Page 34 of Prescription for Sin

"This is the last time," she whispered, and he heard how it cost her pride to yield even this much. "Then you leave."

He smiled sadly, knowing she thought herself safe in setting such limits. As if he hadn't already lost himself to her completely. His hands slid into her hair, releasing pins until golden strands tumbled free. Each brush of silk against his fingers was exquisite torment.

He bent to her throat, breathing in her familiar lavender scent mixed with something uniquely Emma. His lips found her pulse point, feeling how it raced beneath his mouth.

"Sight, sound, scent... We covered those," he murmured against her skin, each word a caress. "Tonight, we explore light touch. Real, not the careful distance we've maintained."

His fingers traced her collarbones with deliberate precision, feeling her shiver despite her anger. Every small response fed his hope.

"Every touch before was a torment," he confessed, his breath catching as she unconsciously swayed toward him. "Knowing I couldn't tell you who I really was." His hands skimmed down her arms, raising gooseflesh in their wake. The sight of her body responding to him while her mind still fought made his chest ache.

"Pretty words from a practiced liar." But even as she spoke, he felt her lean into his touch as he cradled her face.

"I shall prove it without words." His thumb traced her lower lip again, feeling it tremble beneath his touch. "Show you the one truth I never lied about."

"How?" The word emerged barely more than a breath.

"Close your eyes." He kept his voice low, intimate. "Don't open them until our lesson is complete."

"So you can better deceive me?"

Her challenge struck home, but he noticed how her pulse jumped beneath his fingers. "If it eases your mind, I shall close mine too." He let his eyes drift shut, focusing entirely on the feel of her. "No lies, no masks. Just sensation."

His fingers skimmed her throat professionally. "Notice the difference between a physician's touch"—then he slowed, made the same caress deliberately sensual—"and this."

He felt her shiver, heard her small intake of breath. When he opened his eyes briefly, he saw hers had drifted shut despite her obvious reservations. Victory and tenderness warred in his chest.

His hands began their careful exploration, alternating between clinical assessment and sensual touch. He mapped her pulse points with medical precision, cataloguing her racing heartbeat while his own thundered in response. Then he traced patterns designed to make her quiver, learned from years of studying the human body, though never had anatomy felt quite so compelling.

"You feel the difference?" His voice rumbled low as he felt her unconsciously press closer. "Between touching to heal and touching to worship?"

"Worship is a strong word." She likely meant to sound dismissive, but her voice trembled as his hands slid down her sides.

"Is it?" His fingers found her bodice buttons, undoing them with surgical precision while fighting to control his own response to each inch of skin revealed. "What word would you use for this?" He pressed his lips to that sensitive spot behind her ear that he'd only dared breathe against before. The small sound she made sent triumph singing through his veins.

Her hands flew up to grip his shoulders as she gasped. He felt her uncertainty in the tension of her fingers, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

"I... I don't have sufficient data to form a conclusion."

His laugh emerged more groan than humour, vibrating against her skin. "Then let's gather more evidence." He traced his mouth down her throat as his hands worked at her stays, each small revelation of skin testing his control. "Tell me what you feel. No clinical terms allowed."

"Heat," she whispered as his fingers brushed the swell of her breast. The simple touch made them both shudder. "Like fever but...different."

"Different how?" He nipped gently at her collarbone, rewarded by her sharp inhale.

"More...urgent." Her head fell back, exposing more of her throat to his mouth. "More..."

"Show me." The words emerged as a plea against her skin. "Show me how a woman of science loses herself to feeling."

He felt the war between her analytical mind and her body's responses. Every small surrender was precious. The way she arched into his touch, how her breathing grew ragged as his hands mapped new territories. He was drowning in her, in the silk of her skin and the honey of her scent.

"I should hate you," she gasped as his fingers traced patterns down her spine that made her arch against him. "For lying, for investigating me, for—"

Her accusations dissolved into a moan as he brushed his thumb over her tightened nipple. The sound nearly shattered his control completely.

"Such lovely breasts," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion that went far deeper than desire. "Hate me tomorrow. Tonight, let me show you why I couldn't complete my mission. Why one look at you practicing medicine made me question everything I'd ever believed."

His hands slid lower, and she arched into his touch like she was made for him. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for this. Not his medical training, not his careful plans, not even his most fevered imaginings of how she would feel in his arms.