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Marguerite shivered and, while she continued to push against the rock hard width of his chest, she ceased trying to break free. It was futile to try to fight someone like this man-whoever he was. He was far too big for her to fight alone, and she just didn’t have the strength anymore. He wasn’t like the Count, only how she knew that she wasn’t sure. Some instinct she had never known she possessed was telling her that this man wouldn’t harm her, and she had no cause to doubt it.
Alright, so she was alone in the dark with him, but this man didn’t carry the same air of callousness the Count did. This man had a more refined, quiet strength about him that was far more capable and, she suspected, far more deadly. For some reason, though, she suspected this man wouldn’t hurt her. His hold, while tight, was gentle. His head, while close to hers, was not too close. His voice, while tense, was also soft and gentle. There was calmness in those deep, baritone notes that soothed her and banished the worst of her panic. In spite of herself, she began to relax in his arms.
“Who are you?” she whispered. “What do you want with me?”
“Stand still,” the man growled rather than answer her.
“This is highly inappropriate,” she replied as her hands slid down to his biceps. He shifted beneath her fingers but didn’t move away. Neither did he draw near. “I demand you release me this instant.”
“Can’t do that, I am afraid,” Joe bit out.
He mentally swore at that slow sensual glide of her hands on him. Was she trying to seduce him?
God have mercy, he mused wryly. He was as shocked as he was bemused. This is typical behaviour from someone belonging to Sayers’ group. Once they realised they wouldn’t get what they wanted by foul means they would try seduction.
But he had already seen her in Sayers’ grasp. He wasn’t going to fall for her coquettish games no matter how hard she tried.
Easing away from her, he threw her a glare but knew she couldn’t see it in the darkness. He wanted to issue her with a put down, but something made him hesitate. He opened his mouth to speak but was stopped when the door she had just walked through began to open.
Joe had only a few seconds to glance down at the woman in his arms before he realised he had to do something to explain why he was holding her in the dark. Judging from the way her hands had just slid over his arms, she wouldn’t be too averse if he pushed her back a little-would she? As far as he was aware there was only one way of knowing for certain.
Marguerite was only briefly aware of the room becoming lighter. She looked up into the eyes of her new captor and gasped.
“Oh, heavens,” she gulped. “Y-y-”
Whatever else she was about to say was immediately smothered when, for the second time that evening, a stranger kissed her.
CHAPTER THREE
This kiss, however, was different. Much, much, different. There was no harshness, no heavy grinding that made her lips ache, no manic rush, or forceful need to threaten. This man’s kiss was softer, considerably slower, and achingly gentle.
Drat the man, he held her tighter as his lips plundered. She could feel the steady thump, thump, thump, of his heartbeat. It lured her in and held her steady against him. Its mesmerising rhythm was as commanding as the gentle slide of his lips against hers. She was ensnared, captivated, held in wondrous suspense, as she savoured this rare and splendorous moment. Each breath she took nudged her closer to him, pushing them together in a tide of sensation neither could resist. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, but not to push him away. They rested gently on those corded muscles and clung there. In a few startling moments, the need to be free of this man’s hold swiftly turned into a desire for him to not let go. In all of her girlish dreams, she had never considered even once that he might really exist. Her he
ro. The man who would, one day, sweep her off her feet. She had thought it all to be nothing more than a pipe dream. But he was there, right before her, just like she had always imagined he would be.
Well, almost. She mused. He is here, but he had never been standing in a darkened room, with a fake foreigner in the other room when I have dreamt of him before.
Whatever the circumstances surrounding his appearance in her life, he was there – her hero. She knew, from the brief glance she had just had of him, that he was every inch as handsome as the man who had occupied her dreams.
It was shocking, yet strangely thrilling when his hands slid down to her derriere and cupped her intimately, lifting her onto her toes so she was flush against his masculine hardness. Her cheeks flushed with warmth as a wild thrill of feminine delight swept through her. She could feel his need for her pressing against her thigh. She wanted to gasp but couldn’t. Her lips were occupied by the sensual exploration of his. She knew then that she would allow this man to take whatever liberties he wanted to take. It was scandalous because she was no harlot. She shouldn’t allow this man, or any man really, especially a stranger, to do these kinds of things to her, but she couldn’t push him away.
It took several long and very persuasive minutes before it dawned on her that this man must have a reason to be standing alone in a darkened room. Was he waiting for someone? Did he already have an illicit tryst planned with someone else? Why was he kissing her then? Had he mistaken her for someone else?
Shame and mortification made her cheeks flame. She hesitated. It was enough to make her slowly ease away from him. As she did she slowly became vaguely aware of the silent presence of a man standing several feet behind her. She didn’t bother to look at him, though. The man who had almost wrapped himself around her was doing ravishing things to her neck and needed her attention more.
Eventually, though, the first flames of passion began to wither and die. She slowly became aware of the deathly silence behind her. It was then that she realised exactly what she was allowing, and with a total stranger nonetheless.
Oh, dear. Who does he think I am? She had no idea but for a few seconds more she didn’t really care. She had never felt anything like it in her life, and could quite willingly have remained in his embrace for several more minutes while he explored some more. Unfortunately, a discreet cough by the door broke the sensual daze that had befallen her and made the man in her arms look up.
Marguerite then opened her eyes and took her first good look at the man who had held her spellbound for the last however long it was. In that instant, the world faded into nothingness. Her stunned gaze devoured his features. From the top of his thick head of light brown hair that was cropped neatly in a fashionable style that emphasised his high brows to the sharp blade of his chiselled jaw, her gaze roamed freely. When his eyes opened, she blinked and stared into the most mesmerising whisky coloured eyes she had ever seen on a man in her life. They were bracketed by a wave of thick lashes, longer than her own, which gave him an exotic appearance she had rarely seen on anyone. When accompanied with the gentle curve of full lips, and a slightly tanned complexion, he was truly the most remarkably handsome man she had ever met.
“What in the blazes is going on here?” the Count demanded in a voice that see-sawed between Russian and East End barrow-boy.
Thor, she mused, unable to tear her gaze away from the man before her. I shall call him Thor. Until I discover his real name that is. He looks like a Nordic god.
Strangely for Joe, he had to bite down on his impatience and tear his attention away from the woman in his arms. It was so unlike him that he was a little absent minded when he lifted his head and looked at the man standing in the doorway. It was only when his gaze fell on the Count that everything within him slammed to a halt seconds before the real reason he had been in the room in the first place hit him with renewed force.
Cursing himself for being a fool, Joe mentally swore. He was well aware that the Count was studying him closely, his eyes narrowed and piercing as they took stock of Joe’s clothing, and the way he held the woman in his arms.
