Page 46 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

God help her, she simply wantedhim.

“Michael,” she whispered, unable to speak louder than a breath.

He tilted his head back and gazed up at her. As he held her eyes captive with his, his hands slid down her outer thighs to her calves. Then they moved back up and pulled her skirt along with them, baring her legs to the soft firelight.

“Don’t.” She grabbed for her skirt to yank it into place before he could reveal her leg with its hideous scars and shriveled muscles.

He stilled, his hands resting on her knees. “Why not?”

“My leg,” she whispered hoarsely. “I don’t want you to see it.”

“But I’m not afraid to see it. And if I’m not afraid to see it, why should you be afraid to let me?”

“I’m not afraid. I just…” She looked away in shame and whispered painfully, “It’s hideous.”

“It’s part of you. It can’t help but be beautiful.” His voice softened impossibly more. “Please, Clara, let me look at you.”

Closing her eyes, she gave a jerking nod.

Slowly, he slid his hands higher and slipped her skirt along with them. Clara didn’t stop him this time, but she didn’t want to see the look on his face when he saw her leg, didn’t want to see the look of revulsion—or worse, pity.

“Itisa terrible scar,” he murmured thoughtfully as he pushed her skirt past the tops of her stockings. His hand brushed in slow, gentle circles across her outer thigh and the weakened muscles that were half the size of those in her other leg. “But it’s only a scar. It’s only on the surface and has nothing to do with who you truly are in your heart.”

Hot tears gathered at her closed lashes. She wanted to believe him, so desperately, but he was wrong. “I’m not the same person as before,” she breathed out. “It changed me…”

“I know.” His warm breath tickled across her skin as he placed a soft kiss to her thigh just above the lace hem of her stocking. “It made you stronger.” Another kiss, slightly higher on her thigh, lingering slightly longer. “It’s made you even more beautiful.”

“Don’t lie…”

“I’m not. Clara, look at me.” He rested his cheek against her knee. “Please.”

She opened her eyes and blinked to clear the blurring tears. It wasn’t pity she saw on his face or horror—it was love.

“Your nose is tipped up at the end,” he said, “and when you spend too much time in the sun, freckles dot your cheeks.”

Her lips parted, speechless and stunned.

“Your eyes are too big for your face, and one ear is ever so slightly higher than the other,” he said as calmly and casually as if he were discussing the weather instead of criticizing her. “When you smile too brightly, your eyes squint, and you have a habit of slumping to the side when you sit back in a chair. Your wrists are thin, your ankles are thick, and a birthmark mars your left shoulder blade.” He turned his head and pressed his lips against her thigh. “And all your faults taken together still create the most beautiful, most special woman I’ve ever met in my life—that I will ever meet.”

Her lips trembled. “Michael…”

“You’re not perfect, Clara. You never were. This scar doesn’t make you any less beautiful.” He trailed his lips tenderly along the jagged edge that stretched from knee to hip. “You’re beautiful despite this.” He nuzzled his cheek against her leg and let the rough seam scrape lightly at his cheek. “You’re even more beautifulbecauseof this.”

A soft sob fell from her lips, and she reached trembling fingers to stroke through the soft hair at his temple as he gazed up at her. “You’re the only person who would think that’s beautiful.”

“Then lucky me,” he murmured and lowered his mouth to her leg.

Slowly, he brushed his lips higher up her thigh, following the scar up to her hip and moving her skirt out of his way as he went until the muslin gathered around her waist, until her legs were bare to his eyes except for her stockings. Then he placed his hands on her knees and gently parted them.

Clara closed her eyes and breathed deeply to calm herself. Yet it did no good in slowing her racing pulse or quashing the tingling at her core. She was spread open wide to the firelight and the cool air, to his eyes as he undoubtedly gazed at her so shamelessly in the flickering shadows, and to his warm lips as they gently kissed her…right…there.

She sighed and softened beneath his mouth as he teased light kisses against her folds. Her fingers combed through his hair in wordless appreciation of the pleasure he was giving her, and not just physical, although that was simply wonderful. No, it was so much more than that. He made her feel beautiful and feminine again.Alive.

Then he licked deep into her cleft, and she gasped. “Michael!”

His hands slide down to clasp her inner thighs and keep her spread open wide to his mouth as his kisses changed from featherlight teases to long, deep sweeps of his tongue across her folds. Exploring her most secret places, plundering like a thief, he was demanding nothing less of her now than complete surrender to the pleasures he planned on granting her, and she felt herself willingly capitulating as the desire inside her flamed into pulsating need.

She leaned back against the keyboard and grasped at the pianoforte to keep from soaring away as he began to thrust his tongue wickedly inside her. Her hands hit the keys, and the discordant sound of the random, uneven melody she played mixed with the deep moans and light whimpers that tumbled from her.