me to stop.’ He hooked his thumb into the strap of her dress and bared her shoulder before nibbling his way along it.
‘I can’t.’ She undid his cravat, then the top three buttons of his shirt, and pressed her mouth against his throat in a hot, wet, demanding kiss.
‘Amber.’ His voice was husky. ‘Last warning. Tell me to stop.’
She undid his waistcoat, then finished undoing his shirt. ‘Go,’ she whispered.
In response, Guy scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the house.
Chapter Three
GUY paused at the top of the stairs, set her on her feet, backed her against the wall and kissed her again. Thoroughly. By the time he broke the kiss, Amber’s knees felt decidedly weak, and she was forced to cling to the front of his shirt to hold herself up.
His gaze was hot and intense as he touched the backs of his fingers against her cheek. ‘Alors, mon ange,’ he said, his voice low and soft and incredibly sexy. ‘In the rose garden, I gave you the chance to stop. This really is your last warning. If we don’t stop now, I’m going to take you to my bed.’
‘I’d rather that was a promise than a threat.’
‘A promise of what?’
‘Pleasure. For both of us. Just for tonight.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m a disaster area when it comes to relationships. But there’s a spark between you and me, and the way you danced with me…I can’t ignore that.’
‘I’m not exactly good at relationships, myself,’ Guy told her. ‘And I’m not looking to get involved with anyone.’
‘Right. So we both know where we stand.’ She stood on tiptoe, and pressed her mouth lightly against his. Nibbled his lower lip.
He gave an exclamation of what sounded like mingled need and frustration, and kissed her back, his mouth hot and sweet and demanding.
Then he took her hand and led her to the end of the corridor. Not to her room, she noticed: he took her to his.
It turned out to be similar to hers, with a huge old-fashioned half-tester bed covered in pure white bed-linen. The walls were painted teal, and the heavy damask curtains were a similar shade, lightened with cream voile; there were rugs scattered across the polished wooden floor, and a landscape painting hung on one wall.
No doubt in some of the rooms there would be portraits of his ancestors—men in eighteenth-century costume who looked exactly like Guy, with those same amazing blue eyes and that sun-kissed hair.
And who knew? Maybe one of them had danced with a woman at a wedding, and the attraction had been so strong that he’d carried her up the stairs to this very same bed…
‘Are you still sure you want to do this?’ Guy asked softly.
She trailed a forefinger down his chest. He really could’ve been a model for one of his own perfume ads. Muscular without being overdeveloped, his skin burnished to gold by the sun and beautiful enough to make any woman want to reach out and touch him. ‘Absolutely. I had these pictures in my head when you danced the tango with me,’ she admitted softly.
His gaze was scorching. ‘I hope they’re the same pictures that were in mine.’
She did, too. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
His response was to kiss her hard.
And then he took the pins from her hair, one by one, and laid them on his dressing table. He combed through her hair with his fingers, and nodded in satisfaction as it fell past her shoulders. ‘I like that. And your hair’s so soft. So silky.’ He wound a strand round his finger, then released it again. ‘Ravissante.’
When he spoke in his own language, it was incredibly sexy. She licked her lower lip, wanting him to kiss her again; but instead he took her clothes off, very, very slowly. So slowly that it made her ache with need and want to push his hands away so she could rip them off, then rip off his own clothes and guide him into her body.
But Guy was being thorough. Methodical. Paying attention to the little details. A tiny mole on her shoulder, the crease of skin on her elbow, the softness of her curves. Almost as if he were learning her shape with his mouth and his hands. He unzipped her dress with incredible slowness and patience—and then let it drop on the floor while he stroked her skin.
‘I love this lacy stuff. It’s gorgeous. Like you.’ He traced the edge of her camisole top with the tip of his forefinger. ‘But it has to go, Amber. I need you naked. And I really, really need to be inside you.’
Oh-h-h.
She wanted that, too. So desperately.
He slipped one spaghetti strap down over her shoulder and kissed her bare skin. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back in offering to him; he took the hint and kissed a line across her throat, pausing to tease the spot where her pulse beat crazily, then moved to the other shoulder, nuzzling her skin. His hands rested lightly on her waist, and the heat of his mouth against her skin was driving her mad. By the time he’d stripped her down to just her lacy knickers, she was quivering.
He looked gorgeous, with his shirt and waistcoat open and his cravat undone, but she needed to do more than just look. She needed to touch. To feel. To explore him, the same way he’d just explored her. Curve for curve, touch for touch.
‘You’re wearing too much,’ she said shakily.
‘I’m in your hands.’
The waistcoat went first, and then she pushed the soft cotton of his shirt off his shoulders, tracing the line of his collarbone as she did so. His skin felt glorious, soft and smooth, and there was just the right amount of chest hair to be sexy; she couldn’t resist trailing her fingers across it.
‘You have lovely hands,’ he said, his eyes darkening. Giving her permission to go further.
She undid the button at the waistband of his trousers, and ran her fingers across his flat abdomen. ‘Very nice.’
‘Merci, Mademoiselle Wynne.’ His voice was full of amusement.
She felt the colour flood into her cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean to say that aloud.’
‘I’m glad you did.’ He traced a lazy circle round her navel. ‘You feel nice, too. Warm and soft. And I’m so going to enjoy exploring you, Amber.’
She was going to enjoy it, too. Given the way he’d danced with her in public, she had a feeling that his private lovemaking was likely to blow her mind.
She undid his zip, and gently drew the material down to his thighs; his trousers fell to the floor and he stepped out of them, kicking off his shoes and removing his socks as he did so. His erection was very obvious through the soft jersey of his boxer shorts and her mouth went dry.
‘Whatever I said earlier, you can still change your mind, mon ange,’ he said softly.
She shook her head. ‘I want you, Guy. It’s just…’ Her breath hitched. How
