The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie(55)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

It felt good, yes, but a foot rub was a long way from the so-intimate act they’d been speaking of. Even Mary rubbed Violet’s feet sometimes.

But then, a massage from Daniel was a great deal different from one from Mary. Mary was briskly competent. Daniel, on the other hand, gave Violet a slow smile, which turned mundane foot rubbing into something bordering the erotic.

Daniel lifted one stockinged foot as he moved his thumbs over the arch of it. Then he leaned down and carefully bit her toes.

Violet gasped and tried to jerk her foot away. “What if my stockings were dirty?”

Daniel captured her again. “The efficient Violet? Put on soiled stockings? I don’t think so. But if it worries you . . .”

He slid his hands up her leg until his fingers caught on the tie of her plain garter. Violet remembered how Daniel had checked her for breaks or hurts when they’d crash-landed the balloon. The frisson of delight as his fingers had touched her calves had unnerved her then, and it unnerved her now.

Daniel’s hands were firm and sure, and he made short work of the garter. Her stocking loosened, and Daniel slid it down and off her leg.

He slid off her other stocking in the same way then moved Violet’s bare feet back to his lap, beginning another massage.

“You have lovely toes.” But Daniel was looking into her eyes, his smile so sinful Violet wasn’t certain whether to squirm or laugh.

He lifted one foot, cradling her heel in his hand. He kissed the tips of her toes then the ball of her foot. The tickling tingle became a burn of pleasure.

Daniel slid his hot touch up her bare leg, her skirt and petticoat rising as he went. Her loose lawn drawers moved upward under Daniel’s skilled touch, until his thumbs brushed the soft skin on her inner thighs.

Violet had never realized how sensitive she was there. When Violet washed herself, her thighs were as neutral to her as the inside of her arms or the space between her shoulder blades.

When Daniel touched her, her perception changed. His fingers did a sweet dance, streaks of heat, a feeling Violet couldn’t define. She found herself clutching the back of the sofa, her fingers sinking into its soft fabric.

Daniel’s fingers stopped, and Violet swallowed disappointment.

“Ye all right, love?”

“Yes.” Violet could barely say the words. “I’m . . . fine.”

“Good. Because these come off next.” Daniel tugged at the buttons of her drawers.

Her eyes widened. “No . . . I mean, I don’t think I can.”

“But I must win my wager.” Daniel’s eyes were dark in the firelight, his smile soft. “A gentleman never backs out of a wager. He pays his debt of honor. Or collects his debt, as the case may be.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Violet stammered.

“That’s because I’m dying for you, and my thoughts are a bit incoherent.”

Daniel didn’t look as though he were dying. His fingers were steady as he unbuttoned her drawers, his gaze holding Violet’s.

Swiftly and competently, Daniel slid the drawers down over her hips. In no time at all, Violet found herself sitting bare bottomed on the sofa, her skirt hiked up over her knees.

She automatically grabbed her skirt and petticoats to pull them down again. Daniel caught her hands, kissed them, then set them to either side of her while he pushed her skirts all the way up to bare her thighs.

Now the panic started to come. Violet clutched his hands. “Daniel.”

The red-bearded man had done this—pushed up her skirts, though he’d ripped open her drawers instead of politely unbuttoning them. Violet had thought the cloth tearing from her had hurt, but she’d been unprepared for the searing pain that followed.

“Violet,” Daniel said, his voice cutting through the fog. “You’re not there. You’re here. With me. On the sofa in my somewhat untidy flat. And I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Yes. She was here. With Daniel. Far from the trivia of her daily life, the endless need to keep busy, busy, so she could forget.

“Keep me here,” Violet pleaded.

“I will. I promise you.”

Daniel gently extricated himself from her grip, smoothed his hand over the top of her knee, and kissed it. “I want you to do something for me. Imagine something very”—he kissed her other knee—“sensual. The most sensual thing you can think of. One that pleases you, not one you think would please me. Keep it locked inside yourself. You don’t have to tell me what it is if you don’t want to.”

Sensual. Violet strove to calm her breathing as she thought. The most sensual image she could call to mind was . . . Daniel.

Daniel lying on the floor of an empty bedroom, his hands behind his head as he laughed up at her. Daniel sitting up, cross-legged, his eyes narrowing as he closed his lips around a black cigarette.

Daniel’s hand on Violet’s waist, daring her to take the cigarette and put her lips where his had been . . . He’d watched her with eyes the color of dark whiskey, as he watched her now.

Violet snapped back to the present. She realized Daniel had moved his thumbs to her bare opening, drawing them along the slickness there.

Violet went still, breath catching. Daniel stroked lightly, barely touching her, but the contact was there. The watery sensation of it made her dizzy.

“Sensual,” Daniel repeated. “Close your eyes. Hold on to those thoughts. No others.”

Easy to say. No one had ever touched her there except the red-bearded man long ago, and he hadn’t exactly touched her. Pried, forced her apart, hurt her. Nothing like Daniel caressing her as though he cherished her.

Violet couldn’t stop her trembling, but she closed her eyes again. She forced her mind back to Daniel in the bedroom, his smile when she showed him she wasn’t afraid to take the cigarette, his look of satisfaction when he leaned down and tasted the smoke on her lips.

Her thoughts switched to waking up next to Daniel in the inn, the warm scent of him in the bed with her. How he’d slid his hand so carefully inside her nightdress to tenderly cup her breast. He’d moved over her, giving her the deep, intimate kiss before the innkeeper’s wife had come in with breakfast.

Violet’s imagination took it further. In her fantasy, they stayed in the bed together, no innkeeper’s wife interrupting. Violet would close her arms around Daniel, running her hands down his body, bare beneath his nightshirt. She’d find the warmth of his backside, lift the nightshirt to touch him.

Dimly, in the present, Violet felt Daniel’s fingers stroking her, touching her. Then another warmth, his breath on her thighs.