Читать книгу Scandal And Miss Markham - Janice Preston, Janice Preston - Страница 3

Vernon stood at the washstand, shirtless, his back to her as he bent over the bowl.

The candlelight danced across unblemished skin and she watched, fascinated by the play of muscles across his shoulders and back, as he continued his ablutions. Her hands itched to touch, to stroke, to discover if his skin was as smooth as it looked. His breeches were stretched tight, outlining taut buttocks—thrust temptingly in her direction—and long, lean thighs. Her mouth dried as her skin heated. A thrilling sense of anticipation swirled in her belly, then slowed, arrowing in to the juncture of her thighs and provoking a strange restlessness.

An insistent need.

Thea resisted the urge to move, to turn onto her back, to push aside the covers, to extend her arms and invite him to hold her. How would it feel to throw aside morals and caution and pride and follow that craving? She lay motionless, still watching as Vernon hummed a tune she did not recognise under his breath, seemingly perfectly relaxed.

Desire.

She recognised it instinctively, although she had never before experienced it.