The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [90]
His face was serious again, the expression he had when he was thinking about light, or poetry.
“It’s just that I’m not sure what to do,” she said, her voice catching. Tears pushed at her eyes again.
“Dear heart,” he said, “what’s the matter?” He reached out and put his arms around her.
“Nothing,” she muttered, feeling ten times a fool. “Kiss me?”
“Good idea.” He kissed her slowly and sweetly, eyes closed—she checked before she relaxed into the feeling of being near Quin.
Then, when she was kissed into a hazy state, he moved so that she found herself on her back, her hair flowing around her. It was almost too much: trying to take in the sensation of his body heavy against her side, naked, his arousal urgent against her. And the moon was pitiless, casting its cool silver light everywhere.
It was pretty; she had to admit that. The inside of the little house glimmered with light that looked magical. If only it weren’t so revealing. A little less magic, that was all she asked.
“There’s something wrong,” Quin said, raising himself on all fours and looking down at her.
Her lip quivered and then, no longer able to choke them back, a tear spilled—even as she told herself, Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
Quin reached out with a thumb, gently rubbed it away. “Help me, sweetheart. Emotions are not my strong point. I need you to tell me what’s the matter.”
She shook her head. “Nothing! I’m simply being foolish.”
His eyes searched hers and Olivia looked away, fast. He saw too much with those damnably intelligent eyes of his.
The next thing she knew her hands were caught and held above her head. “If you won’t tell, I’ll have to resort to logic. You’re not afraid of being with me. And you told me that you’re not a virgin, so you can’t be afraid of pain.”
Did she actually say that? He had inferred that she and Rupert had made love. And she couldn’t tell him otherwise without breaking her promise.
“Unless”—he hesitated—“am I considerably larger than Rupert?”
Her gaze lingered on him with pleasure, and he seemed to throb and grow under that gaze. “Yes,” she murmured, her voice throaty.
He laughed. “That is not fear that I hear in your voice.”
“Does it bother you that I’ve—I’ve seen Rupert before you?”
He frowned. “Why should it? You didn’t choose to lose your virginity to Rupert, any more than he chose the reverse. I feel a measure of contempt for Rupert’s father, but none for you.”
It was very like Quin: both logical and fair. She managed a wobbly smile. “All the same,” she began.
But he cut her off. “That’s not it, Olivia. Please don’t lie to me.”
Her eyes fell.
“When I am in doubt, I make a list of questions,” he said, leaning down and biting her earlobe so that she squealed.
“First question. Is darling Olivia afraid of my cock?”
He picked up her hand, curled it around his erection. Olivia gasped, delighted at its silky heat, smoothness, the way it jumped in her hand. She slid up . . . down. Took a quick glimpse and realized that Quin’s eyes were shut, head thrown back. Just the way she liked him. She tightened her grip, wondered what he might taste like.
He moved her hand away, satisfied with her silent answer to his question. “Not afraid of it,” he murmured, his voice a shade deeper, darker, than it had been.
“Second question. Is my Olivia afraid there might be pain?” He looked at her intently.
She shook her head.
“I didn’t think so,” he said with satisfaction. “Besides, I mean to make you so limp with pleasure that you’ll be begging me for more of the same.” This time his smile was pure unadulterated male.
Olivia’s heart skipped a beat.
“Third question,” he said, and he shifted onto his knees. “Could it be that foolish, foolish Olivia fears I won’t like her body?” And then, quick as a cat, while she was still considering her reply—for even though he was right, she certainly didn’t want to admit it—he reached out and ripped her chemise straight down the middle.
It was a good thing the staff had been sent away from the stables, because