Free His Heir, Her Honor by Catherine Mann Page B

not to do anything more?”
    With the full power of his intense dark gaze staringat her with frank honesty and desire, there was no mistaking what he wanted. He wasn’t thinking of any woman but her.
    â€œYou have my word. Tell me to stop and I will, without hesitation.” His low, husky vow vibrated the air between them.
    â€œThen by all means,” she said, her voice breathier than she would have liked to admit, “continue what you were doing.”
    She could handle this.
    Carefully, she turned her back to him again, her breasts prickling with awareness as she wondered how far this game between them would go. His hands spread and the zipper parted further link by link. The top of her dress stayed on even as cool recycled air swooshed over her back. He worked his way south to her waist, thumbs circling along small but persistent knots of tension and strain.
    Down, down farther still, he went until massaging almost at the base of her spine, his skillful fingers teasing along the top of her bikini panties. His hands spanned all the way across her lower back, then wrapped forward to rub lightly against her hip bones.
    Her dress eased precariously forward, until she crossed her arms to hold it in place. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to stop. The pressure of his hands so intimately close to where she really wanted, needed , him to touch her only served to stoke the ache hotter.
    They played with fire here and she knew it. Yet she trusted him when he said he wouldn’t take this further without her permission. So she surrendered to the sensations washing over her.
    The man had the art of touch mastered. The glide of his hands on her back soothed and stirred at the same time, the healer and the infuriating prince.
    Oh God, it had been so long since she’d had a man’s touch on her, his touch. Her body soaked up the gentle rasp of his callused fingers, his every move so precise as he explored her, relaxed her, totally in tune as to exactly where she needed his care.
    According to the pregnancy books she’d read, the backaches would only grow worse, as if in some cosmic prelude to labor. Nerves pattered in her chest as her mind fast-forwarded, anxiety intensifying at the notion of facing that day alone.
    â€œShhh,” Carlos whispered in her ear. His hands skimmed around to her rib cage and pulled her back against him. “Whatever you’re thinking about. Don’t. You’re tensing up again. As much as I’m enjoying having my hands on you, I hate to think my efforts here have been for nothing.”
    His hands rested right below her breasts, so close her nipples peaked against her bra, tight and needy. As he stepped closer, his body against her back, the rigid length of him pressed to her spine with unmistakable arousal. She longed to writhe against him and tempt him higher, harder. How she burned to lift his palms to cover her breasts, to ease the ache with the warm pressure of him.
    It was just physical, she reminded herself. Heaven knew she wasn’t too happy with the man himself right now. But her willpower was beginning to wane.
    She cuffed her fingers around his wrists and shifted his touch an inch lower. “I think it’s time to call a halt to this.”
    Just that fast, his hands slid away. Not a word, not even a hint of a protest from him. However, her body shouted loud and clear over the loss of his touch. Her skin tightened, tingly and hot with awareness. Dragging in breaths that did nothing to steady her racing heart, she held her dress in place and faced him.
    His features were taut, his eyes as molten as his dark cable sweater.
    â€œWe both—” Her voice shook and she steadied the betraying tremble before continuing, “We both know I’m attracted to you, and it’s a safe bet to say you’re attracted to me as well. I also know I can want you while not liking you very much. However, I’m not so sure that