Rated M for mild smut (in words and actions :).

-.-.-

He insisted on making the chocolate.

We stood in the kitchen, faint moonlight filtering through the windows. The room was cool and smelled of bread and herbs.

Matt had placed the lamp near the stove, and I'd lit candles on the table. Their wavering light cast shadows on his white shirtsleeves as he selected cups from the cabinet and a copper pot from its hook. He carried the lamp into the pantry while I fetched sugar and chocolate. Then he stoked the fire in the stove and began heating the milk.

I leaned against the table, feeling sleepy and content. My feet missed his warm, massaging fingers. I glanced up to find him watching me. His eyes looked both teasing and intense, as they had in the library.

I gave him a half smile. He returned it, slowly, with a lazy tilt to his lips. "What are you smiling about?" I laughed.

"Our conversation from a few moments ago."

"Oh, you found it entertaining?"

"Indeed. And I'd like to know more."

I sobered, watching him add honey and sugar, stirring them into the milk.

"Thank you for being a gentleman," I blurted out. "I mean, for being considerate. Not assuming that I did or didn't know…certain things."

He smiled, gently this time. "I trust that if you need guidance in future, you will ask?" Despite his soft gaze, his voice was a deep rumble that made my stomach flip over.

I nodded, wondering how many times in one evening this man could make me blush.

He abandoned the stove and crossed the few feet between us. He didn't touch me, but came very, very close. I blinked up at him in the candlelight.

"I look forward to learning everything about you, India. Once we're married you must tell me…" His hand found the sleeve of my dress, and I felt him grasp the fabric delicately between his fingers. He bent his head to my throat and kissed the sensitive flesh beneath my ear.

"You must show me," he murmured, "how you like to be touched."

I swallowed, unable to move. "I'm not sure I know, precisely. Yet."

His eyes were dark pools that held mine. "We have plenty of time to find out." He ran his hand up my arm to my shoulder. His gaze followed. His fingers trailed across my collarbone and found the buttons at the neck of my dress.

When he spoke, it was a whisper, and I could feel his warm breath at my temple. "Do you ever touch yourself?"

My breath rushed out of me, and I hadn't realized I'd been holding it. "Where," I asked weakly, "do you mean?"

"Anywhere you like. Anywhere that gives you pleasure." His fingers tripped down the buttons of my dress, brushing the tops of my breasts. "Here, perhaps…"

He moved lower, detouring to the side and caressing the dip of my waist.

I remained frozen yet burning while his hand slid lower still.

He reached the side of my hip and the folds of fabric where my skirt attached to the bodice. He grasped my hip firmly for a moment, pulling me even closer to him. I could hear his breathing, and mine, loud in the silent room. He traced his fingers to the center of my hips.

"Or especially," he purred, "here."

His hand just—barely—caressed the juncture of my thighs through the layers of skirts.

I sucked in a breath, my head reeling and my heart thudding. He moved back a step, studied me, and smiled. He looked pleased with himself.

But then he glanced at the stove and swore under his breath. The milk had progressed past simmering and was starting to bubble angrily. He moved the pot off the fire and stirred the liquid.

I clung to the edge of table for support. When I found my voice, I said, "Is it burned?"

"No, surprisingly, it's not." He looked back at me, and his gaze raked brazenly up and down my figure. "But I'm feeling a great deal of heat in this room."

I tried to hide both my blush and my smile by turning away, but his grin told me he'd seen them anyway.

He indicated the pot. "I think it can be saved." Shaving off bits of chocolate into the mixture, he stirred briskly. After a few moments, he doused the fire.

He poured the beverage into cups and we sat on stools at the table, next to each other. I blew on my chocolate to cool it.

"You haven't answered my question," Matt said.

I turned to look at him.

"Do you ever…" He raised his brows and glanced down my body.

I could not believe we were having this conversation. But it didn't displease me. Quite the opposite.

Gathering my courage, I said, "I—have. On occasion. Though I don't make a habit of it."

"Why not?"

I stared at my cup rather than at him. "Because it's not—I mean, it's—" What was I going to say? That it was lewd? Wicked? "Many people think it's a sin. Don't they?" I wished I didn't sound so uncertain.

"Yes," Matt said, "but I don't believe so. Nor that it's harmful. If God didn't want us to feel pleasure, why would he have made us the way we are?"

I couldn't think of an answer. "Does that mean you do it?" I challenged.

"I do," he replied calmly.

My mouth went dry and my skin flushed all over. I couldn't help imagining just how he would…

To cover my sudden desire, I took a sip from the cup I had wrapped in both hands.

He seemed to know where my thoughts had headed. "If you like, I'll show you, one day."

I almost choked on the chocolate. He patted my back while I coughed. "India? Are you all right?" He sounded too amused for my liking.

"I'm fine," I managed, setting the cup down. "I think I will take you up on that offer. One day."

"I'm glad to hear it." His hand found my thigh under the table.

"Will you tell me more about your…experiences?"

I didn't look at him but watched a blob of wax drip slowly down one of the candles.

"There's not much to tell. I admit to…exploring…a couple times when I was young, and a couple times more recently. What about you?" I asked before he could press me further.

"The same for me. Although, it was more than 'a couple' times. Perhaps…several."

"Why?" My face heated. "I mean—when do you…?"

"Most recently, I do it because of you."

He had shocked me, this time.

He squeezed my leg and laughed low in his throat. "Are you still so surprised to understand the impact of your beauty, India?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound emerged. Trying again, I said, "I'm not sure 'beauty' is the right word."

"It is. Beauty, wit, desirability…you have a powerful hold on me. And there are simply certain times when a man has to let off steam."

Or a woman, I thought. This man had set me blushing and off balance from the first moment I'd met him.

"Tonight," Matt went on, "might be one of those times. After our stimulating conversation."

It took me a moment to understand his meaning. "You're saying…" I stole a glance at him. "You plan to do this activity, by yourself, tonight?"

He watched me intently, his face sultry and mischievous. "Yes." His hand tightened on my thigh. "Perhaps you will, as well?"

Oh, God.

I took another sip of the hot, frothy chocolate, buying myself time to respond. He was enjoying this too much. I couldn't let him maintain the upper hand.

"Does that sound appealing?" he persisted.

I sighed with what I hoped sounded like disappointment. Frowning slightly, I slid out from under his hand and stood. "No, I'm afraid I have something more pressing on my agenda."

He frowned, too. "You have something more…?"

I laughed, ruining the ruse.

He shook his head at me. "Oh, no. That was cruel, Miss Steele. Cruel, indeed."

"You believed me!" I crowed. "For a moment, you did."

"No. I was merely—" He broke off, chuckling. "All right, you win." He stood and grasped my waist, pulling me against him. "Don't rub it in."

I smiled innocently at him.

He bent his head, lips descending on mine. They were hot, silky, tasting faintly of chocolate. The kiss began with explosive heat, evidence of the fire that had been building between us. Then it slowed, our lips lingering, but no less passionate.

When we drew away, Matt rested his chin against the top of my head.

"This activity we were discussing," he said. "I have a proposal for you. Very indecent, you understand. Just the sort of thing a gentleman should discuss with his beloved fiancée."

I pulled back to look at him. "Oh? What is it?" Though I sounded casual, my heart pounded.

"Go to bed tonight and think of me," he murmured. "Think about what sort of things please you. Try them out, if you like. I'll be thinking of you and what you might be doing, alone, wearing nothing but your nightgown. I'll imagine what I want to do when we're together. And then…"

"Then?" I asked breathlessly.

"Then, tomorrow, we tell each other about it. How…enjoyable it was. And what we'd like to do together."

I drew in a breath, recovering my wits. "You're quite right, Mr. Glass. That is indecent. Scandalous, even. How do you propose we tell each other of our…findings? Your aunt could walk in at any time. Or the servants, or Willie—"

He chuckled. "Willie might be all too pleased to stumble upon such a scene. But I'm sure we'll think of something." He touched my cheek, a tender gesture at odds with how tightly his other arm kept me pressed against him.

I slid my hand from his shoulder to his neck. "Well," I said, toying with the collar of his shirt, "how do you know I haven't already given a great deal of thought to those topics you propose?" I looked him straight in the eye. "I could have it all planned out just as well as you."

His gaze was riveted on me. He seemed to breathe faster, and I could feel the pulse at his throat, the hot skin under his collar.

"Then," he said, "I would love to make those plans a reality." The darkness and devotion in his eyes entranced me. His smile came slowly, but it was devilish and full of joy.

"Perhaps," he went on, "we won't merely tell each other of our private explorations. Perhaps we'll do them together."

"Before the wedding?" My voice sounded surprised, but he must have known I was willing, the way I still melted against him.

His eyes glittered with the promise of beautiful, sinful thoughts.

"Anytime, India. Anytime you like."