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Sparks of promise, sparks of building desire.
He broke the kiss. She sighed at the loss. But then he only lowered his mouth again and kissed her cheek and then her temple. He caught her earlobe between his teeth, worried it so gently.
She made a soft, pleasured sound and pressed her body even closer to him, wanting to melt right into him, wanting to become a part of him, somehow—his body, her body, one and the same. He went on kissing her—his wonderful lips gliding over the curve of her jaw, down the side of her neck.
Her green dress had spaghetti straps. With a lazy finger, he pushed the left strap out of his way and kissed her shoulder, a long, lingering kiss. She felt his tongue, licking her, sending hot shards of pleasure radiating out along her skin. And then his teeth … oh, those teeth. He nipped her, but carefully, tenderly.
They had stopped dancing. They stood in the shadow of a potted palm, in a corner of the terrace. He eased the side of her dress down. She felt the sultry night air touch her breast.
And then he kissed her there. He took her nipple into his mouth and sucked it, rhythmically. He whispered her name against her skin.
She cradled his head, close—closer, her fingers buried in his hair. The heat of him was all around her, and down low, she was already liquid, weak, yearning. A silver thread of pure delight drew down through the core of her, into the womanly heart of her, from her breast, where he kissed her endlessly. He drew on her eager flesh in a slow, tempting rhythm, making her bare toes curl on the terrace flagstones. She moaned, held him closer, murmured his name on a slow, surrendering sigh.
And then he lifted his head. She blinked, dazed, and gazed up at him, feeling like a sleepwalker, wakened from the sweetest dream.
“Inside.” He bent close again, caught her lower lip between his teeth, licked it, let it go. “Let’s go in …”
She trembled, yearning. Her nipple was drawn so tight and hard, it ached. It ached in such a lovely, thrilling way. “Yes. Oh, yes …” And she tried to pull her strap back up, to cover herself.
“Don’t.” He caught her hand, stilled it, then brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Leave it.” His voice was rough and infinitely tender, both at once. “Leave it bare …” He bent, kissed her breast again, but only briefly that time. “So beautiful …”
And then he swept her up as though she weighed nothing and carried her through the open door into the sitting room, pausing only to turn and slide the door shut. A new song began.
He stopped in midstride. Their gazes locked. “‘Lady in Red,’“ he whispered.
“Not tonight,” she whispered.
“It doesn’t matter, whether you happen to be wearing red or not. To me, this song is you. This song is yours. You’re my lady in red …”
“Oh, Rule.” She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. His fine tanned skin was slightly rough with the beginnings of his dark beard, slightly rough and so very warm.
He took her mouth again, in a hard, hot kiss. She surrendered to that kiss. She let him sweep her away with the heat of it. She was seduced by the carnal need in it.
And he was moving again, carrying her through the door that led to his bedroom. The bed was turned back. He bent to put her down on the soft white sheets, so carefully, as though she might break, as though she was infinitely precious to him.
He laid her down and he rose to his height again. Swiftly, without ceremony, he took off his shirt, undid his belt, took down his trousers and his briefs. He sat and removed his shoes and socks. And then he rose once more to toss everything carelessly onto the bedside chair. The view of his magnificent body from behind stole every last wisp of breath from her body.
And then he turned to face her again. His eyes were molten.
Naked. He was naked and he was as beautiful—more so—than she had even imagined, the muscles of his chest and arms and belly so sharply defined. His legs were strong and straight and powerful, dusted with black hair, black hair that grew dense and curly where his big thighs joined.
The proof that he wanted her jutted out hard and proud. She dragged in a ragged breath and let it out with care.
And then he came down to her.
More kisses. Long, deep kisses, until she was pliant and more eager than ever. Until she whimpered with need. He took down the other strap of her dress and he kissed her right breast so slowly and deliciously, with the same erotic care he had lavished on the left.
By the time he eased her to her side facing away from him and took the zipper of her dress down, she was ready.
For him. For the two of them. For whatever he might do to her, do with her. Ready for tonight. And tomorrow night. And all the nights to come.
With him. Beside him. Always.
Was this a dream? If it was, she prayed she might never wake up.
Tucked close behind her, his front to her back, he eased the dress down, gently, carefully, making the simple act of peeling the fabric away from her body into a caress. A long, perfect thrilling caress.
She lifted enough that he could take the dress down over her thighs and off. She wore no bra. She didn’t need one.
