One Wicked Sin. Nicola Cornick

like a shadow through the material. It also molded the voluptuous roundness of her breasts. Though she was not a tall woman she was built with generous curves and as she had aged she had despaired of the way that all of those curves had sagged slightly as though they were getting tired. She supposed that she could hardly blame her breasts for drooping a little; she was fairly weary of life herself at times.

      Yet Ethan did not seem to dislike the fullness of her figure for he was smiling and the sharp light of desire in his eyes ignited further.

      “Delicious,” he said softly, and Lottie felt a ripple of awareness course through her. She waited for him to remove her shift, but instead he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, slow and sure, his lips moving against hers with the gentlest of persuasion until she parted for him and answered him hesitantly, their breath mingling, the touch of his tongue soft against hers. She felt the surge of response in him, the triumph and the need to possess, and for a moment she felt afraid again before he reined in his reaction and drew back. He was breathing a little harder and she could sense the impatience in him and yet he mastered it with iron control.

      She raised her hands so that he could draw her shift off and cast it aside. Then she stood naked before him but for her stockings and shoes. She found she had to turn her face away from his scrutiny. She did not know why this was different from her bravado in the brothel where she had paraded herself barely dressed in the transparent negligee. It felt different, though. It felt honest, as though more than her clothes had been stripped away.

      When she risked a look at his face the unashamed appreciation in his eyes stole her breath.

      “You’re beautiful,” he said. His gaze pinned hers as she looked away. “Surely you know that?”

      Actually she did not. She could not remember anyone ever telling her. She knew that Gregory had chosen her for her prettiness as well as her family connections because he had wanted a wife who was an adornment to his position. But Gregory had never admired her as a woman. He had appreciated her only in the cold way that he valued a piece of china or glass. Her lovers had thrown her pretty compliments, it was true, but she had often thought that was just part of the game, insincere, giving her the words she wanted to hear. Ethan sounded as though he really meant it, and although the cynical side of her berated her for her credulity, she desperately wanted it to be true.

      “I …” Her heart was beating so hard and fast that the words seemed trapped in her chest. She felt self-conscious and had to smother a sudden insane urge to grab the cover from the bed and cloak herself in it. Yet at the same time she felt hot and dizzy and excited, a spiral of lust curling low in her belly.

      Arousal.

      She remembered the sensation but her memories seemed a pale and empty thing beside this burning reality.

      Ethan took her hand and she almost jumped. Of all the places to touch her when she was naked. He was gently coaxing her to sit on the edge of the bed, then to lie back, spread and exposed to his gaze. Her stomach squirmed again in helpless desire as he allowed his gaze to travel over her from the crown of her head to her feet. He eased off her shoes and let them fall, then rolled her stockings down and cast them aside.

      He came down beside her, still fully dressed, resting on one elbow. “You still look terrified.” His fingers touched her cheek in a reassuring caress then moved to brush the tangle of hair back from her brow. “I had hoped to banish your fear a little by now.”

      Lottie turned her lips against his fingers. “You have,” she whispered. “If you stop now I will probably kill you.”

      He laughed then swooped down to take her lips again in another deep kiss. He was less careful now, less controlled. She could feel his restraint slipping. Yet still he held something back even as the kiss took her to a place that was heated and sweet and intense, a place that she never wanted to leave.

      They were both gasping when they finally drew apart.

      “Take off your clothes,” Lottie whispered. “This feels very unfair.”

      Ethan rolled over to shed his coat, casting it carelessly across the room. He pulled off his neck cloth and threw aside his shirt, barely repressed impatience in each gesture. Lottie watched. She had seen more than her fair share of naked men and had mostly found the male form a disappointment, oddly shaped, flabby, or even downright ugly. Men generally looked so much better with their clothes on. Her grandmother had told her so before she wed at seventeen and Lottie had never had cause to doubt her.

      Not Ethan Ryder, though. His body was firm and lithe, whipcord strong, his shoulders wide and his chest hard and muscled. Lottie thought his thighs would probably be equally heavily muscled from so many hours in the saddle and she felt a little light-headed to think about it. Her mouth was dry and her blood felt drugged, heavy with lust.

      “And the rest,” she prompted, as he paused. The glitter in his eyes as he looked down at her was bright and hard, desire distilled. Her heart thumped.

      It took him only a moment to discard the rest of his clothes, and then he stood before her entirely naked and magnificent with it, strong, powerful and, as Lottie could not help but note, with an enormous erection as impressive as the rest of him. Her throat felt as dry as sand now. She waited for him to return to her, to straddle her, to take her.

      He did not. He stood looking down at her, his gaze as powerful as a physical touch. Lottie shifted restlessly beneath it. Then he was beside her again, touching her with gentle, reverent strokes; the line of her shoulder, the curve of her hip, the hollow of her elbow and the softness of her stomach. He kissed the underside of her breast. Lottie shivered. She reached for him, thinking that she really must show some of the initiative that would be expected of an experienced mistress, but he returned her hands firmly to her sides.

      “No,” he whispered. “Lie still. We do this my way.”

      He returned to his ministrations, firm and yet tender, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He nibbled the soft skin of her neck and her shivers intensified as his breath caressed her skin. His mouth moved lower, discovering the soft hollow of her collarbone again, licking and tasting her skin. She found herself arching up to meet him, wanting him to take her breasts in his mouth, aching for his touch. Frustratingly, infuriatingly, he left them alone. Instead she felt his tongue explore the curve of her belly and flick teasingly into her navel. The cool air breathed across her damp skin and she shuddered, need coiling within her like a tight knot.

      “Please …”

      She had not meant to beg, had not realized that she would want to do so. She felt the sweep of his smile against her stomach.

      “Ah.” There was a wealth of satisfaction in his voice.

      He raised himself up to take one of her tight nipples into his mouth. She almost screamed; her mind spun away with pleasure. He was pulling it, tugging it with his teeth, the tiny bite mingling with the ecstasy that threatened to melt her very bones. She could not stop the trembling. The muscles jumped and quivered in her belly, and she reached again for him, blindly, but again he pressed her back down into the bed, his lips and hands tracing caresses across her skin from her stomach to her breasts until she moaned. She had never felt so vital, her body alive, all thought banished, a creature of sensation alone.

      “You are driving me to madness….” The words were torn from her and she heard him laugh before his lips returned to her breast to torment her anew.

      Lottie writhed, desperate to feel him inside her now, but again he evaded her grasp and resumed the slow, tantalizing mastery of her body, pressing his open mouth to her skin, his touch as hot as a brand. This time when his trail of tiny kisses reached her throat again he raised himself above her and his lips returned to her mouth, demanding, insatiable, all control lost. He plundered, but whatever he asked she gave more. There were no memories to haunt her here, no experience to draw on because she had never felt this way before, never felt this pitch of pleasure that was mingled somehow with exquisite tenderness.

      “Please,” she cried again, and this time she did not recognize her own voice. “Now …”

      This