Gabriel lifted his head and brushed Polly’s hair back from her brow. “You’re thinking, Polonaise, and now isn’t the time for it. Kiss me.” Polly levered up and kissed him, because it was an entirely worthy suggestion. When she would have sealed her mouth to his and started in with the plundering, he drew back and denied her, insisting on a slower pace. Begging was apparently on her agenda, though she’d enjoy it, and they both knew it, too. Gabriel’s hands and mouth flowed over her, magically relieving her of her nightgown, and of her fears and insecurities. He inspected every inch of her with his kisses and caresses, until Polly couldn’t lie still beneath him but had to let her hands roam his skin in retaliation. She lingered at his back, sketching not just the muscles and bones, but also his scar. When she raked her nails lightly over the puckered flesh, he sighed his pleasure.
