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She stood, watching him go. Her heart ached. She was in love with Marcus Worthorne, and it was all so bittersweet and tragic because he did not reciprocate her feelings. Indeed, he hardly knew she was alive.
It hadn’t been love she felt. Portia knew that now. It had been a young girl’s fancy for a boy she never had a hope of attracting. It had been his very unattainableness that made him so alluring. If, in later years, he hadn’t become her own personal night fantasy, she probably would have forgotten him as completely as he had forgotten her.
But now the fantasy was real. Marcus Worthorne the incubus was threatening her peace of mind. He must be exorcised. Tonight she would rid herself of him once and for all.
Marcus met Aphrodite’s gaze as she paused outside the door. “You remember the rules, Marcus?”
“Perfectly, madame.”
She smiled and opened the door, and Marcus stepped in.
The room was lit by a candelabra, and the light was far more soft and romantic than the modern gaslights. His mystery lady was seated on the sofa, just as she had been last time, and she was wearing the same dress. It pleased him that she had agreed to his request. He had been dreaming of her in scarlet, and to see her in anything else would have ruined the fantasy.
She didn’t turn as he closed the door softly behind him, but with the veil covering her face, he couldn’t tell whether she was aware of his presence. He was certainly aware of her. He was focused on her with a single-mindedness that was new to him, every sense and fiber of his being standing to attention.
There was something else standing to attention, too.
Marcus smiled as he prowled closer. He wanted her and he didn’t intend to waste time with idle chitchat. “My lady?”
She jumped. She hadn’t known he was there after all. But in a moment she had regained her poise, her low-pitched voice unaffected.
“Marcus.”
She surprised him. His name on her mouth was far more sensual than anything he had heard for years. He felt light-headed with lust.
“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he said.
She bowed her head. “Aphrodite has left champagne,” she said when he remained silent. “Would you pour me a glass?”
He glanced around, found the bottle, and did the honors. Her gloved fingers brushed his as she took the glass and she murmured a polite thank-you. She lifted her veil slightly with her other hand and sipped.
He watched her mouth.
“Why did you change your mind?” he asked her, unmoving.
She took another sip and stood up, exquisitely graceful, the scarlet silk rustling about her. She moved toward him, hips swaying gently, setting her glass down as she came. She reached out, lightly brushing his shoulder, then his jaw, her fingers making promises.
“I needed more,” she said.
Marcus set down his own glass, watching her beneath his lashes.
He felt her catch her breath as he slid his arm around her waist and drew her hard against him. There was no mistaking the proof of his passion, if she needed proof. He could hear her little hitch of laughter, and then the soft warmth of her body as she leaned into him. Her arms twined around his neck and she pulled his head down to hers. He told himself he could see the gleam of her eyes through the veil.
“Let me see your face.”
“No.”
“Then let me have your mouth.” He was frustrated and couldn’t hide it.
She lifted the lacy cloth, and he saw that she was smiling a teasing smile. With a growl he ravished her soft pink lips.
She was no passive partner, his mysterious lady. She kissed him back, her tongue dueling with his, making little sounds of need in her throat. He slipped his hand beneath the veil, cupping the back of her head. Her hair was fastened up, but he could feel the silky strands, and longed to release it, tangle his hands in it, enjoy the color of it. Fair, he knew, remembering very well t
he curls between her thighs. The color of honey.
She had stopped kissing him and was gazing up at his face, as if sensing his abstraction. “What is it? Have you changed your mind?”
“Hardly.” He caught her up in his arms, laughing when she made a purring sound in her throat, and strode toward the bed. “I was trying to decide which part of you I wanted to explore first.”
