eyes flashed angrily. “It would be far better than to spend the evening here, watching you eat your heart out over me,” he countered icily.
She threw the underskirt down on the floor and got to her feet, her gray eyes like lead bullets as she went right up to him.
“I am not eating my heart out over you! I hardly see you, in any case. I have no secret hankering for such a conceited, overbearing—”
Suddenly he reached for her and pulled her against him. In his leaning position, she found herself pressed intimately to his long legs—in between them, in fact—with his arms wrapped tightly around her. The look on her face amused him, taking the heat out of his anger.
“Don’t stop there,” he invited, with a smile. “Do go on.”
She wanted to, but her heart was beating too rapidly to allow speech. The whalebone corset she was wearing constricted her breath enough, without the added pressure of his embrace. She could barely breathe at all.
Her hands pushed weakly at his chest. “Let go,” she said faintly. “I can’t…breathe.”
“Relax, then.”
“It’s the corset,” she whispered, pushing as hard as she could.
He loosened his arms. She felt his hands tracing the bones, his thumbs brushing up under her breasts in the muslin chemise that contained them above the edge of the corset. The light, teasing pressure made her stiffen with unexpected pleasure.
He was looking intently at her, watching her reactions as his lean hands teased her body.
His thumbs slipped higher with each movement. “Is this better?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly deeper, huskier.
She realized she was shaking. Her hands were clutching at his hard arms through his suit coat, and she couldn’t even manage speech. The feel of him so close, the touch of his hands, made her knees weak. She loved him so much that even the lightest caress was heaven. She hadn’t the will to pull away, despite the shame her easy capitulation caused. She wanted his touch too much to protest.
His lips brushed her forehead. He could sense her struggle. “I’m your husband. It’s all right to give in to me, Claire,” he murmured deeply. “God knows, I’ve given you little enough since we married. It’s no hardship to pleasure you. I won’t do anything to frighten or hurt you. Relax, now.”
Her hands trembled where they clung to his arms. She wanted to deny that he was pleasing her, to tell him to let her go, but she couldn’t. She had no pride. She moaned in anguish, drowning in the need to be touched by him, held by him, wanted by him.
He understood. He was as helpless in his passion for Diane as Claire was in her need of him. In that one way, they were very much alike. It hurt him in an odd, new way, to see her suffer for his touch. He felt her need and ached to fill it.
His lips hovered at her eyelids, closing them tenderly. His hands moved to the tips of her breasts and found the nipples hard and warm.
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