Read Online Mistletoe Menage by Molly Ann Wishlade - Free Book Online Page A

replacing his concern.
    “That would be wise, would it
not?”
    He nodded so Anne stood and
offered him the front of her gown. Her seamstress had placed the buttons on the
front as she’d requested, and Guy grinned as he slowly unbuttoned her. As each
button slid out of its hole, Guy’s fingers brushed against her breasts. She let
her arms hang at her sides and focused on his touch, the coolness of his skin
from being recently outdoors, and the deliberately slow fondling that
accompanied his actions. When she was released from the gown, he pushed it down
and helped her to step out of it, then he loosened her
stays. She stood before him in a sheer chemise and white silk stockings.
    “You are more beautiful than
ever, Anne. I swear you have blossomed in the last fortnight.”
    “I believe so. I have had several
gowns let out to accommodate my growing curves,” she confessed, pleased at his
approval.
    He stepped back and gazed at her
and she blushed under his scrutiny but with pleasure, not embarrassment, as she
had during his first time at the house.
    “Do you have the painting?”
    “I do. I have three in fact.”
    “Three?”
    “Indeed, my darling. I wanted to
show you in oils how you have changed since our first meeting back in
September.”
    “Can I see them?”
    “Of course.” He kissed her cheek then left the room before returning quickly with three
parcels under his arm. Each one was wrapped in brown paper and tied with
string.
    “Now, sit on that chair by the
fire and I will show you each one in turn. But first, close your eyes.”
    Anne did as she was told. She
heard paper being torn and Guy removing his jacket and boots. “No peeking!” he
said, just as she was about to open her eyes and turn around.
    A sudden gust of icy cold air
startled her but she fought the urge to turn toward him.
    “I just needed a breath of air,
Anne. Nothing to worry about.” She heard him fasten
the lock on the French doors that looked out onto the stone verandah and gardens, then pull the changing screen back in front of the
glass. She had told the servants to place the screen there to keep the drafts
out, drafts that would otherwise disturb her reading, but really it had been to
shield her from the grounds men during Guy’s visits.
    “Now open your eyes.”
    Guy stood before her, clothed in
just his breeches and holding a framed picture at his side. His chest glowed in
the firelight and she eyed his broad torso and the clear indentations on his
stomach which hinted at the muscles beneath his golden skin. She had run her
fingers along those muscles many times and longed to do so again.
    “Here is the first portrait that
I wanted you to see.” He turned the frame in his hands and Anne gasped as she
looked at it. For there, captured in oils, was a beautiful widow clad in her
mourning gown. She was perched on the edge of the chaise, her chestnut hair
pulled into a coronet upon her head. The neckline of her gown was decorated
with a pure white lace insert. Her back was straight, her hands folded in her
lap, and her ankles hidden demurely beneath her gown. And her expression…it
made Anne’s eyes fill with tears to see the pain the woman experienced.
    “That is not me.” She placed a
hand over her chest.
    “It is not…not now,” Guy said. “But it was you just months ago. This is how you appeared when
we first met.”
    Anne eyed her image and sighed. “And now?”
    Guy placed the painting on the
chair behind him then disappeared behind Anne again. She heard more tearing of
paper, then he held up another portrait. This time,
Anne was scandalously naked except for her stockings as she reclined on the
chaise. Her breasts were exposed, large and milky white with full, round, pink
circles, and pointy nipples at the center. One hand supported her cheek while
the other half-obscured the chestnut curls between her rounded thighs. The
portrait was erotic, seductive, and arousing. Was this how Guy saw her then?
    “Do you see