Burnett had a clue. But she might as well have been, because certainly she’d never felt before the way Nick made her feel now.
His hands stroked her body, which sounded simple enough. But there was nothing simple about the trill of electrical sparks that seemed to skip from his fingertips into her blood, firing her desire and loosening her inhibitions.
His kisses, too, were beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Deep and hot and all consuming, she thought she could get lost in them, and she writhed against him, desperate for that deep heat to fill her—and frustrated that he hadn’t simply ripped her clothes off and thrust himself into her.
“Patience,” he whispered, his voice laced with a small chuckle. “All in good time.”
“How can you do that? How can you know what I’m thinking?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in a grin, and he urged the shirt off her body, leaving her clad only in her bra, and that hanging open, the cups lost somewhere under her arms. “Your body,” he said, pressing a kiss on her neck, and then moving down to kiss between her breasts. “It tells me.”
“Yeah? Well, good.” At least her body was still managing coherent thought. Her mind wasn’t doing nearly as well, dipping low as it was into the swirling abyss of pleasure.
True to his word, Nick understood what she craved even though she could never have voiced her needs, not in a million years. He trailed kisses down her belly, pausing to pay special attention to her navel, his tongue flicking in
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