I’m not in pain. Where’s your nightgown?”
“Are you certain?” His back was almost as beautiful as his front. She studied his tight buttocks. She would love to touch them. “You sound like you are in pain.”
“Just tell me where your blood—blasted nightgown is.” He turned back to her, jaw clenched, eyes focused on her face. “Better yet, just put it on. Now.”
Lizzie did not care for the note of command in his voice.
“No. I don’t want to. I’m hot.” She flushed. “Very hot.” Uncomfortably hot. And damp. Wet, really. She moved her hand down to be certain she wasn’t dripping.
“God, no.” He caught her before she reached her stomach. His fingers—thick, warm—encircled her wrist. She needed them somewhere else. Her breasts ached; her nipples had tightened into hard pebbles.
He shook her arm slightly. “Put on your nightgown.”
He sounded a bit desperate.
She shook her head. She could smell him now. She inhaled deeply. He smelled of Robbie. She giggled. Silly, but true. It was a musky, spicy scent, stronger now that it wasn’t muffled by layers of clothing.
His eyes kept darting looks at her breasts. She felt them swell with his attention. She needed to rub them against the hair on his chest.
Who cared about a nightgown? She didn’t want a nightgown. She wanted his body against hers. His skin on hers. Everywhere. She panted slightly. She was certain a puddle of need was forming at her feet.
She reached for him.
“Lizzie!” He grabbed her other hand, holding both wrists in a firm grip.
“Let me go.” She jerked back. His grasp was gentle but unbreakable. Well, she knew how to get free. She had an older brother. She wasn’t above telling a small lie if necessary. “You’re hurting me.”
He released her at once.
“Ah!” She lunged, but he caught her by the shoulders.
“Lizzie, you’re bosky.”
“N-no, I’m not. I just want to touch you. Please? Just let me touch you.” His arms were too long. No matter how much she stretched, she could not reach his body.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea. Now put on your nightgown.”
“I think it would be a splendid idea.” She lunged again. No luck. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”
“Because besides the fact that you appear to be thoroughly foxed, I’m certain there are going to be people at your door and quite possibly your window any moment now. You don’t want them to find us like this, do you?”
She hiccupped. “Yes, I do.” She lurched toward him again. If she didn’t feel his body against hers soon, she would cry.
Robbie gave an odd little growl. “You wouldn’t say that if you were sober.”
“Yes, I would.” She stopped fighting and touched him where she could reach. The muscles in his arms were warm rocks. She could barely get her fingers around his forearm. She stroked his wrist with her thumb and saw sweat bead on his upper lip. She wanted to lick it off.
“I love you, Robbie. I’ve loved you forever.”
His jaw tensed. “No, you haven’t.”
“Yes, I have.”
He shook his head. “Hero worship. Calf love.”
“No. Kiss me. You’ll see.”
He rubbed his face on his arm, wiping off the sweat. “There’s no time for that, Lizzie.”
“Yes, there is. Kiss me.”
“Lizzie.” His hands clenched on her shoulders, but gentled when she drew in a sharp breath. “Lizzie, please. If I’m found here, the scandal will be beyond belief. James will kill me.”
“No, he won’t. You’re his friend.”
Robbie snorted. “You’re his sister. Trust me. He will kill me.”
“I don’t see why. He met Sarah naked, didn’t he? How can he complain?”
“That’s different.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is, and if you weren’t so foxed you would see that. Now put your nightgown on.”
“All right, but you’ll have to let me go. I can’t put it on with your hands in the way.”
“True. Just don’t—”
Robbie loosened his grip too soon. Lizzie closed the distance between them in one step and threw her arms around his waist.
“Lizzie!” He moved almost as quickly, dropping his hands to her hips, pushing them back.
She had forgotten about his swollen part. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she so ached to feel his entire body against hers. What she could feel felt very, very good. Her hands played over his back, running up and down his warm, smooth skin. She pressed her cheek against his chest and heard his heart pounding. She found a drop of sweat trickling down between his nipples and licked it, running her tongue up the trail to his neck.
“Lizzie!”
“Mmm?” His hands on her hips were wonderful, but they were too still. She tried to wiggle, to encourage his fingers to roam. Perhaps she could show him the way. She slipped her own hands over his buttocks and around to his stomach, careful not to touch…
“Lizzie!” Robbie leapt back as if scalded.
“Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She glanced down and smiled in relief. “No, see—you’re better. The stiffness and swelling are almost gone. You should be able to tuck your…um, well, you should be able to tuck it into your pantaloons now.”
“God, Lizzie.”
Lizzie frowned, looking up. Robbie’s mouth was so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes looked…haunted.
“Robbie, I—”
She jumped. Someone was banging on her door—and someone else was banging on her window.
“What…?”
“Your company has arrived.” Robbie grabbed her shoulders, turned her, and pushed her toward the bed. “Get your nightgown on.”
Bloody hell. Lizzie was not moving quickly enough. And she was clearly half-seas-over. Did she grasp the seriousness of the situation? No. She was sitting on her bed, staring at him. Staring at a particular part of him.
At least she had stopped grabbing him.
