PART II
"Am I. . .Am I going to like this game?" I ask in a half-whisper, only half-reclining on my elbows and trying to lay still as requested but it is very, very difficult with Will's hands grazing my legs as he skims my stockings down my legs. My mind goes to all sorts of naughty places that Papa would smartly object to.
"What do you think so far?" Will asks, lifting one of my feet into his callous roughened hands.
"I could. . .I could get used to it," I say as he begins to massage the arch of my foot before moving slowly up to my calf. "It's. . .It's rather nice."
"I'm hoping for more than rather nice."
"It's. . .um. . .splendid?" I try once more, blinking several times to clear my rapidly fogging mind as his hands move farther. "Will, I--"
"Your skin is so smooth," he whispers, rearranging my skirts so he can get at my knees which I believe rather knobbly and scarred from the times we used to hit each other with our wooden pirate swords as children. "It feels almost a sin to touch it with my work roughened hands."
"I like sin," I say before blushing at my stupid mouth getting ahead of my stupid brain. "I mean I like you. Your hands I mean. Oh, bother." I frown. "Ignore me."
"I've tired," he says. "I found it impossible."
Will flicks my skirts back down to where they belong, seeming to lose interest – perhaps because of my horrid knees. Instead, he begins a new "examination" starting with each finger and moving upwards. Somewhere near my elbow, he replaces his exploring fingers in favor of his lips . . .
"Goodness," I breath, biting down on my lower lip to hold in what would surely be a rather wanton sigh as his teeth graze my earlobe. "That was rather nice."
Will laughs, rocking back on his haunches to look me in the eye. "Remember, I want more than 'rather nice.'"
"Then you shall have to try harder," I say, hoping I look innocent as I widen my eyes. "My compliments don't come cheap, Mr. Turner."
"Oh, I can try very hard. Very hard indeed," Will promises, looking rather mischievous and determined all at once as he pushes on my shoulders. I pull at his hands to bring him down flat on the blanket with me, but the gesture only succeeds in landing him on top of me. Which is rather nice in its own right. We can't help but laugh over it and Will's face somehow manages to end up pressed into my bosom.
"Why do you smell of oranges there?" he asks, lifting his head. "I never noticed before."
"You were never in the habit of resting your head there before," I say matter-of-factly.
"An oversight I hope to rectify," Will says, returning his head to comfort of my bosom. He probably imagined it soft too. Like the rest of my skin.
I sigh, swirling my fingers in his dark hair. "Can we stay like this forever, Will?"
"You'll hear no objections from me, Elizabeth."
I smile, loving the feel of his hair through my fingers. "I'm glad."