Page 16 of Prescription for Sin

Already he could imagine her categorising every reaction, every sensation. The thought shouldn’t arouse him. Yet watching her struggle between clinical detachment and raw desire made his blood sing.

“Stand still,” he commanded, his voice rougher than intended. “First lesson is visual appreciation.”

She stiffened as he circled her, his eyes raking over the favourite parts: Even through her proper day dress and what he imagined must be several layers of petticoats, Everett could discern the graceful lines of Emma's figure. She was of average height, her waist trim and emphasized by her bodice's careful tailoring. Her modest bosom suited her slender frame, rising and falling now with quickened breath that betrayed her apparent composure. Though her practical attire was meant to downplay feminine curves, the flare of her hips beneath her skirts hinted at a womanly fullness that stirred his imagination.

Her eyes followed him just as hungrily, roaming over his mouth, throat, chest, and…groin. Her eyes widened slightly at his growing erection, which did nothing to suppress his arousal. Her lips parted as his gaze traced her form. Here was power he hadn’t anticipated. Her responsiveness to his mere visual perusal fragmented his control.

He stopped behind her, close enough to feel her body heat. “Tell me what you feel when I look at you like this.”

“I…” Her voice caught. “I feel as though you’re already touching me.”

The confession sent desire surging through him. Control, Moreland. But how could he maintain distance when she trembled so beautifully under his gaze?

“Explain,” he said, his voice hoarse. God help him, but her confession made him want to replace his gaze with his hands.

“It’s…heat.” She struggled with the words, her lips trembling slightly as vocabulary failed her. “Like sunlight on skin, but more…intense, concentrated where your eyes linger.”

He circled to face her again, letting his gaze drop deliberately to her lips. “Here?”

A soft gasp escaped her. “Yes.”

“And here?” His eyes traced the elegant line of her throat.

“Everett…” His Christian name fell from her lips. It seemed most natural somehow.

The sound of it snapped something in him. He stepped closer until barely a breath separated them. “Look at me, Emma.”

Her eyes met his, pupils dilated with desire, all her careful observations forgotten as she swayed toward him.

“This is lesson one,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure who he was instructing anymore. “How a simple look can undo all our careful restraint.”

“Is this…” She wet her lips, the gesture making him suppress a groan. “Is this what my sister meant about sparks?”

“No.” He leaned closer, his lips a whisper from her ear. “This is merely kindling. The sparks come later.”

Her sharp intake of breath made him pull back slightly, needing to see her face. The proper Miss Brown was unravelling before his eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, and that brilliant analytical mind struggled to catalogue sensations that defied documentation.

“Your breathing has altered,” she observed.

“As has yours.” He watched her chest rise and fall rapidly beneath her bodice. “Tell me, does this feel like your previous…experiments?”

“No,” she whispered. “Those were clinical. This feels…”

“Dangerous?” He supplied, guilt twisting with desire in his gut. If she only knew how dangerous. For both of them.

“Yes.” Her eyes locked with his. “I find I don’t want to stop.”

Lord help him, neither did he. The way she was looking at him now, equal parts trust and awakening desire, made his blood rush southward with alarming speed. Every fibre of his being ached to crush her against him, but no. He wanted—no, needed—to be worthy of that trust, even as baser instincts screamed at him to claim her soft mouth with his own and damn the consequences.

“Emma,” he started, his resolve wavering.

“Please,” she interrupted. “Don’t stop the lesson yet.”

Everett stepped back, running a hand through his hair. The motion seemed to fascinate her. He caught her studying the flex of his arm, the way his borrowed shirt pulled across his shoulders.

“The first lesson is nearly complete,” he said, forcing steadiness into his voice.

“But I’ve barely begun to understand.”