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‘That was not a proposal,’ Maude retorted, stiffening her spine. ‘It was an observation upon a theoretical situation.’ From somewhere she found a smile. ‘Why did you bring me here if you do not want to be tempted, Eden?’
‘Because when I am with you, my rational processes of thought appear to be in as much of a fog as shrouds this house.’ He turned his back again. ‘I’m a danger to you and to my own peace of mind.’
The bitterness reached somewhere deep inside her. She had been certain that she should not take that first step towards him, should let him come to her, but she could not bear it.
‘How could you be a danger to me, Eden?’ It only took two steps past a side table to be close enough to touch him. ‘You are my friend, you would not hurt me.’ She lifted one hand and laid it lightly on his back. At her touch the long muscles went taut and she heard the sharp indrawing of his breath.
Eden turned, so fast that she could not step away, so close that she had to tip her head back to look up into his face, but he did not touch her.
‘You are such an innocent. If I make love to you, Maude, you will most certainly be hurt.’
‘I am not such an innocent that I do not know what would happen and that, yes, it does hurt the first time.’ And very frightening that sounded.
‘That is not what I meant,’ he said gently. ‘I would hurt you here—’ he lifted one hand and brushed her temple ‘…and here.’ For a fleeting moment his palm rested over her heart.
‘Life hurts.’ Maude caught Eden’s hand in hers and held it a fraction of an inch above the bodice of her gown. He could have pulled free easily, but he left it, passive in her grip. ‘Regrets hurt. My mother said to me once that the things she regretted were the things she did not do, not those that she did.’
And then, just when she thought she could not bear the suspense a second longer, he kissed her. It was not like either of the times he had kissed her before, she realised, dazed, hardly able to comprehend that it really was happening. Now it was neither an angry assault, nor a fleetingly gentle caress. He was intent, it seemed, upon reducing her to utter and complete collapse and she sensed he would devote however much time was necessary to the task.
Maude tried to keep some hold on reality. Eden had one hand firmly in the small of her back, the other, still held in hers, crushed between them. He seemed to be utterly focused upon what he was doing, carried away by his own desires. There was a faint thread of common sense that was observing what was going on and attempting to communicate rationally with her. It was doubtful, it commented, that he was as completely at the mercy of his senses as he seemed. Certainly he was not as adrift as she was.
Maude gave her commonsense a firm push away. This was not the time for it. This was the time to strengthen Eden’s desire for her and show him that she wanted him with at least as much fervour.
Maude made herself relax, allowed herself to feel, gave her instincts permission to do just as they pleased and discovered, too late, that they did not need any encouragement whatsoever from her. If she had any illusions that she was in control, of either herself, or of Eden, she was swiftly disabused of them.
Eden’s mouth was an instrument of the most subtle form of torture. Should kissing be like this? It was at once soft, sensual, gentle and yet demanding and hot. His mouth was both hard and sensitive. His lips slid slowly over the seam of hers, his tongue flickering out to nudge, insistently, at the join until she opened to him with a little gasp. There was nothing tentative about the invasion of her mouth—the firm, mobile moist heat of his tongue filled her, probing, licking, teasing. Thrusting.
It was overwhelming that one small piece of flesh and muscle could dominate her, demand, orchestrate her body’s response so she began to sway against him in the rhythm of the thrusts. He was thinking about driving into her body, possessing her fully, she realised that. This intimate joining of mouths was simply a metaphor for that total possession.
Jessica and Bel had tried to warn her about this, and she had refused to listen. This was more than kissing—her whole body was reacting, changing. Her breasts ached and throbbed, heavier, fuller, the nipples fretting against the crisp lace trimming, throbbing with a pain that was almost totally pleasure. Deep in her belly, low where her thighs joined, the ache became a pulse, a demanding drum beat. Maude made a little inarticulate sound against Eden’s mouth and he lifted his head to look down into her face.
In the candlelight his pupils seemed wide and dark, his face hawk-like, even more beautiful, fine-honed with concentration. ‘Maude,’ he said, his voice husky. ‘Maude.’ He buried his face in her neck, his tongue, then his teeth, fretting at the shivering, sensitive skin as he followed the line down, down to her collarbone, tracing the dip with the very tip of his tongue while she sobbed with the building tension.
She needed something, something that would come from this, but she did not know what, did not know how to find it. Did not understand. But he did. ‘Eden,’ she whispered, her lips against the silky thickness of his hair as he bent lower, found the swell of her breasts, found the low edge of the bodice and ran his tongue under it, touching the straining, hard peak of her right nipple. ‘Eden, please…’
Maude clutched his shoulders, shaking, adrift, feeling only the heat and the strength of him. She was leaning back against the table and there was cooler air on her legs. His hand was slipping up under her skirts, stroking up the length of her legs to the mound between her thighs. He cupped it and it felt so right. There was no shame in his touch, only the need to arch against him, seek the point of twisting, aching tension and make it stop, somehow…
He took her mouth again, just as one finger slid through the damp tangle of curls and found the hard knot at the centre of her torment. His tongue thrust, the teasing pressure intensified and everything fell apart into darkness and light and blissful pleasure.
‘Maude?’
She stirred, her body limp and heavy and at peace again. ‘Eden?’
‘I’m here, I’ve got you.’ He was holding he
r on his lap, sitting on one of the sofas that flanked the fireplace. He lay back against its support, cradling her, and the softness she could feel under her cheek was the linen of his shirt, the solid rhythm, his heartbeat. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ She supposed she was. That she would be…eventually. She felt wonderful and strange and very shy. Maude snuggled closer. Eden smelt different. His skin was saltier. There was a faint, intoxicating sensation of musk in the air. Arousal, she realised. Hers, his. Theirs. And his had not been satisfied.
‘Eden? What about you? Tell me what to do.’
‘No.’ She felt the shake of his head. ‘We’re in enough trouble as it is. We are going to sit here while you collect yourself and then I am going to sit over there until I collect myself, and then we are going back into the ballroom.’
Maude rubbed her cheek, cat-like, against his lapel. ‘I did not know about that, about what just happened.’
‘I realise that,’ he said grimly. Eden’s body was not relaxed now, holding her. And his voice was no longer tender. Maude felt him shift his grip, felt the exciting bunch and flex of thigh muscles under her and then he stood with an ease that should have surprised her, yet seemed quite natural. This was Eden after all. He could do anything.
Anything but fall easily in love with her, it seemed. He set her down on the sofa and went to take the one opposite. Even in candlelight Maude could see just how aroused he was. To her shame he saw where she was looking.
