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SHE COULDN'T SPEAK OR
THINK PAST THE SURGE OF
Esmond had held her hand before\u2014in greeting or farewell, or while dancing\u2014and the contact had disturbed her. That was nothing to the pulsing intimacy of this. His fingers twined with hers while his thumb kneaded the muscles, wanning them, coaxing, and drawing out the tension like a thread. As the muscles began to ease, the warmth became liquid pleasure, coiling through her mind, her blood.
Her mind would not reason. It went its own drunken way, conjuring images of those same clever hands working their devilment elsewhere. He held only her hand, yet she could feel his touch upon every inch of her flesh\u2026
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