Page 104 of Flirting with Forever

He shifted his arm, unbalancing her, and took the jutting peak of cashmere between his teeth. He pulled the nub of flesh slowly, to the furthest reach of pleasure, then let go.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“I want you in ways I should not.”

Two more tugs, and she made a long, soft cry.

He jerked her to her feet, caught the flap of her sweater, and pulled. The pearl buttons opened, except the last, which snapped its thread and skittered across the floor. His eyes glittered. The bra she had put on for Jacket’s sake had Peter’s full attention. See-through and made of lace the color of flushed skin, its cups were embroidered with seed pearls and the spark of crystal in a scant, twining vine that curved invitingly around her aureoles. The boning held her breasts as high as they had ever reached, and the narrow straps of matching silk that ran from her shoulders around the bottom of her breasts met in a tiny bow over the perilously fastened front clasp. Panties of a similar design stretched hip to hip. It was the sort of lingerie a woman wore for one purpose and one purpose only. For Cam, who’d faced the prospect of giving Jacket a long-overdue answer to his question, choosing such immodest garments had been a matter of hoping the semblance of enthusiasm would inspire the substance.

But now, with Peter, they were the most fitting complement to her feelings.

He gazed at her, awestruck. His heart beat in the hollow of his throat. He opened his hand as if to ask her permission. She nodded, and his fingertips came to rest on her stomach. Shell-shocked, he stepped around her to take in the view.

“What is this?” he asked in a choked whisper.

“A bra.”

“Such fearlessness,” he marveled as he paced. “Such damn-it-all harlotry.”

She lifted the fabric of her skirt, pooling it over her arm at her waist.

“Holy Mother of God.”

“Panties,” she said.

Ruffles covered the back like a skirt—flutters of translucent fabric weighted by tiny swaying crystals at the hem.

“I think,” he said, “I must sit down.”

He sunk onto the arm of the couch, elbows on his knees, cupping his hands at his chin. He lifted his gaze to hers. The admiration shone strong, but the desire had been replaced by something more somber.

“All of this,” he said, “for Jacket.”

She couldn’t lie. She let the skirt drop. “It’s all I had to give him.”

Peter took her hand and pressed it to his mouth. “I do not wish to let you go.”

“You won’t.” She combed a hand through the dark waves of his hair. “We’ll hold each other forever.”

“Campbell”—his voice lost its certainty—“I-I must go.”

“No.”

“Aye. I can stay for a bit, but not forever.”

“How long is ‘a bit’?”

“Weeks. A month. No more. Every day is riskier.”

“No. Forever. Please.”

“I don’t choose it, Campbell. My time here is over.”

Her new happiness was slipping away. “Then I’ll come with you.” She slipped her hand under his jacket, looking for reassurance in the muscular warmth of his chest.

His face turned gray. “You can’t come with me, either.”

“Why, Peter? Why?”