"Hmm." He speared his free hand through her hair, spreading his fingers, combing through the long tresses, holding them out, watching them drift down as his fingers pulled free. "You never did understand why I hated your caps, did you?"
Mesmerized by the possessiveness investing his harsh features, Alathea didn't answer. He played with the silken mass, then he gathered half of it in his fist, tipping her head back.
"What else?" His gaze fastened on her eyes. "Ah, yes. Your eyes. Have you any idea what it's like to look into them? Not at them, but into. Whenever I do, I feel like I've fallen into some magical pool and lost myself. Certainly lost all sense." His gaze lowered. "And there's your lips." He took them in a swift, achingly incomplete kiss. "But we know why I like those." The arm about her eased, his hand drifted from her back. He still held her by her hair. "But I don't believe you have any idea about this."
Long fingers feathered her jaw, tracing from her chin to her ear. Then he cupped her face, holding her steady as he bent his head and followed the same line with his lips.
Alathea shivered.
"That's right. Vulnerable." The word caressed her ear. "Not weak, but definitely vulnerable. Mine to seize."
Her lids fell as his lips brushed the sensitive skin beneath her ear, then slid lower, laying heat down the length of her throat. Her mind told her to correct him; she wasn't his.
Instead, when he fell to laving the tender spot at the base of her throat, she swayed into him. Her legs weakened. She clutched his lapels as her wits reeled.
He released her hair. His lips returned to hers and her hunger resurged. He matched it, fed it, incited her desire, then drank deeply, took, seized, claimed. Distracted, she had no inkling that his fingers had been busy until he closed his hands about hers and drew them down, then, breaking off their kiss, slipped her gown from her shoulders.
The ribbon straps of her chemise went, too. Her breasts, swollen and rosy-peaked, were in his hands before she lifted her lids, long before she drew in a breath.
He'd caressed her breasts before but only in the dark; she hadn't been able to see his hands cupping, caressing. She hadn't been able to see his face, to see desire engraved on his features, to see the fires of passion burning in his eyes.
His hands closed possessively.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "There is no other word. None to do you justice."
He bent his head; Alathea closed her eyes and struggled to hang on to her sanity as he feasted. With lips, tongue, and teeth, he worshipped, heaping pleasure upon pleasure until she gasped. The guttural sound he made rang with masculine satisfaction, then he returned to repeat the torture.
His touch was exquisite; helpless, she arched in his arms, offering, entreating, yet still aware of every nuance of every touch, of the meaning invested in each caress. Although the vortex of their passions whirled around them, they yet stood at the still eye of their storm.
Gabriel knew it. Never before had he attained such a high degree of arousal while still retaining such absolute control. Not with any other woman. The woman in his arms was special, but he'd known that all along. All his life, even though he hadn't understood.
Lifting his head, drawing his lips from the sweet mounds of her breasts, he steadied her. Sliding his hands to her back, he eased her gown and chemise further down. They gathered about her hips. Eyes wide, one hand on his shoulder for balance, she met his gaze, stunned understanding in her eyes.
His lips curved. He raised his hands to the backs of her shoulders, then skimmed them slowly down, tracing the long planes of her back, the supple muscles on either side of her spine. "I like the fact you're so tall. There's a lot of you, but you're so slender." He spread his hands, spanning the back of her rib cage. "I'm twice the size of you."
He closed his hands about her narrow waist. Possessive lust flared; he knew it glowed in his eyes. "Tall yet feminine. My ideal."
His gravelly tone shook her. She sucked in a shaky breath-
He kissed whatever she'd thought to say from her lips. Thoroughly. Then he pushed her gown and chemise over her hips. They swooshed down her legs to puddle on the floor.
"Gabri-"
He cut her off with another kiss. Luscious curves filled his hands; he was no longer interested in verbal communication. Deepening the kiss, he drew her hard against him, fingers flexing, kneading, learning anew. He knew the feel of her, the contrast of feminine firmness and softness, yet his senses seemed starved, urgently needy for more and yet more of her.
Fascination was too weak a word to encompass his obsession.
As for her legs…
"Don't move." Closing his hands about her hips, he sank to his knees. He heard her indrawn breath and pressed a kiss to her waist, then trailed lower to lave her navel. Her hands had fallen to his shoulders, her finger
s restless. As he evocatively probed the slight indentation, her fingers slid into his hair.
He paid homage to her legs, sliding his hands down, then up the long, graceful limbs. She quivered, muscles tensing. When he bent his head and nuzzled her taut belly, she gasped.
"Gabriel?"
The word was an aching whisper, laden with entreaty. Alathea could barely believe it came from her. Her body was hot, her skin flushed, her wits in disarray, yet she felt every touch, every caress keenly. Desire throbbed in the air, passion heated it; this time, there was no darkness to shroud her senses, no veil to obscure the reality.