Free To Seduce an Earl by Lori Brighton

her close, to teach her whatever she wanted to know as long as she stayed…as long as she made him forget his life for one brief moment.  
    She trembled, but her gaze remained locked to his. Brave girl. She had something to do and no one would stand in her way. Reluctantly, he admired her for that. “It’s not easy, you know.” He reached out, boldly cupping the side of her face, the skin warm and smooth against his palm. She flinched. He sighed.
    Dear God, he had a lot of work to do. “It will cost you.”
    She looked down, an enchanting flush flooding her high cheekbones. “Of course. I’ve already paid for this evening.”
    He frowned as guilt worked bitterly in his gut. Why, for the first time in years, did it bother him to speak of money and sex in the same breath? It was a business. She was willing to pay. He could do no less than charge her; hell, he was expected to charge her.
    But he didn’t want her to pay. He wanted…he wanted to be able to touch her, touch someone , just once, of his own free will.
    “Touching first then?” she whispered, raising her hopeful gaze. Her breath was a warm caress against the inside of his wrist, a promise of what was to come.
    “Yes,” he said just as softly. “Touching.”
    They merely stared at each other for one long moment. And in her hazel eyes he tried to understand the truth. Why did he want her so? Why did his entire body ache with the need to kiss her? Make love to her? Perhaps because she had red hair. Or perhaps because she smelled of fresh air, warmth and innocence. Or perhaps because she made him feel .  
    Slowly, he trailed his fingers down her face, following the gentle slope of her jaw to the delicate curve of her neck. He played with the satiny green ribbons that tied her bonnet in place before pulling the bow free. He lifted the straw hat and settled it on the side table. In the light from the setting sun the red in her hair caught fire. He hesitated only a moment, then allowed his fingers to move over those silky strands, just barely touching her halo of hair.  
    “A simple touch can light the desire within until it’s almost unbearable.”
    “Surely not,” she said.
    He smiled at her naïveté, at the vulnerability that tainted her words.
    “Surely. For instance…” He took her hand in his and pulled the white glove from her fingertips, one by one. The glove dropped to the tabletop, leaving her hand bare. Pale, delicate. Fine lines crossed her palm, lines that could tell the future, according to some. How he wanted to know what those lines meant.
    “My hand pressed to yours is intimate, perhaps.” He watched her through his lashes, judging her reaction.
    She didn’t move. Barely looked as if she breathed.
    He slipped his fingers through hers. She stared as if she’d never held hands with someone. Perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps they weren’t so different after all. It was an intimate gesture between couples. A gesture done out of love and compassion. Something he hadn’t experienced and probably never would.
    He cleared his throat. “But for a man of experience hand holding is something for milkmaids.”
    “I see.”
    But of course she didn’t see. The woman was as innocent as they came. And by the tremble of her body, she was bloody nervous. Where had his charm gone? Usually, by now, he’d have a woman’s dress undone and she’d be panting underneath him. But with Grace, for some reason he was in no rush. He wanted to savor the moment.  
    “If you take a man’s hand,” he started, “and gently stroke the palm…” Slowly, he drew his finger over the hollow of her sensitive skin. Her pulse beat fast in her wrist, the blue veins under her skin delicate cobwebs that showed her aristocracy. “Or, if you draw your fingers along the outside of his, as if you’re a child tracing a hand on parchment….” He drew his finger over the tip of her thumb, down to that secret curve and slowly back up over her finger.
    Her nostrils