Ana’s eyes flew open. “No. The mask must remain.”
She held her breath, afraid Oliver would insist or try to remove it himself. This was not negotiable, and as important to her as the use of the false name Lady Scarlet.
Her heartbeat escalated, but when he at last nodded, her relief was profound. She pressed her lips to his in a sweet distraction.
He groaned. His fingers removed the pins from her hair, and the masses of dark curls cascaded down her back. “I’ve wanted to see your hair unbound the first moment I saw you. It’s the color of a velvet black sky.” He wrapped a curl around his finger, then cradled her face and kissed her.
His kiss was urgent and exploratory, more demanding this time. Soon she was just as heated, and she clutched the lapels of his coat. She wanted desperately for him to remove it. She longed to feel his chest, to see what he looked like beneath the layers of tailored clothing.
As if reading her mind, his hands went to his coat, and she assisted him, nearly tearing the garment from his arms. He tossed it to the carpet. Her fingers were at the fastenings of his shirt, and he tugged it from the waist of his trousers, and she helped lift it over his head.
Her greedy gaze took him in. His wide shoulders were muscled, and his arms were brawny. A sprinkling of hair covered his chest, then trailed down his lean abdomen, disappearing where his trousers began. She’d once seen a painting of the Greek god of war, Ares, and thought no man could look like the artist had portrayed him. She’d been wrong. Oliver was long and lean and as beautiful as the painted god.
“Ares,” she whispered.
“What?”
She raised her eyes to his. “You remind me of a classical painting of the Greek god of war.”
He chuckled. “No one has said that before.”
“You must take exercise.”
“I’m a pugilist. Do you tell all your men this?”
“All my men…” She bit her tongue. “No, my lord.”
“Oliver,” he corrected.
Her lips twitched with amusement. “No, Oliver. I’ve never told another man he looked like a classical painting.”
“Let’s see what you look like, shall we?” His tone was teasing, light.
She was suddenly thankful for the dim candlelight in the room. She suspected her heated cheeks had turned an uncomely shade of pink.
Could she do this? She considered everything that had already occurred this night and whether she would be attracted to Oliver had she met him years ago at a ball or at one of the beau monde’s many routs—years ago when she’d had a dowry and suitors had expressed interest.
Yes.
Absolutely yes.
She stood and offered her back. “If you would be kind enough to help me with my fastenings?”
He rose from the chair, and his fingers were at her back before she could finish her request. He pushed aside her hair, and she felt his breath on her neck, and she hoped her knees wouldn’t give out. He worked deliberately as, inch by inch, he unbuttoned the red silk, then unlaced her stays. She held the gaping gown to her breasts. Each brush of his fingers sent tremors down her spine and heated a secret place between her thighs.
“Red will forever be my favorite color,” he murmured at her neck.
She turned to face him, then released her hold on the fabric. The silk slid sensuously down her body to pool at her feet. Her corset followed. She stood before him in the sheer chemise and silk stockings that Lady Crescent had provided. The gauzy fabric was far from her usual cotton chemise, and the stockings were so fine, her legs felt naked. She reached down to remove her shoes, then met his eyes.
His gaze raked her from head to toe. “Lovely.”
She sucked in a breath and calmed her racing heart. What now? Should she wait for him to act?
A woman must be in charge of her own pleasure.
Madame Crescent’s advice bolstered her courage. She alone was responsible for how the evening progressed. She would not squander this opportunity.
Ana boldly reached for the hem of the chemise and lifted it over her head. It whisked to the carpet. She stood before him naked except for the silk stockings. It took all her bravery to meet his dark eyes.
His gaze was riveted on her face, then moved slowly over her body. His nostrils flared and his eyes widened when his attention lowered to the hairless skin between her legs.
She’d wondered what he would think. Women from her mother’s culture removed their body hair by sugar waxing, or using sukkar, a custom that dated back thousands of years to the Egyptians. When Ana had grown into womanhood, her mother took her to visit an Arab woman in the Soho district who prepared the wax by heating sugar, lemon, and water until a sticky wax formed on trays. After years of applying the sukkar, the hair grew in more sparsely over time until the skin remained hairless and smooth. With heated cheeks, Ana had confessed her secret to Madame Crescent, but Madame had merely shrugged and told Ana not to worry, that a man would find it novel.
But now, facing Oliver without a stitch of clothing, a trickle of unease coursed down Ana’s spine that wasn’t entirely due to her nakedness. Any mention of her Middle Eastern background could possibly lead to her true identity. She could not let that happen.
“Do you find it unattractive?”
“God, no. You’re beautiful. You’re so smooth and lush. An erotic fantasy.”
She would not have to concoct a lie after all. Her trepidation eased. His words, along with the fascination in his gaze, caused a delicious tingling in her veins. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He kissed a breast, licked the tip, then sucked it full into his hot mouth.
Ana gasped at the sensations. Never had she imagined a man’s touch could cause such pleasure. When he moved to her other breast, she anticipated his touch and wantonly arched her back. She had only one night to remember, and she refused to waste a moment with shyness or inhibitions.
He untied the pretty bows of her garters and slipped the stocking off each of her legs. He had long, strong fingers, and the heat of his callused palm was scorching as he trailed it down her stomach to cup her between her thighs.
“You are so lovely and perfect. I want to feast upon you.”
When he ran a forefinger across the tiny bud at the apex of her thighs, she bit her lip and her eyes fluttered. He dipped a finger inside, then ran the digit over and over her sensitive, aching bud. Sizzling delight made her limbs tremble. Never had she suspected how a skillful man’s touch could make her body quiver.
“Do you like that?”
“Oh, I like it very much.”
His eyes flared, and stark hunger hardened his features. “God, you’re not faking this, are you?”
She had lost all ability to answer. Her body was thrumming with need, a need she instinctively knew he could satisfy.
“You are so responsive and wet.” His finger stalled.
She cried out. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He groaned, but thankfully, he continued to stroke her. She thrust her breasts toward him, her body arching like a bow. One more delicious stroke, then passion inched through her veins and she shattered in his arms.
“Oh, my.”
His searing gaze raked over her. “You were made for sin.”
He left her to remove his boots and trousers. She raised herself on her elbows to watch. Her eyes widened at the sight of him naked. His cock sprang free, bold and hard. He was all male, all hard, and all beautiful. For the first time, a tremor of uncertainty tugged at her stomach at the size of his body.
His face was fierce as he climbed above her. “I can’t wait. You’ve made me lose all reason.”
“Why is that wrong?”
Without answering, he braced himself above her and kissed her as he spread her thighs with his big hands. The crown of his shaft slid down her slickness, then poised at the entrance to her body. He inched inside and she felt an incredible fullness. There was no pain, and she relaxed. Madame Crescent must have been wrong.
In one smooth motion he thrust deep inside her, and she gasped and stifled a cry in his shoulder at the sharp sting. He stiffened, a perplexed look flashing across his face.
She held up a hand as her breath came in shallow gasps. “Wait a moment.”
“Wait?”
She bit her bottom lip. “You are large.”
He grit his teeth. “And you’re tight.”
A heartbeat passed. Then another. He braced himself above her, and she wiggled her hips. He partly withdrew, then slid inside an inch. Then another.
“Is it better?” His voice was hoarse.
“Yes.”
“So damned tight.” He sounded in pain, and his own breathing was harsh.
As he started to move, a rush of moisture eased the sting, and her body stretched to accept him.
“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said.
She did, and her nails left crescent shapes in his muscular biceps.
He groaned once more and increased the pumping of his hips. He leaned forward to kiss her as each thrust touched that secret place between her thighs. She unfurled beneath him, her own need rising again. He thrust deeply once more, and blood coursed through her veins. They moved together, urgent and in unison.
He clenched his jaw. “I can’t hold off much longer.”
Don’t stop! Not yet! She climbed higher and higher, and this time, she knew what to expect. She opened her eyes to watch him, watched the slabs of chest muscle flex as he moved. Her breasts brushed his chest, her heart thundering, as waves of ecstasy pulsed through her. He thrust once, twice more, then threw back his head, a moment of vulnerability crossing his chiseled features, then he poured his seed inside her.
He rolled to the side, taking her with him, his breath hot against her cheek. She memorized everything from the feel of his arms around her, to their bodies pressed against each other, to the sheer gold panels cocooning them in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
Oliver.
One night to last an entire lifetime.
Tomorrow would come too soon.
Their breathing slowed as he held her. He rose on an elbow and stared down at her. “How were you a virgin?”
Her eyes flew open at his brusque tone. It was an accusation more than a question. His expression wasn’t soft as she’d expected, but hard, unyielding, and furious. She thought to deny it, but looking into his fierce face, she knew she could not. “It is of no consequence.”
“Perhaps not to you, madame. But it is to me.”
Better to be businesslike, as Madame Crescent had advised. “If not you, then another man would have accomplished the deed tonight.”
A muscle ticked at his jaw, and he ran his fingers through his hair.
She tentatively reached out to rest her hand on his chest. “It was incredible for me. Was it not for you?”
His expression softened. “Yes, it was.” He cupped her cheek and brushed his lips against hers, then moved to sit at the edge of the bed.
“Are you leaving?”
“Not yet. Let me help you.”
He rose and went to a nightstand, poured a pitcher of water into a basin, and dipped a cotton cloth, then returned to her. He proceeded to gently cleanse her of the evidence of their lovemaking. She knew he was angry at her deception, and she was surprised at his tenderness.
She rose from the bed and reached to retrieve the discarded coverlet from the carpet and clutched it to her. Both their gazes were drawn to the evidence of her lost virginity on the sheets. Wordlessly, he helped her with her stays and the row of tiny buttons.
When he was finished, he brushed his lips on her nape. “I’m a selfish bastard because I don’t regret it. Not one second.”
She turned to face him, and her lips curled in a satisfied smile. “Then that makes two of us.”