Page 43 of Dangerous

Mia said, “You may go, LaValle. I will not need you again tonight.”

The door closed and her husband set his glass on the dressing table and commenced to search out the pins in her hair, removing them one by one as he watched her face in the mirror.

The feel of his light, deft fingers on her scalp left trails of fire. When he’d unbound the last of the fiery red curls, he admired his work before lowering his hands to her shoulders.

“You are very lovely.” His eyes remained fixed to hers, his face unsmiling.

Mia deliberately leaned back against him. The thin layers between them did nothing to hide his arousal. His eyelids fluttered and his hands tightened as he pulled her against his body. He glanced toward the branch of candles beside her dressing table.

“Do you want me to extinguish the candles?”

Mia shook her head. “I would like you to light more.”

Humor glinted in his darkening eyes. She covered his hands with hers and brought them lower, shuddering as his fingers came to rest over her breasts. His stroked a finger lightly across one nipple and Mia inhaled sharply.

His hand came beneath her elbow and he raised her to her feet, his clever fingers quickly undoing the row of buttons LaValle had fastened only moments before. Mia tried not to think about how many women’s garments he’d removed to become so skilled.

When he peeled back the robe, his eyes darkened as they rested on the tips of her breasts beneath the almost transparent fabric. He traced the outline of her body through the sheer shift as he watched their reflection in the mirror. He ran a finger down her belly, over her mound, his eyelids lowering and his heart thudding against her back.

Mia reached behind her while his hand teased and maddened and slid her own hand between the flaps of his robe. His entire body went rigid as she slowly ran her hand down his silky hardness, drinking in his reflection in the glass.

“Naughty,” he said softly, one of his hands teasing the tip of her breast while the other slowly inched the fabric of her nightgown up her thighs.

She stroked back up his length but he pulled out of her grasp.

“No.”

“But—”

Their eyes locked in the glass. “No.”

He spoke with an arrogant assurance that made her tighten with expectation. She dropped her hands to her sides. She would obey him . . . for the time being.

He lifted the hem above her waist and held the fabric bunched in one hand while his other slid over her hip into the springy red curls. Sensitive fingers surrounded her mound and imprisoned her, cupping her possessively while his middle finger stroked, stopping agonizingly short of her aching bud.

A slight, mocking smile flickered across his face. “You make me wish I had more hands.” He stroked her again, this time giving the source of her pleasure an almost careless flick. Mia gasped and pushed her bottom against him.

A low, satisfied laugh vibrated against her back. “Part your thighs for me, darling.”

The muscles in her legs twitched and jumped as she slid her feet apart.

He stroked her again, this time deeper. Mia jerked in his hands, her vision blurring with frustrated desire as his slick finger began to move in firm, languid circles. Her entire body stiffened with expectation as the pleasure built, tenuously at first and then—

And then he stopped.

She opened her eyes and met his in the glass.

His lips curved as he took in the flushed, mottled skin of her face. “I think you are wicked.”

Mia blinked. Wicked? The insistent, relentless pulsing between her legs was making it impossible to think. She pushed against him and he moved away.

“Are you wicked?” His finger circled her lightly, suggestively, maddeningly.

Mia squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to yell. What did he want from her?

“Are you?” he whispered, his breath hot on her ear.

She opened her eyes. His eyebrows were two black hooks and his smile was one she’d not seen before, teasing and devilish, making him resemble an evil satyr. His finger remained infuriatingly still.