Free Lord of the Rakes by Darcie Wilde Page B

rose up in sudden protest. She must think clearly, if only for the space of a few heartbeats. She did not know this man, had not even danced with him. Whatever he made her feel, he remained a stranger. In her wildest fantasies of freedom, did she ever truly imagine being intimate with a stranger? She must be clear, because whatever Philip did after this, however much or little she permitted, this moment could never be taken back.
    “Yes,” she said. “I want to touch you. Very much.”
    “Then do, Caroline. Touch me.”
    Caroline had never imagined a whisper could command her, but Philip’s did. She reached her hand toward him, but then stopped. Philip’s brow arched in the teasing, arrogant inquiry she was beginning to recognize as something of a reflex with him. But she did not rise to his silent challenge. She would not be baited, or hasty. This moment was a gift. No one knew she was here. No one but the two of them knew what she did. She might do anything at all in this privacy and secrecy. Was this entirely the reverse of how intimacy was supposed to come about? Yes, it was, and yet she did not seem to be trying to hold back its flood even a little.
    Caroline met Philip’s gaze, turned up her palm, and began to undo the buttons of her glove.
    Philip was a long time drawing in breath, and a long time letting it go again. He seemed seized by a hesitation. Or was he simply curious as to how far she meant to take this outrageous flirtation? She could not tell.
    “May I be of assistance to my lady?” he inquired mildly.
    Caroline found her own hesitation did not even last the space of one breath. “Sir, you may.”
    Caroline stretched out her arm, and when she saw the mischief and anticipation sparked in Philip’s expression, her heart sputtered yet again. He set his fingers to her buttons. One at a time, he undid them, exposing her arm’s soft skin to the night and to his gaze. Excitement filled her as she watched the grace with which his strong hands moved—excitement, curiosity, and desire. He was all concentration, all attention to this simple task of baring her to him. She imagined his fingers undoing the hooks and tapes of her ball gown. He would ease her dress away with as much care as he lavished on her glove. She wanted him to hurry, and she wanted him to take forever, so she would never lose the provocative brush of his fingertips against her flesh.
    Philip freed the last button. He lifted his gaze to hers again, just as he lifted his hands away from her wrist. He waited. Caroline understood he meant for her to take the next step. Where she found the daring, she did not know. Part of herself was consumed with fear that she would make herself ridiculous, but part of her relished this. The silk whispered against her sensitized skin as she slowly drew off the glove. She meant to lay it in her own lap, but at the last moment she changed course, and draped the glove across his thigh.
    Philip shifted his weight. She thought he might be about to speak, but she found she did not want him to. So she laid her bare fingers against his lips. His mouth was warm. She’d expected that, but not that his lips would feel so soft and vibrant beneath her touch. Her hand trembled, but she did not let herself pause. She would not think, or fear. She would act. She turned her hand so the backs of her knuckles could brush down the side of his jaw. He was not so smooth there, but the stubbled texture was pleasing to her, as was the warm skin of his throat, just above the high collar his cravat so discourteously held closed. She allowed her fingertips to toy with the crisp linen, as if she contemplated undoing it. She smoothed the fabric of his coat across his shoulder. Something at her core tried to tighten and loosen at the same time, and the excitement raised by that tension was as intriguing as the feeling of his powerful body beneath her touch.
    Neither was Philip unaffected. He breathed with great care—deep breaths in