Emma clutched the fabric of the robe closer, but the silky material did nothing to douse the simmering fire within. Licking her lips, she asked, “Are you hungry?”
A grin spread across his lips. “Indeed, my sweet. But not for food,” he clarified.
Her insides rattled. The thought of them devouring each other with their hungry mouths danced through her mind. Body to body. Flesh on flesh. Skin on skin. She drew in a deep breath, trying to tamp down her bourgeoning desire. Wyatt had a concussion, she reminded herself, which meant, they couldn’t let things get crazy. Not until Doc Wilson gave him the all-clear.
“Stop overthinking things and just come to bed.” He lifted the blanket and scooted over, making room for her. “Nice robe. Take it off,” he told her, wriggling his eyebrows.
Slowly, she untied the robe and let the soft material slip off her shoulders and down her body. Desire shimmered in Wyatt’s eyes. He watched her every move. She placed the robe over the back of a nearby chair, then crawled in beside him. He tucked the blanket around her with one hand and pulled her close with his other. She listened to the strong thud of his heartbeat as she rested her head on his smooth bare chest.
“Isn’t this much better?” he asked, stroking her arm in a soothing manner.
Better? Oh, hell yes. “Yes, but you need your rest.”
“You smell incredible,” he whispered, burying his nose into her hair, and rubbing his face against her.
Heat surged to her lady bits. She bit her lip. This is torture—deliciously sweet torture.
Instead, she asked, “How’s your head?”
He gently squeezed her. “Throbbing.”
She tried to sit up, but he clasped her tight to him. “Do you want aspirin—I mean, laudanum or something?”
He gave her a throaty chuckle. “I wasn’t talking about that head.”
“What—oh, you rascal!” she said, and swatted him playfully.
“You asked,” he teased.
Her hand slid up the front of his chest to rest on his shoulder. His smooth skin felt warm. Instinctively, she draped her right leg over his and was instantly aware of his nakedness. No pajama bottoms. No boxers—did men wear boxers in the nineteenth century? Nothing. Just bare flesh. All naked and yummy. She sucked in a deep breath. How would she remain this close without touching him…there?
Wyatt kicked the blanket aside and within an instant, covered her body with his own. He rested on his elbows, taking the weight off her, cradling her face between his hands. “Emma,” he whispered, gazing her into eyes. “No more waiting.”
She swallowed, knowing it would be pointless to argue, especially when her body ached for his touch.
She wanted him.
He wanted her.
“No more waiting,” she agreed.
He lowered his head to claim her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss, scorching her insides and sending new spirals of ecstasy through her.
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