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Quirking a brow, Alessandro shook the cloth meaningfully, waiting.
She hesitated only a moment before setting her jaw and rising.
His mouth went dry. Before him stood a naked goddess. Sparkling rivulets of water trickled down her lithe body. She reminded him of a statue he’d seen in Rome: Diana the Huntress. Tall and strong, yet graced with luscious feminine curves, she could have been the deity herself rising from a river bath.
His body’s instant reaction rivaled that of another statue he’d once seen in a Venetian garden. Slowly, his unblinking gaze journeyed over her, taking in every inch of smooth, creamy skin. It took all his willpower to speak past the knot in his throat, and when he did, his voice twanged like that of an untried youth. “You possess the most beautiful female form I have ever seen.”
At his hoarse admission, Mélisande’s shy smile transformed into one of womanly triumph, and she stood a little taller.
The motion, though subtle, sent a shower of droplets into the pool at her thighs. Extending his arms wide, he wrapped her in the sheet, guiding her as she stepped from the tub.
The feel of her warm body through the thin, wet cloth nearly unseated his reason. Releasing her, he stepped back, struggling for self-control as she gave him her back and began drying herself.
He could not stop himself from reaching out. As each swath of pearly skin was gradually exposed, he ran worshipping hands across it, feeling the softness and warmth of her against his palms, the firm muscle and the gentle roundness of her curves. He traced the swanlike column of her neck, down her shoulder and across her back, following the bend of her waist as it flowed into a slim hip and thigh.
Mélisande stood, quivering, as she allowed him to stroke her. She blushed fiercely when his palms slid down to cup her bottom, resting there for a moment before moving back up and around to caress the tender sides of her breasts.
Looking over her shoulder, she gazed at him, her chosen lover, for a long moment. Something in her eyes slowly changed. Turning fully, she faced him, the damp sheet slipping to the floor.
Alessandro breathed a silent prayer for self-discipline as his gaze drifted down to rest upon perfect, rose-tipped breasts. As it dropped lower, past the shallow dip of her navel, he had to close his eyes and wait through the violent tremor that wracked his body.
“Mélisande...”
In answer to his hoarse plea, she moved closer, wrapping her arms about his neck.
Alessandro enfolded her in his arms, smoothing the curve of her spine, pressing her close. He shuddered as she leaned into him, his arms tightening as he gave in to desire. Crushing her close, his mouth slanted across hers, his tongue gently demanding entrance. Her lips parted obediently and he played in the velvet darkness between them, drinking deeply.
After a moment, he broke away and swooped down, knocking her long legs out from under her and catching her up in his strong arms. He carried her over to the bed and set her gently on its edge.
Mélisande watched with avid curiosity
as he disrobed.
He had no reason to be ashamed. Though he was neither broad nor heavily muscled, many women had found his form quite pleasing, for he had a swordsman’s physique: lean, with long, rippling muscles hardened to whipcord strength. There was hardly an ounce of fat anywhere to be found on him, unlike most English lords, who proudly boasted of their beef-fed bellies. Crisp hair lightly peppered his chest, and dueling scars twisted across his skin here and there, the older ones faded to a pale pinkish white, the newer ones still dark and angry.
Her eyes dropped, fascinated, to the trail of dark hair disappearing into his breeches. When he reached down to unbutton them, she blushed and quickly looked away.
Smiling to himself, Alessandro waited. When she finally gathered the courage to look at him again, he bent and pulled them off quickly, his rod springing back to stand proudly erect as he straightened.
Mélisande gasped, scrambling toward the middle of the huge bed.
Laughing, Alessandro grabbed her ankle and pulled her back, barely avoiding a nasty blow in a very tender place. After a brief struggle, he managed to capture a flailing wrist and haul her up into a sitting position beside him.
She was shaking all over. Compassion filled him, as well as a little fear, fear she would change her mind about their arrangement. “Mélisande, my love,” he said raggedly, “do not tell me you are afraid? Is this not what you want?”
“I didn’t think it would be so...” She trailed off, her gaze sliding down to the source of her apprehension. Her wide eyes were filled with fear.
“Your concerns are needless,” he assured her. “I know how to make you ready so that our fit will be perfection,” he promised, his voice turning warm and gravelly as he began to nuzzle her neck.
Mélisande had trouble believing him, but the kisses he was trailing down her neck felt so delicious she was willing to allow him to continue. She softened, breathing deeply as he continued downward to the little beauty mark above her heart. When his tongue flicked across her nipple, she gasped.
Gently he stroked its erect tip again. A moment later, his warm mouth closed over it, and he began to tease, alternating between flicking and gentle suction.
The low, animal sound that followed shocked Mélisande when she realized it had come from her own throat. His every touch seemed to cause a corresponding ache at the juncture of her thighs. When she felt she could take no more, she grabbed him roughly by the hair and brought his mouth up to meet hers.
He kissed her long and deeply, giving in to her demands for the moment. But before Mélisande could regain her wits, he slipped from her grasp and dipped again to grace the other breast with the same attentions he had given its mate.
Mélisande drowned in the sensation, desire unfurling within her like the petals of a flower opening to the sun. Never before had she felt such desperate, consuming hunger!
