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She reared up slightly. “You can stop toying with me, for one.”
“You started it,” he growled. Fighting his own desire became harder with every second he hovered over her. “You came here to play with me, but this is a dangerous game—a game you are guaranteed to lose. Admit you were wrong, that this was a mistake, and go.”
A rueful expression crossed her face, chased away by what he might have called amusement, were it not for her lack of mirth.
Then she sighed, sounding impatient and bored. “I had not expected this to involve so much talking. Do hurry up, Guy. I don’t have all night.”
A fine performance, but her muscles were tight and her heart pounded under his hand. Any moment now, she would realize her mistake and flee, proving to them both that she could not make him obey.
Speaking of obeying…
“Touch me,” he ordered.
Her eyes roamed over him, burning his skin.
“Your shoulders…” she murmured. “They’re very…”
Her expression was fleeting, but he saw it: hunger. Arabella, who had been trained to show no enthusiasm or passion, suffered not from anxiety but desire. The knowledge acted like oil on the fire of his lust. Damn her. He did not need another aphrodisiac.
He had misjudged. He should stop this. Now.
And give in before Arabella admitted defeat? Never!
Soon. She would find an excuse to go soon, spout some nonsense to salvage her pride.
Her hand fluttered onto his upper arm, danced upward to his shoulder. Guy turned his head and watched, as she reverently traced the indent between his muscles.
Yet she had flinched under his touch; touch would be her undoing.
He shifted beside her on the daybed. Barely leashing his lust, he trailed his hands over her: along her throat, into the dip above her collarbone, across her shoulders and down her arms, over her belly, her waist, lingering on the crests of her hips. He stroked her thighs to her knees and back again, his eyes seeking her reactions. She withheld them all.
He was determined to coax them from her.
Where his fingers failed, his mouth would succeed. He nibbled the smooth, warm curves of her shoulder, dragged his lips back to her throat, nipped at her ear, and then—
She moaned. The sound shot straight to his groin. He jerked up as she slapped a hand over her traitorous mouth. Aha! She was embarrassed. Almost there.
“What on earth are you doing?” she said. “Why don’t you…”
Laughing raggedly at this self-inflicted agony, Guy tangled his fingers in hers and pressed her hand over her head. She licked her lips. Swallowed hard. Breathed out. Their eyes met, hers as potent as the desert sky. Fierce, unbounded, bold.
He fell. He fell into those fathomless eyes, until some part of him was lost, as if in the desert, as if under the night sky. This woman’s fierceness and vastness and vulnerability—they merged and mingled, like a heavenly blanket woven around him. The sensation was humbling and inspiring, diminishing and enlarging. He tried to shake it off, because he knew—he knew!—he was just a man and she was just a woman and this act was nothing extraordinary and yet— It possessed him, this fantastic conviction that there was so much more, that she held infinite possibilities, this maddening, demanding, vibrant woman.
And something new entered her eyes, a touch of confusion, but something more, something beautiful and vivifying. Her free hand feathered over his face, as if checking he was real. He was real. Never had he been more real.
No longer could he bear to look at her, for fear he might see the heavens, so he closed his eyes and kissed her lips, because it seemed the only thing left to do.
When their mouths met, delight struck him like a dizzy spell. Like a goddess she rose into him, pushed her mouth fiercely into his, dueled with his tongue. She wound an arm around his neck, melded him to her as she crushed her breasts to his chest. A soft sound escaped her; he tried to capture it with his tongue, plundering her mouth as she plundered his. He planted a knee between her thighs, and she wrapped a leg around him like a vine.
A wild fury simmered deep inside her; he vowed to unleash it. That was her façade crumbling. Yes, yes!Thatwas what he sought.
He wrenched his mouth from hers, dragged his hungry lips along her throat, tasting and teasing her skin. And her tantalizing breasts: He tormented them too, rewarded by her heel pounding his buttocks, by her fingers gripping the muscles in his back, by the animal sounds issuing from her perfect mouth.
Finally, he slipped his fingers between her thighs, his brain melting from her scent as he teased her. Her eyes were indigo and wild, her breathing ragged, and every mewl and gasp further heated his blood.
With a growl she grabbed his head and kissed him, savage and demanding, always demanding. Still he stroked her, relentlessly, even as her hips bucked, as her fingernails tore his skin, as her mouth devoured him. Exhilarated, undeterred, he pushed his fingers inside her; she besieged him with teeth and lips and every limb, hammering, squeezing, clutching. She was not gentle; he did not want her to be. He ignored the roar of his own desire as he dedicated himself to the delicious compulsion to pleasure this passionate creature.
“Make it stop now!” she cried and slapped his bicep, but when he tried to pull away, she gripped him hard, hissing, “I need you to touch me more. Curse you. You must touch me more!”
