Midnight Honor

erotic sensations that were rippling down her neck, down her spine, and pooling in her belly.
    The edges of her bathrobe started to quiver where the chenille gaped slightly over her breasts. A particularly long, sensual sweep of the brush set off a corresponding wave of pinpoint implosions between her thighs, and her lips parted around an audible gasp.
    The brush stopped.
    She could not move, she could scarcely even breathe, and when he reached forward to run his fingertips along the curve of her neck, she almost could not stop herself from climaxing then and there. He used the excuse of gathering up the errant ribbons of hair that had escaped his attention, but when she parted her lips and released a second nearly soundless whimper, he abandoned the pretense and the caress lingered. His fingers went back and trailed across the warm, smooth curve, though there were no more errant wisps to catch.
    The next challenge came as he split the one thick tail into three sections, and she realized he was attempting to plait her hair.
    “I can do the rest,” she offered.
    “No, no. I have started it, I'll finish it. Besides, I have probably watched you do this a thousand times, how difficult can it be?”
    He made a few ineffectual twists before Anne smiled and reached around to relieve him of the task. Their hands met and brushed together, but he did not move away; he caught her wrist instead and held it a moment before raising it and pressing it against his lips.
    “I lied to you earlier when I said that your being with another man was not my first thought. Reinforced by two bottles of claret, I thought I had arrived at a fairly obvious conclusion. Nor was the beast soothed overmuch when you said you had gone to Dunmaglass.”
    “John MacGillivray and I have known each other all our lives.”
    “Yes,” he said, tracing his fingers along the soft skin of her forearm. “And I have envied him that privilege before.”
    Anne felt the heat of his breath against her wrist, his fingers skimming into the crease of her elbow, and it took her two attempts to form the words “You have?”
    “I have envied every man who has known you longer than I have,” he confessed.
    It was likely the claret speaking, Anne thought, but if that was what it took, she would arrange to have a gallon by his chair every night.
    His lips were on her wrist again, and now they were following the tingling path already conquered by his fingertips. The cuff of her sleeve had fallen well below her elbow and when he reached the chenille barrier it was a simple matter just to turn and press his lips into the curve of her neck.
    Anne could barely hold her head steady. His mouth was warm, his tongue hot and moist where it swirled up to flirt with her earlobe, then scrolled a provocative path down to the collar of her robe. His hand was gently peeling aside the chenille, causing rivers of new sensations to flow downward, and Anne feared she was so near the brink of an orgasm already, the seduction would end before it had even begun. Moreover, he would know at a glance how aroused she was, for the skin across her breasts had shrunk so tight, the buds of her nipples were like small, ripe berries.
    Without removing his mouth from her body he came slowly down on one knee before her. He pushed the robe off her arms and his hands smoothed over her breasts, cuppingthem in his palms. He wet each nipple with his tongue then watched, fascinated, as the firelight glistened off the blushed tips.
    “Jealousy,” he murmured, “can be a terrible thing. Almost as terrible as pride.”
    Anne might have had the wit to think of a response but for the thrill of feeling his lips part wider and slowly take her breast into his mouth. She melted forward, her fingers twisting into his hair, and he obliged by sucking harder, chafing her flesh with his tongue until she started making small smothered sounds in her throat.
    But when she would have slipped off the edge of the chair and joined him eagerly on the hearthrug, he stopped her. His lips released her flesh with a soft, wet suckling sound and his hands went down to her thighs, coaxing them apart. A disbelieving heartbeat later, he was pushing that same warm and teasing mouth into the V of feathery copper curls, and Anne had to grip the edges of the chair to keep from lurching right off.
    Her warning cry brought his hands around her hips to brace her through the first ungovernable rush of pleasure. His tongue prowled and