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‘Time for bed?’ he suggested.
Ionanthe struggled to control the leap of delight in her body.
‘I’m sorry that Ariadne has put us both in the same room.’
Max stood up and came towards her, reaching down to take her hand and pull her gently out of her chair.
‘Are you? That’s disappointing. Perhaps I can persuade you to change your mind?’
Ionanthe’s breath caught in her throat, her thoughts a giddy whirl of mingled disbelief and excitement. Did Max really mean what he seemed to be saying? The evening and their shared conversation had brought them so close that for her there was only one way she wanted it to end.
It was because it was so cold on the stone stairs and walking down the long passage that led to their room in the tallest turret tower of the castle that they had to walk so close together, with Max’s arm around her, holding her close to his side. That was what Ionanthe told herself, but it was not a valid excuse for what happened outside their bedroom door, when Max pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
‘You taste of cold mountain air and magic,’ Max told her, tracing the shape of her lips with the pad of his thumb.
‘Magic hasn’t got a taste,’ Ionanthe objected huskily.
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p; ‘Yes, it has,’ Max corrected her. ‘It tastes of wonder and witchery and woman—the woman I want more than any other woman I have ever wanted before.’
Ionanthe couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She hardly dared breathe in case she broke what she knew must be some kind of spell.
Her eyes dark with emotion, she asked, ‘Do you want me more than you wanted Eloise?’
There was a small pause, during which she trembled and Max’s arms tightened around her, and then he answered her truthfully.
‘There is no comparison.’
He kissed her again, his mouth hot and hard on hers, before he withdrew from her to say gruffly, ‘I can’t kiss you as I want to out here, and if I don’t stop now I won’t be able to.’
They were inside the room and Max was locking the door. The room’s warmth welcomed them, the soft glow of the fire casting softly caressing shadows.
Ionanthe went to the window and drew back the heavy curtain to perch on the small window seat and look out. Almost immediately Max joined her, coming to stand behind her, his body close to hers and his hand on her shoulder.
‘It’s still snowing,’ Ionanthe announced.
‘Yes,’ Max agreed, turning her to him.
There were no figs this time, but Max said softly that he didn’t care, that Ionanthe herself was all he needed and wanted.
Ionanthe couldn’t bring herself to voice her own feelings. She was half afraid that doing so might break the spell that was binding them together. It was enough that he was there and they were together.
The dying embers of the fire in the grate threw out enough light for her to see as well as feel the muscles and the strength of Max’s body as she caressed him with secretly avid hunger and delight. Now she could marvel at the ease with which he could arouse her to those heights she had never imagined existed, instead of fearing it as she had done that first time.
They touched and caressed and kissed in a sensual warmth of absorbed pleasure, accompanied by the music of their soft sounds of mutual arousal which grew less soft and more urgent as their passion took fire.
The touch of Max’s hand cupping the underside of her breast whilst his thumb-tip rubbed slowly against her nipple had Ionanthe crying out to him in sweet pleasure. When his lips took possession of her eager flesh in response to that cry Ionanthe held his head to her breast, arching her back in delight. Their bodies threw erotic shadows on the wall.
This time Ionanthe was bolder, determined to take her own pleasure from caressing and tasting Max as ardently as he had done her. Experimentally she drew her fingertips along the inside of his thigh—just the merest brushing of her nails in slow circles that at first held him rigid and then, when she persisted, drove him to groan and offer himself up to her with an intimate longing she couldn’t resist.
Her lips followed her fingertips, until Max groaned out loud and pulled her to him.
She was eager and ready for him, welcoming the feel of him sinking deep into her, holding him there so that she could savour the sensation.
In silence they held one another, neither of them moving.
This was where he was meant to be—here, with this woman who made him feel that holding her like this was worth more than a thousand kingdoms, Max admitted to himself. It was too late now for him to tell himself that he mustn’t love her. He did love her. He loved everything about her.
