'Oh, yes I do, chérie. C'est le sort.'
Fate? Elizabeth had thought that Jack was too much of a fighter to be a fatalist. Up a few more steps and around another corner and she found herself blind in the middle of a black room.
The light snapped on and she blinked awkwardly and saw Jack leaning back against the closed door, staring at her, still in the grip of what was obviously some fiercely exultant emotion.
'Show me,' he commanded, and stood, legs planted astride, hands hanging loosely at his sides, the picture of a relaxed man prepared to explode into violent motion at a moment's notice.
Automatically Elizabeth turned away from the powerful image of daunting male arrogance and her eyes took in what her mind had subconsciously registered even before the light had been switched on.
Not her bedroom. His. He had brought her to his room, his territory... his rules.
The heavy blue silk-damask curtains were drawn at the double windows, increasing the closed-in intimacy created by the pale blue and gold figured wallpaper and the ornately carved plaster ceiling. A huge bed was turned down invitingly to reveal fine, pure white embroidered linen beneath the deep blue silk comforter. A chair and a wardrobe like hers were the only other furnishings. A room as starkly masculine and as finely disciplined as its owner was... usually.
A drifting movement of air behind her warned Elizabeth too late, and before she could turn the fabric across her shoulders suddenly gave way as her zip was drawn down to her waist. She swung around, supporting her loose bodice protectively with her hands over her breasts, the wide, slanting shoulders of her dress dropping down her arms.
'Jack...' Her protest faded away when she saw him staring at the first gleam of gold revealed by the slipping gown. The earlier tension was still in him but it was tension now of a different sort. Moody possessiveness glittered in his eyes, along with a kind of savagely amused tenderness that was like a balm to her self-inflicted wounds. Her fluttering fear that he intended to take his revenge by forcing her in a physical expression of his contempt died. Jack would never force her—he would never have to. Whatever he wanted she would give him willingly, gratefully...needing the chance to atone at least partially for the sin of her betrayal...
He reached out and threaded his fingers gently under the sleeves of her dress, holding her wide, wondering and slightly wary eyes with his own hypnotic silver gaze as he tugged, slowly and inexorably dragging the sleeves further down her arms. ‘I want to see,' he said, in a rough whisper that curled caressingly around her sense.
The zip was only partially unfastened and the dress caught in folds at her waist but he was too absorbed in his discovery to notice. He stared at the blaze of red and gold and diamond fire that hug from her
neck, mantling her pale skin from collarbone to the upper reaches of her breasts where they swelled above their twin cups of pale green lace. His eyes narrowed and Elizabeth had the fleeting feeling that he was studying her with the detached eye of a connoisseur rather than that of a passionate lover.
She drew a ragged breath and her breasts quivered, setting the fiery jewels a-splinter with light. 'Oh, yes, they suit you well...' He reached out and touched the central stone, an oval-cut red ruby suspended from a fan of overlapping chased-gold links. He pressed on it lightly until it sank into the whipped-cream cushion of flesh, and then he ran his finger up the chain that disappeared around her neck.
'Do you know why it's called La Flèche?' he murmured, moving closer as he studied the tiny overlapping triangles. 'Because these are tiny arrows, all pointing down...' He traced his finger back down again. 'Down towards a woman's secret heart... Many women have worn this necklace for the men of my family in the past three hundred years. It's in the nature of a ritual. And all the St Clair males have their duty to perform in this secret ritual...'
To Elizabeth's delicious consternation his finger continued on down past the necklace, over the rise of her left breast, skimming the lace that covered her trembling heart, down over the soft bunch of material at her waist to press lightly into the V between her legs.
'To pierce his woman's body with the arrow of possession, that is the St Clair male's task... And if she is proudly wearing the badge of that possession there is no escape from destiny...'
‘I... I don’t understand,' she murmured. He smiled, his eyes slitting as he watched her sway helplessly to his feather-light caress. 'You will, chérie....’
'You're still angry.' Her aching uncertainty was in every aching syllable and he made no attempt to assuage it.
'Yes. But that will add an element of uncertainty that will be rather stimulating for us both, will it not?' His finger curved inwards, stroked, and Elizabeth melted inside. He took his hand away and she felt empty, abandoned.
'No—'
He misunderstood, his eyes dominating hers as he forced her chin up and let her see the full force of his masculine intent in a face taut with barely leashed hunger.
'Yes. You have the instincts of a born gambler, Elizabeth, though you may try to deny it. You have a reckless streak in you that you explain away as stubbornness but which I recognise, for it is a trait we share. You gambled on coming to my island, you gambled when you spied on me and taunted me with your inconsistencies, and you gambled again when you welcomed me into your body with such voluptuous enthusiasm and then tried to primly pretend that it hadn’t happened. And most of all, ma chère, you gambled on coming here and expecting me to let you walk away afterwards as if I didn’t exist....'
He fingered the tiny satin bow that was the front fastening of her bra as he looked into her eyes. He held her breathless gaze as they both heard the tiny click that signalled that he had slipped the fastening.
'Now you take the most exciting gamble of all, chérie.' He brushed the lace aside, still without lowering his gaze, and cupped her breasts, massaging them softly. 'You gamble that I am more honest with you than you were with me.'
'Jack—'
'No. I don’t want to talk.' He lowered his eyes and looked at what his hands had done. Her breasts were swollen beneath their garland of precious stones, their tracery of blue veins boldly outlined against their taut paleness, the nipples cresting the heavy globes dark and stiff.
'Grandfather was right...you are ripe. Ripe and ready for this... aren’t you, chérie, even if you don’t realise it yet...?'
He put his mouth where his hands had been and she cried out, struggling to free her arms from the sleeves that held them to her sides, and he drew back.
'Yes, we'll take it slow this time, ma chère... long and slow. This is a first time for you, and I know that you might be afraid...'
The savage edge had gone, only the tenderness remained, and Elizabeth was more bewildered than ever.