by Elsa Holland
But she knew he hadn’t, he had settled on her because he had no other choices, because he wanted to get this over with and spend his time on more important matters.
His fingers stilled. Her chemise hung loose. The full swell of her breasts were clearly visible as was the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried desperately to get enough air. A soft pink hue bled into the creamy white of her skin. There would be no hiding her embarrassment.
“Perhaps I can leave you to slip the rest off, Miss James?” His voice sounded scratchy. He stepped back but did not look away, didn’t give her the comfort of taking the final garments off unviewed.
“Yes,” her voice was scratchy, too.
Elspeth lifted her hands up to her shoulders, his gaze following her movement. There was an understandable tension coming off him as it was her. She slipped the straps over her shoulders and let the garment drop, then shimmied out of her pantaloons and stockings, finally toeing her slippers off.
She wore nothing.
“I’m ready,” she said.
She read nothing in his expression. His body exuded tension but he moved in a perfunctory manner back towards her.
“Do you have any scars or marks I should see?”
She coughed.
Here she was, naked in front of a man for the first time in her life. Her face flaming and he was as clinical as a doctor, as if she was not even remotely attractive.
“I . . . I have a small pox scar.” She showed him her shoulder.
He moved closer, the edge of his jacket touching her, his body heat caressing her. His finger came up to the small scar and moved over it, the circling of his finger on the rounded shape sending unbearable awareness through her body.
“Anything else?” His voice was still tight. He was obviously not as unaffected as he seemed.
“On my shin. I slipped off a jetty.”
“Off a jetty . . .” He repeated and dropped down on his hunches to look at her shin. He ran his finger over it, not once but a few times. The touch sending shimmering sensations up her leg and making her feel oddly restless.
“I’d like to feel the quality of your skin. See if it is as I expect.” Again he pushed to be perfunctory.
Her pulse beat hard at her neck.
“Of course.” Damn it, what else could she say? She was so far from what was normal, what was a familiar exchange, where should a line be drawn? Was there even a line?
His hands wrapped lightly around each of her shins and glided up her legs. A warm caress that cupped behind her knees then swung out to glide up the outside of her thighs. Her legs started to shake.
“Can you do this any faster?” she asked. Her balance wobbled.
“You do not come cheap, Miss James,” was his soft-spoken reply. His focus was on his hands as he rose from his hunches and moved his hands over her belly, up her side to cup her breasts.
Glowing heat pressed into her skin from his hands. Her body reveled in the sensation as her heart pounded and her sex started to throb.
Let this be over, let this be over she chanted, over and over. Hoping against hope that she would get through this without some foolishness, like her kiss on his chin.
Had that just been this morning? Right at this moment, that was a world away.
His eyes met hers as his hands slid around her, drawing her into the circle of his arms as he ran his palms down her back and cupped her bottom.
“Anywhere else, Miss James.”
“What?” her mind couldn’t function.
There was a shift in his features but she didn’t know him well enough to read it.
“We were looking for blemishes, scars, any marks on your skin.”
She could hardly think. There were a couple of scars but they were placed somewhere that she did not want him to look, didn’t want him to touch.
“Miss James?”
“On my inner thigh but I don’t think there is any need…”
His eyebrows rose. Of course they would.
“I fell,” she said quickly. “I landed awkwardly. A branch scraped me . . . broke through my skirts.” She was lucky it did not do more damage. It was so very close to her sex.
He dropped his hands and stepped back.
“Your skin is more than adequate. Let’s finish up the scars and wrap up.”
The promise of a respite made her nod her head.
Blackburn slipped his hand under her thigh, a firm warm clasp as he lifted it and guided her foot to rest on a small foot stool beside them.
“Your thigh, and anywhere else?”
“No, the marks are clustered close to each other.”
They both looked down at her thighs, the soft thatch of hair between them. His hand reached down and a few fingers stroked the raised scar on her right thigh. It tickled and sent a wave of awareness between her legs.
There was another on the other side. He stroked that one too with the same devastating effect to her nerves and sex.
Almost there, almost there.
There was no hiding the mark that ran through the pale hair over the mound of her sex and partially along one labia. “The branch rather hurt,” she whispered. “The hair would cover anything so as not to mar your design.”
“My designs, Miss James, require you to have no hair.”
She turned her head to the side.
This was too much. But she stayed still as those long fingers continued to stroke the top of her thighs.
“Brace yourself Miss James, this is simply a process.”
She knew that but it didn’t feel like that and as much as she was denying the pulsing between them, it thundered in the space between them.
Blackburn moved his fingers then. They ran up her thigh and through the soft hair that covered her sex. Her breathing changed into a strangled pant. Fire burned at her core. His fingers glided over the scar that crossed over the top of her sex.
“Hurry.” Her voice was tight.
His finger ran across the silver line that was all that was left of an awful wound. Her legs started to noticeably shake. Her sex ached, the skin under his touch unbearably sensitive.
“Stop—I would rather a doctor did this.”
Blackburn stilled.
“I have a physician waiting for my summons, he will be here in the hour if you prefer, but make no mistake, we would do this right after he left. I trust no man to make assessments on my investments.”
Damn it.
“I have no more scars. Are we done?”
He moved closer to her. “Not yet. You know that. Just breathe deeply, I’ll be quick.”
Before she could comment, his hand slipped between her legs, pressed into the intimate folds of her.
Her hand clasped over his. “What are you doing?”
“Testing your virtue, Miss James.”
Of course.
It was just that her sex pulsed with need, her body was aching and she needed to collect herself before he touched her again.
“I think I need a moment,” she said.
“Think of England Miss James, I hear it helps.”
Anger spiked through her. “You’re a bastard, Blackburn.”
“Undoubtedly.” She forced her fingers to release his hand. And just like that his fingers pressed into her. A strange but very pleasant sensation. His fingers moved inside her and she could do nothing except hold onto his arms.
They touched something and warmth radiated through her. Touched again and pleasure pulsed. He did it again and her hips wanted press into his touch.
“I want you to stop.”
“Not yet. I am not a doctor, Miss James.” Oh God, there was that glorious sensation again. It rippled out into her pelvis, with wondrous throbbing need.
“Can you not move your fingers so much?” It sounded like a whimper.
“I need to make certain what I am feeling for,”
“Oh god.” She swayed forward as a remarkably powerful wave of sensation pulsed through her. His other hand steadied h
er.
“It could be . . . here.” His fingers moved and her head dropped to his chest. All she wanted to do was spread her legs wider, to press her hips forward onto those searching fingers. Both hands clutched at his coat. His face nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Her mind was foggy and her body drunk with feeling.
“You know exactly what you are doing to me, don’t you.” Her voice was thick.
His teeth bit into her neck. ”Yes, Miss James, I believe I do.”
He lifted his head and she looked up at him.
“Doesn’t it bother you that I hate you?” she panted as a traitorous sound of her dampness contradicted her question.
“No, no I don’t believe it does.” His mouth came over hers and as his tongue slipped into her mouth a pleasure of remarkable intensity blew through her body. Her sex clasped itself around his fingers and made her pull in close against him, his buttons against her naked breast and his tongue deep in her mouth.
Her hips pressed against his hand, hungry and straining as on the inside her muscles rippled and clasped with bliss. She would hate him forever for this.
It was a blessing that she woke with a blanket around her, her clothes neatly placed on a chair next to the sofa she was curled up in.
He was working at his desk. The lights were clearly too low for his needs but he must have taken pity on her.
“I will never like you.”
Blackburn looked up. Nothing about his person or his clothing out of place.
“That is not the purpose of the exercise.”
He stood, his unfathomable gaze raking over her. The power he held now was so much more than before the carnal knowledge he’d imparted to her.
“Can I help you dress? I have signed the papers—all is in order.”
She pushed herself up into a seated position the blanket clasped to her breasts.
“I would appreciate you leaving.”
“You will have to get used to being naked around me at some point.”
“Perhaps I have stretched enough for one night.”
He looked at her and gave a single nod of his head. ”Yes perhaps you have.”
Keep reading . . .
THE PAINTED HEART
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