Owen couldn’t get the sight of Milly’s bare backside out of his mind. She was, in a word, stunning. The flare of her hips, the hourglass figure, the curve of her buttocks. He was hard from the single glimpse of her before the nightdress dropped down, covering her. The edge of his control was fraying at the ends. That kiss had been explosive, and his hands still trembled with the need to touch her, to explore every inch of her. It was going to be a miracle if he survived sleeping in bed beside her. The idea that Milly, of all the ladies in England, would tempt him should have been laughable and yet he couldn’t deny that he was fascinated by her.
Since the moment he’d taken her away from her home, she’d seemed a different woman, one so alone, scared, yet she was holding her chin up bravely.
