Page 87 of The Untamed Heart

Eustacia allowed the gown to fall and stepped out of it, reaching at once for the tiny pearl buttons on her bodiced petticoat. Aware his patience was fraying, she slipped the thing off before undoing her stays.

She was rivetingly conscious of his gaze upon her, his eyes following the movements of her hands as she made quick work of her undergarments.

Finally, she stood before him in only her shift and her stockings and garters.

She swallowed and met his gaze, rather pleased by the almost desperate glint she saw there.

“Take it off,” he rasped.

Feeling not the least bit inhibited in the light of his frank admiration, she reached for the hem and tugged it up, casting it to the floor.

Marcus let out a long, slow and rather ragged breath as he took her in.

“My God,” he said, his voice reverent. “My God. Are you truly mine?”

“Entirely yours,” she said, the words trembling with emotion, uncertain if she wanted to laugh or cry.

She shivered as the weight of his gaze lingered on each part of her, her skin prickling, nipples tightening into hard little buds.

He stepped closer, lifting his hand to stroke one breast with the back of his hand. His breath caught.

“You are so soft, so very lovely,” he whispered before lowering his head, his mouth closing over her nipple. Darts of exquisite sensation lanced through her as he suckled, making her close her eyes and grasp his shoulders merely to keep herself upright.

“Oh,” she yelped, startled by the power of her reaction.

He raised his head, a question in his eyes.

“Don’t stop!” she protested, aggrieved that he would do so when she had just discovered the delightful sensation. There was a masculine grunt of amusement before he returned to his work, lavishing attention on her breasts until she thought her knees would give out.

Marcus straightened then, his expression rather smug as he gazed down at her.

“Well,” she said shakily. “That was an interesting start to proceedings. What’s next?”

With a laugh, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, setting her carefully down upon the mattress.

“Much, much more,” he promised her, and then stood back to strip off his shirt.

Eustacia’s heart clenched as she saw the scar, the place where the bullet had torn through tender flesh and changed his life for good. She wondered if she ought to be grateful for it, though. If not for that bullet, the doctor would not have sent him away for the fresh air of the seaside. They might never have met, she might never have painted his portrait, might never have discovered—through her art as much as their conversations—just how special he truly was.

“It’s not very pretty, I’m afraid,” he said, looking suddenly a little self-conscious.

Eustacia shook her head. “You’re wrong. You are beautiful, every line, every muscle, every scar. I shall paint you this way one day, but for my eyes only,” she added with a smile.

Her gaze drifted lower, to the new scar Keller had inflicted. It was red but healing well thanks to Doctor Arkhurst’s care. There were others, she saw, as her gaze travelled over him: small nicks and a longer, ragged gash across his shoulder. One day, she would hear the stories of each of those scars. He would tell her, and she would listen, and they would become as much a part of her as they were of him.

But not now. Now she just wanted to drink in the sight of him, ruggedly masculine, strong and resilient.

He sat on the edge of the bed and she knelt behind him, gliding her palms over his broad back as he tugged off his boots. Then, in one swift movement, he pushed his trousers and small clothes off and kicked them aside.

Eustacia’s heart gave a happy skip of anticipation as she lay back against the pillows, waiting for him.

“I wish I could paint,” he said, his smile wistful as he gazed at her. “But no one, not even a master painter, could capture you, my love. Not to my satisfaction. But so long as I may look upon you like this, I need no painting. Only you.”

“Paintings are cold companions on a winter’s night,” she agreed. “But I’m warm, and soft, and very, very willing.”

His gaze grew dark as he moved into her arms, covering her body with his own, and Eustacia closed her eyes in delight at the feel of his heat against her. Rough where she was smooth, and hard where she was soft, they fitted to perfection.

His growl of approval, the desperation of his kisses, and the impatient tenderness of his hands captivated her, enchanted her body and soul and sent her mind somewhere dark and warm, and just a little bit wicked.