The Saint Who Stole My Heart: A Regency Rogues Novel by Stefanie Sloane

Author:Stefanie Sloane [Sloane, Stefanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780345534446
Google: 2mm59iR04F8C
Amazon: 0345531140
Goodreads: 13535114
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2012-04-23T23:00:00+00:00

Elena desperately wanted to face him—to discover his body and all that he offered to her. She glanced down the length of herself, relieved that her corset and stockings continued to cover at least a portion of her abundant flesh.

“Elena,” Dash crooned, his hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder.

She steadied herself against the window while turning around, taking in the sight of Lord Carrington’s sculpted chest. It was far more spectacular than any work of art she’d seen in person—and, she’d ventured to guess, any she would encounter ever again.

She wished that simply staring at the man would satisfy the cravings that threatened to overtake her entire being. But she needed to see more—touch more. And feel more.

“You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said in a reverent tone, drawing Elena’s eyes up to meet his.

And he meant it. His worshipful gaze told her so.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, feeling shy once the admission had left her mouth.

He took her face in his hands and held it, looking at her as though he were memorizing every last measure of space, from the top of her forehead to her chin. “Say nothing. Only believe that I speak the truth.”

Elena began to cry. “Please, don’t …”

“Don’t what?” he asked softly, concern clouding his eyes.

“Don’t make me cry,” she whispered, biting her lip.

He leaned in and kissed her. “I promise you, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to dry your tears. Simply say the word.”

“This,” she uttered, grabbing the curve of her hips, “and this,” she continued, lifting her breasts as though they were bags of flour. “They’re not beautiful. They’re ample. Robust. Generous. But not beautiful.”

Dash quieted her mouth with his finger, emitting a shushing sound from his lips. “Those are words of your choosing, not mine. To me, you are perfect.”

He reached for his boots, pulling the right one off and leaving it on the floor of the carriage before removing the second. Then he unbuttoned his breeches and tugged them down, bringing his smalls with them. “I’ll show you how beautiful you are, Elena, with my body.”

He stepped out of the garment and kicked it aside, reaching for his stockings and yanking them off.

He knelt before her, his head bowed as though he were a slave at the feet of mighty Aphrodite. Elena looked down at the man, his muscular shoulders and back, his perfectly formed buttocks and strong thighs. She wanted him. But it was more than that. She wanted to see herself as he did—wanted to know what it was to join with someone until you didn’t know where you ended and the other began.

“Please, show me what you see,” she whispered, her hands coming to rest on his capable shoulders.

Dash lifted his head and nodded, then began to slowly roll one stocking down Elena’s leg, his mouth placing delicate, wet kisses on the inside of her thigh, then her calf, and finally the arch of her foot. He started on

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