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The music ended and he was glad. He led her back to their table and immediately the charity director was on his feet. Ellen was led away, and Max watched her go. Was there a reluctance in her now? Would she rather have not danced again but sat with him and watched the dancers? He didn’t know—knew only that there was a kind of growl inside him...a growl that made him reach for the cognac bottle and pour himself a glass.
The two other couples at the table were taking a break as well, and were chatting, drawing him into their conversation. He joined in civilly but his gaze, he knew, kept going back out to the dance floor, searching for Ellen.
I want her.
That was the voice in his head now. Stark, blunt and simple. His jaw set. He could want her all he liked, but fulfilling that want would lead to complications.
The question was—did he care?
And right now, watching her in another man’s arms—this woman he’d released from the bondage of her mental chains, freed to revel in the natural beauty that was hers—and feeling that deep, primal growl rising in him again, he knew as the fiery liqueur glazed his throat and fuelled his heated blood that he didn’t care at all...
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WORLD WAS whirling pleasantly around her—oh, so pleasantly! Ellen felt herself swaying slightly, as if she were still dancing, humming a waltz tune, hearing her long silk skirts rustling. The ball was over, midnight long gone, and now she was back up in the penthouse suite. The orchestra was still playing in her head. And everything was wonderful! Oh, just wonderful! Her gown was wonderful, her hair was wonderful, the dancing had been wonderful, the evening had been wonderful!
Max had been wonderful...
She gazed at him now, blood singing in her veins. He was twisting open a bottle of water, looking so tall, so strong, so utterly devastating in his Edwardian evening dress, and her eyes just drank him in as the room swirled around her and the music played in her head and on her lips. All she wanted to do, all she longed to do, was to be back in his arms, dancing and dancing...
‘Drink this—and drink it all,’ Max’s deep voice instructed her as he came to her and handed her a large glass of water. ‘You’ll thank me in the morning, I promise you.’
‘I feel fine,’ she said. ‘Absolutely fine.’ Still, she gulped down the water, never taking her gaze from Max—wonderful, wonderful Max!
How gorgeous he is—how incredibly handsome and gorgeous and wonderful and devastating and...
Then she yawned—a huge, exhausted yawn. Her eyes blinked.
‘Time for bed,’ said Max.
But not, alas, with him. He knew that. The champagne, the wine, the liqueurs she’d drunk made that out of the question. Should he regret it? He shouldn’t, he knew, but he did all the same.
Maybe it’s for the best. That was what he needed to tell himself. Remind himself of all the complications that might arise were he to follow what he knew his body wanted right now...the new-found desire that had swept over him.
I want to celebrate her new-found freedom with her. I want to take the final step of her liberation with her. I want to be the man who does that—
Well, not tonight. Frustration could bite at him all it liked, but that was that. And he—he’d be back in his own bedroom in the hotel suite, heading for a cold shower.
But first he had a real ordeal to get through. One that was going to test him to the limits.
‘Hold still!’ he instructed her, catching the back of her shoulders to steady her.
It was a mistake, for the warmth of her bare skin under his palms was an unwise sensation for him to feel right now. He pulled his hands away as if burnt, made his fingers drop down to the fastenings of her dress instead. Thee mou, there were a million of them! As he started the finicky work of undoing them he could feel the effort of not thinking about what he was doing.
Don’t think about how her beautiful bare back is emerging...how she’s dropped her head, exposing the tender nape of her neck caressed by tendrils of her chestnut hair...how easy...how tempting it would be to lower your mouth and graze that delicate skin with your lips. No, don’t think about any of that—
He swallowed heavily, dropping his hands away. ‘Done!’
She turned, oblivious to the punishing, disciplined self-control he was exerting, her unfastened bodice held up only by her hands pressed to her half-exposed breasts, her feathered shoulder straps collapsing down her arms as well. A sigh of happiness, of bliss escaped her, and her eyes were clinging to his.
‘This has been,’ she announced, ‘the most wonderful night of my life.’
Her lips were parted, her eyes glowing, her face lifted up to his. She swayed towards him in the motion of a dance, with intoxication in her blood, unconscious invitation in her glorious goddess body.
And he was lost. Totally, completely lost. Could resist her no longer.
His hands fastened on her upper arms and he hauled her to him. Drew her smiling parted lips to his and took his fill. He could not resist it—just could not.
Tasting first, he glided his lips across the velvet softness of hers, taking possession of her mouth, tasting her bouquet like a rich, radiant wine. Then, as his kiss deepened, he opened his mouth to hers and she came with him—came with him every iota of the way—moving her mouth on his, opening to him, tasting him, taking her fill of him.
