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took, or she’d slide away into fear and confusion. He could feel her reach out in exploration and wonder—was it possible to feel another person’s wonder?—and then if he expressed any doubt or question she’d shrink off.
    He hadn’t believed Ruby about the woman’s innocence, but it was even greater than Ruby had described.
    The woman didn’t know if it was normal to have sex with your shoes on. He grew harder just thinking about it, about her—and given the rocklike stature of his cock, that was a natural wonder.
    The woman.
    Grace. He should think of her as Grace.
    It suited her, suited his thoughts.
    He could not wait to reverse their situation, to put her at his mercy, to show her what he wanted, but …
    Ruby had explained the importance of this first phase and he’d agreed, if not quite willingly.
    The woman must have the chance to explore—before he had his.
    He had to grant her freedom in return for his own.
    Swanston had never been blindfolded before. He had blindfolded many women, but he’d never dreamed of covering his own eyes, of allowing himself this vulnerability. He’d refused at first when Ruby had suggested he wear a mask that would render him blind. He’d even proposed one that would leave him able to see, but leave the woman, leave Grace, with the impression thathis vision was obscured.
    Ruby had been adamant.
    It would only work if he were willing to give his all.
    He’d considered and had accepted that she had a valid point. Having asked others to trust, he had to live up to his own standards.
    Ruby was correct—he could not ask Grace to trust him if he was lying to her.
    And so the mask. This stupid heavy thing that left him unable to breathe—or to see. And God he wanted to see her. He’d never experienced anything like it. He could feel her move, and then withdraw. She was so tentative, but so willing to take him on.
    And her voice. Her soft, whispery voice was driving him crazy. Her words wrapped about him, painting a picture that could not possibly be true. He almost wished that he would never see her so that she could stay a perfect mystery in his thoughts. No reality could match this.
    And her touch. Small soft hands, soft hands that stopped to examine every inch, to savor, to enjoy. It was almost too much. She’d barely touched him and yet he felt he knew her, knew what she wanted, what she needed. And he was all too ready to show her, to teach her.
    God he wanted to teach her.
    Even as she taught him. He’d never imagined how much pleasure he could find in his arm.
    A quiet cough brought him back to the moment, although how he’d gotten lost in thought when—
    “Are you going to show me your back? I thought you’d agreed.” Her breath heated the upper curve of his biceps.
    She was so close he’d only have to reach out and …
    “Yes, of course. I am sorry.” He turned so that he faced where he imagined the door must be.
    “You’re beautiful, like a gift from the gods. I never knew a man could be beautiful. You look like those sculptures I wasn’t supposed to see. Mother never understood the beauty of an unclothed body. Granted, I am not really sure Mother understood beauty at all.”
    He could feel her, feel the movement of the air, sense her very presence. His groin tightened further.
    “I am going to touch you now,” she whispered.
    And then her fingers were on him, only two—her pointer fingers, he imagined. One finger at the top of each shoulder. She ran them outward, tracing the lines of his body, and then downward, defining shoulder blade to spine. And down his spine, delicious trails of sensation.
    He felt her lean forward—and then her lips were upon him. Just a gentle kiss, a taste, right below his neck. And then another taste, a little lower, and then another.
    He squeezed his thighs tight and thought of Mother England—anything to hold off, to stay distracted, to not …
    Her hands were still on him, moving in pattern with her mouth, feeling