Scoundrel's Honor. Rosemary Rogers

of champagne.

      A moan was wrenched from her throat as Dimitri’s slender fingers delved beneath her skirt to stroke up the back of her legs. Lightly, he traced the top edge of her stockings, making her lower stomach clench with a sharp pang of need.

      Oh, this was…astonishing.

      Her eyes squeezed shut as she instinctively allowed her legs to part. She could feel the hard thrust of his arousal against her hip and hear his fractured breathing as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, but nothing mattered apart from those clever fingers.

      Allowing her hands to tangle in the thick satin of his hair, she unconsciously arched her back, seeking relief from the tension coiling deep inside.

      There had to be something…

      “Please, Dimitri,” she choked, not certain what she needed, but sensing he would understand.