Quicksilver - Amanda Quick [80]
“Right,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “We’ll discuss my staffing problems some other time.”
“Definitely some other time.”
He scooped her up, the skirts of her gown and the frothy petticoats spilling over his arms. Angling her so that she would not bang her head or her knees against the wall, he carried her down the dimly lit hall and into the study.
The curtains were drawn across the window, casting the room in deep shadow. The only light was the narrow wedge of illumination that came from the sconce in the hall.
He set Virginia on her feet and turned up one of the lamps so that it burned very low. He closed and locked the door, intensely aware of the flaring heat in his veins. When he looked back at Virginia she smiled. Her eyes were fathomless pools of promise. She did not say a word, but the energy of her desire flashed invisibly in the atmosphere.
She stepped out of her dainty evening shoes, raised her hands and undid the strings that bound her cloak at her throat. The thick woolen folds fell away, revealing her disordered clothing. He caught his breath.
“Virginia,” he whispered. For a moment he could only look at her. Everything inside him tightened with longing.
He shrugged out of his evening coat, removed his waistcoat and dropped both over the arm of the nearest chair. He went to stand behind Virginia. Setting his hands on her shoulders, he bent his head and kissed the side of her throat. He felt a tiny shiver sweep through her.
Gently he eased the cloak off her shoulders and tossed it aside. He took down her hair. She was so soft and delicate. His own body was hard and tight, making him feel clumsy and awkward. The soft pings that sounded when he put the hairpins on the mantel seemed very loud in the shadows.
He turned her around to face him. Slowly, deliberately, he finished the task of unfastening the stiffly boned top of her gown. The bodice separated and fell away, revealing the gentle feminine curves underneath. He stripped the tight sleeves to her wrists and eased the rest of her clothing away until she stood before him, wearing only her chemise and stockings.
He fitted his hands to her waist, lifted her free of the heap of skirts and petticoats and set her back on her feet. She unfastened the remaining buttons of his shirt and flattened her palms against his bare chest. The touch of her hands made his temperature climb even higher.
“I love the feel of you,” she whispered.
She kissed his jaw and then his shoulder. Her mouth was wet and warm, thrilling all of his senses.
“I can’t take much more of that,” he warned her.
She raised her head and smiled a devastatingly mysterious smile. Her eyes were brilliant with feminine power.
“I don’t believe that,” she said. “Not for a minute. You are always in control, Owen Sweetwater.”
“That was mostly true, I think, until I met you.”
He kissed her, a short, hard kiss that was fueled by the edgy urgency crackling through him. Then he turned away and picked up her cloak. He unfurled it with a sharp, snapping movement of his hand and let it fall on the carpet in front of the fireplace. The thick woolen folds spread out and fluttered to the floor, forming a makeshift bed.
He got rid of his boots, his trousers and drawers. When he turned back to Virginia he saw that she was staring at him in consternation. At first he thought she was transfixed by his erection. He did not know whether to be flattered, amused or worried.
“Is that a knife you have strapped to your ankle?” she said, and gasped.
He looked down at the leather sheath, chagrined. She had not noticed it the first time because he had made love to her without removing his trousers.
“Sorry,” he said. “I tend to forget about it.”
“How could you possibly forget a knife strapped to your ankle?”
“I have worn it since I was a boy. All Sweetwater men do. It’s the family motto.”
She raised her brows. “Just what sort of motto would that be?”
“Talent is