He lifted his head.
The sudden, shocking absence of his mouth, the cool air hitting her wet, sensitised skin, made Ines whimper, a small, protesting sound.
She was lying back on the heavy oak desk, her nightgown and robe pushed down in a pool of pale blue silk at her waist. Her breasts were bare, aching, and rosy in the warm lamplight. She was panting, her chest rising and falling in short, sharp gasps, her mind a complete, shimmering blank.
Carcel hovered over her. His hands were braced on the desk on either side of her body, caging her in. He was breathing heavily, his own chest heaving. His dark, damp hair fell over his forehead, and his jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped.
And he was looking at her.
