“I need you to undo the buttons down the back,” she rushed to speak. “I didn’t think about arranging for anyone to be here to help me undo them.” And no one had offered. Obviously the dressmaker who’d helped her get ready this morning had thought her bridegroom would relish the task. Just the thought made her flush. Quickly she continued, “I washed my face, but I need to get this gown off.” She’d washed as well as she could, removed her makeup, brushed her teeth. Nothing more to do until the dress was gone.
“Of course! How stupid of me … I didn’t think.” He came nearer.
Excitement clamoured inside her. She tried not to shiver. But when he stood in front of her, the little tremors of anticipation started to race across her skin.
“Turn around,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.
She needed no second bidding. The ancient silk rustled as she turned. She could hear Zac’s steady breathing behind her, feel her heart start to pound as she waited ….
A whisper of air caressed her ankles as he lifted the hem.
There was a small pull and she knew the lowest button was free. Little tug after little tug told her of Zac’s successes as he worked his way up from the hem.
“Zeus, did the original seamstress have to use so many buttons? There must be at least two hundred—and they’re tiny!”
“There are seventy-five buttons. The dressmaker doing the alterations counted them each time she took the dress off after a fitting. It takes forever to undo—even with a buttonhook.”
“I dearly hope not.” There was laughter in Zac’s voice … and something else … something dark and sensual that caused her pulse to thrum through her head. “And I don’t see a buttonhook.”
She struggled to regain her composure. “If this were a fairy tale, you’d have waited one hundred years for this moment.”
“I think I’ve been waiting my whole life,” he muttered. Then he said, “If this were a fairy tale I wouldn’t need a buttonhook. I’d have my magical trusted sword and I’d be able to slit a line down here—” His voice broke off and he traced a line from the small of her back, down over the curve of her bottom, and Pandora shuddered.
“Then I’d slide that dress off ….” His voice trailed away, and she could hear that his breathing had speeded up.
“But you haven’t got a magical sword, so you’re going to have to do it—”
“The old-fashioned way. Slowly, taking my time, enjoying the experience,” he murmured, and Pandora gasped as his hand slid up the inside of her calf, to her knee, where it stopped. “A couple more buttons and I’ll be able to touch your thigh.”
His fingers gave her bare skin a last caress, then slid away. Pandora sighed with disappointment.
“Don’t worry, yineka mou, there will be lots of touching and stroking. We have the whole night ahead of us … and I’m going to take it very slowly. I promise.”
“Then I think I might just die of pleasure tonight,” she whispered, breathless from arousal.
“Aah, wife of mine, do not say such things. I am trying very hard to keep my cool. Don’t melt it or it will all be over before we begin.”
“I thought we’d already begun.”
Zac groaned. “Wife, be silent! I need to undo these buttons as quickly as I can and you are distracting me.” His breath caught and his hands stilled. “What the hell is this?”
“The garter. I wasn’t sure if you followed the custom of throwing it … so I wore one anyway.” Still kneeling behind her, his fingers moved again, soft against her thigh, running under the garter belt. “It’s blue … for the rhyme. You know, Something borrowed, something blue. I thought the dress could pass as something borrowed.” She was babbling now, but she didn’t care. His touch was driving her crazy … and if she didn’t babble, she might just grab that hand … bring it around to her pebble-hard nipples for him to douse the aching.
But his fingers were retreating, and she could feel the garter sliding down her leg. He lifted her foot, hooked the garter off, then he spun her around, and rose to his full height.
She stopped breathing.
His face was taut, his eyes blazing, and he held the garter aloft like a trophy.
“Mine,” he said hoarsely. “Every perfect bit of you is mine.”
She didn’t even have time to gasp before his lips landed on hers, hard and ravenous.
Stretching onto tiptoe, Pandora wrapped her arms around his neck, the impact of his chest against her rousing a wildness she’d never known, and she kissed him back as though she were starved, all the while pressing herself closer.
“Slowly, wife of mine, slowly,” he panted, his big hands going to her hips, holding her off.
“I—”she punctuated it with a kiss “—can’t—” another kiss “—wait.”
“Ah, Christos.”
His hands cupped her buttocks, lifting her, the priceless dress ruching up around the tops of her thighs, pulling her close until … until … she could feel his hardness through the fabric. With a rough mutter he hoisted her higher, and her feet dangled off the ground. Zac lurched forward.
“Zac! You’ll drop me.” Hurriedly, she hooked her legs around his hips, her feet tangling with the soft silk folds of the dress as she clung on for dear life.
She landed on the bed with Zac sprawled on top of her. Breathlessly she stared up into hot green eyes.
“I can’t wait—not another minute.” His body moved against hers, restless and insistent.
She could feel his heat, his hardness, could sense that he was hanging on to his control by a fine thread. “The dress—we’ll ruin it.”
“Forget the dress!”
“I can’t. The dressmaker kept eulogising about it being a piece of living history. I’d feel so guilty—”
“Shh. Roll over, then. Let me get the damned thing off,” he growled and shrugged off his shirt.
In a brief second Pandora took in his naked chest gleaming in the soft golden light of the bedside lamps, the curve of his chest muscles, the lean tapered strength of his hard stomach and groaned.
And promptly nearly died of embarrassment.
Balling her fists against her mouth so that no more humiliating sounds would escape, she rolled onto her stomach so that he wouldn’t see her face, wouldn’t see the desire, the wanting … and then cringed as the skirts of the irreplaceable dress caught around her legs. “Oh, no.”
“I’ll set you loose.” There was laughter in his voice now.
“It’s not about me—”
“It’s
