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But her eyes drifted lower, to the long, curving shape of him hidden by the covers. And, on a tell-tale moistening of her lips, she found herself wondering what the rest of him was like, her mind conjuring up pictures that had her blushing even if they were only pictures in her own mind.
She had never once caught herself imagining what Piers would look like undressed. For all their sometimes quite passionate interludes, she had never felt this almost uncontrollable urge to touch his naked skin, experience its warmth and its texture, as she was having to struggle against doing now with Rafe.
But then, she added heavily, she had never lain like this with Piers. He had never allowed things between them to get this far before carefully cooling things down, smiling—always smiling, his excuses full of words like ‘love’ and ‘respect’, telling her what they had was ‘too special to rush’.
But now, with hindsight, she had to wonder if it had merely been indifference. If there had been no light of passion to make him want to touch her more intimately.
Or to have her touch him.
A shadow moved over her heart—the dark knowledge of inadequacy that she had a horrible feeling was going to be the real legacy Piers’ rejection had left behind him.
‘Shaan?’
As always when thoughts of Piers tormented her mind, Rafe’s voice, deep and husky, broke through the heavy clouds, catching her exposed, vulnerable, as she lifted tear-washed eyes up to his face to find him awake and studying her sombrely.
‘Forget him,’ he said gruffly. ‘He isn’t worth the heartache.’
‘He didn’t want me,’ she whispered bleakly, laying bare for this man of all men what should be her darkest, deepest secret.
His sigh was heavy, his smoky-grey eyes darkening with shadows of his own. Then that arm moved, tightening across her waist and drawing her closer to that warm, hard body she had been wanting so badly to get closer to. His mouth found hers, moulding it, gently searching, and she didn’t pull away, didn’t stiffen in rejection, didn’t do anything but let herself sink into the comfort he seemed to be offering her.
It went on and on, like a warm blending in the darkness, where pleasure overlaid sadness and instinctively she was drawn even closer towards it. Her hand reached up, touching the warm, tight flesh of his upper arm, then his shoulder, fingers sliding in a slow, tentative exploration which stopped when they reached the cording in his neck, where they curled and clung at the same time as a shaky little sigh broke from her and her lips parted.
Rafe lifted his head—only enough so he could look deeply into her dark, vulnerable eyes. ‘I want you, Shaan,’ he murmured. ‘I want you so badly, I’m prepared to take anything you want to give me.’ He moved, gently turning her onto her back so he was half leaning over her. Her hand was still curled around his nape; his reached up to cup her cheek. ‘And in return I can promise to wipe Piers right out of your mind,’ he vowed. ‘The point is, do you want me to?’
Did she? Shaan gazed into those eyes that had gone almost as dark as her own, and was overwhelmed by a desire to simply dive right into them. He was telling the truth when he said he wanted her; she could feel it in the unsteady throb of his heart against her breast, see it burning in the darkness of those eyes and the way his fingers were trembling slightly where they rested against her cheek.
Rafe wanted her, and her own senses responded by turning to warm, sensual liquid that began to pump desire through her body, an answering desire she was just too vulnerable to resist.
‘Yes,’ she heard herself say in a soft, breathy murmur. She wanted to feel that mouth warm on her own again, feel that same rush of pleasure, lose herself in it. Lose herself in him. ‘Yes, I want you to…’
He didn’t pause, didn’t give her time to have second thoughts about that decision. His mouth closed on hers again, and she did not try to fight him. Instead she let her palms slide over tight, corded muscles, felt the spread of a warm pleasure unfold inside her, and on a soft sigh offered herself in full surrender.
Rafe desired her. And for her there was no stronger aphrodisiac than to know she was desirable to someone.
Though not just anyone; she made that fine but important distinction for the sake of her own self-respect.
This was Rafe. The man she was married to. The only man she should give herself to.
Oh, God, make this good for me, she prayed silently as Rafe received all the right messages and deepened the kiss to a sense-searing passion. Make it good for him.
His hand slid down over the taut wall of her stomach, along her silk-covered thigh, until he found the hem of her nightdress. With an economy of effort, he stripped the whole thing from her body. And for one more brief moment, as she lay there naked and exposed to the burning lash of his gaze, she was given the chance to change her mind about this.
Then his hand was caressing her, his head lowering to pull one pulsing nipple into his mouth, and the moment was lost in the turmoil that took place inside her.
He explored her as no man had ever explored her, with mouth and tongue and knowing fingers, feeding the steadily growing ache inside her until it was impossible to lie still without…something—she didn’t know what—and a soft whimper of distress broke in her throat, her hands reaching out in search of that elusive something.
Rafe put himself there, his strong arms closing around her as he claimed her mouth with a hunger that took her breath away.
‘Rate,’ she whispered in near desperation at the speed with which she was being carried along with him.
‘Yes,’ he breathed, as if in answer to some question she wasn’t aware of asking. ‘I know, Shaan. I know…’
No, you don’t, she thought hazily as his mouth came back to ravish hers and his caresses grew bolder, more sure in their understanding of what could send her wild with uncontrollable pleasure. Then, with a low, deep groan of helpless frustration, she moved restlessly beneath him.
He shifted his weight, coming to hover above her, the muscles in his arms braced either side of her as at last he lowered himself between her thighs. And she was sliding her hands up the wall of his chest—feeling the pound of his heart as it thundered against his ribs, the heat of his skin, the tremor of need held under rigid control—and she exalted in the whole of it.
