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Because she would have sworn in this moment that she had been born for this.
For him.
She was so consumed with what he was doing that she almost missed the way his hand tracked lower, finding her hip and the outside of her thigh where the fabric of the dress parted. His mouth moved against her nipples, one and then the other, but his hand found the roundness of her bottom and squeezed tight.
That, too, was a storm.
Too many storms to name.
And then everything felt tinged with red, hectic and stunning at once, as that same hand reversed track, but this time beneath the skirt of her dress.
It seemed as if she couldn’t quite take in the sensation that moved through her. She couldn’t catalog it. She could only ride it out. His wonderful, devilish mouth. The arm that held her up and the hand that gripped her side. And below, his marvelously strong fingers as they traced a path—slowly, agonizingly, beautifully—up along the inside of her thigh.
She thought she might die when he finally reached the soft heat between her thighs.
But she didn’t. Delaney had never felt so alive.
Bristling with need, beautiful and impossibly lush—
Cayetano continued into her wet heat, circling the center of her need until she found herself making the strangest keening noises. Then, with a twist of his wrist, he plunged deep within.
His thumb found her outside while his finger stroked deep within. His mouth stayed busy at her breast. Everything was fire and a tugging wet heat, and then she had absolutely no choice.
No choice and no fight in her.
Delaney didn’t so much fall apart as fly.
She became stars, all of them at once, and it was hot and, oh, so bright.
It was him, Cayetano, in all his dark glory.
And she was certain of only one thing as she burst bright and then became so many torn apart pieces that she felt she was made of stars herself.
She would never be the same again.
But he gave her no time to contemplate what that might mean. She was dimly aware that he set her back on her feet. Even tucked her breasts back into place with a surprising gentleness, and then, without a single word from her—because she could hardly speak and wouldn’t know what to say—he ushered her back into his dining room. And seated her. So that they shared the corner of the table.
And by the time she blinked herself fully awake and aware again, the food was served.
Delaney hardly knew what to do with herself. She hadn’t noticed the servants’ arrival and was only dimly aware when they withdrew. And Cayetano seemed not to notice that she merely sat there, undone. Completely and totally undone. Or maybe he did notice, she amended a moment later, because he served her as well as him.
And everything on her plate made her mouth water, but how to concentrate on food? That wasn’t what she was hungry for.
She still felt as if everything in her was simmering along, coming closer and closer to a boil. Her body felt like it no longer belonged to her. As if the way he had touched her, so masterful, so certain, had altered her. Inside and out.
Her thoughts spooled out in her head like songs. Like a melody she couldn’t quite catch. The burnt gold of his eyes. What he’d said about her safety when she worried about his. That impossible storm he brewed in her, and how eagerly she’d leaped over an edge she had never known was there.
There had been no edges in Kansas. No cliffs.
She watched him eat in silence, the heat in her rising and rising, cresting toward that boil as her own body seemed to work against her—or maybe with her—
But when he looked over at her, his gaze was darker. Knowing. And that mouth of his that she’d now tasted and learned and craved...curved.
She felt as struck as if he’d hit her. She wanted to jump to her feet and announce what was so obvious to her. That she wasn’t the same woman who’d walked into this room feeling like a queen. That her entirebeingwas different. That she had changed, profoundly, and how could heeat dinner?
This was yet another edge and she’d already gone hurtling off the side. He should have seen her, catapulting out into space.
Delaney thought she might explode. Or maybe she already had. Maybe that was the trouble. Maybe that was where all the commotion inside her came from.
