An imp of mischief overtook her saner self. She extended her long, smooth brown leg as the fabric of the skirt slid away, taunting, digging the knife deep into his flesh and twisting it. “You mean, this?” she shrugged the drop sleeves of her bodice even lower, revealing the rounded tops of her breasts. “Does this bother you?”
What the hell had gotten into her, dangling a red cape before the bull, she would never know. With a strangled growl, he was upon her, his mouth crushed against hers, his hands coming up to grasp her upper arms. He held her fast, as if afraid she would wriggle free, but Jacyn had no intention of stopping him.
She met him kiss for kiss, nibble for nibble. Opening her mouth to allow his tongue to flick at her teeth, then biting him if he dared come too close. She grasped his face in both hands, feeling that stubble again, the coarseness she had hungered to experience since that time he’d kissed her amidst a field of flowers.
Had it only been nine days? All that time, talking to him and touching him in passing. Riding next to him and feeling the power of her horse between her legs, trying not to draw upon the similarity of what lay within her imagination. Trying not to allow the rock and sway of her body to bring to her illicit images of herself and Alex pressed skin against skin, rocking to their own rhythm. The rising memory of those fantasies that had haunted her forced a grunt of frustration from between her teeth.
“I know, my sweet, I know,” he murmured. His hands came up to her bodice, reaching round back to work the zipper, and when it refused to descend he groaned, yanking on the fragile material. “I need to see you, dammit!”
She tried to help him, fingers twisting awkwardly, arms reaching backwards. “Don’t ruin it—”
The sound of fabric tearing cut through what she had to say, making it redundant. “I’ll buy you another,” he promised. “I’ll buy you a hundred gowns, if only you let me see you out of this one, right here.Now.”
She helped him pull down the top, so that her breasts spilled forth like ripe fruit toppling out of a basket. He cupped them in his large hands, looking down at them in wonder and awe.
The thought that this powerful, successful, confident man was speechless for the first time in his life made her laugh in glee, but that laughter ended when he buried his face between the generous mounds. His lips and tongue began to roam, then he claimed one dark nipple as his own.
The limo glided smoothly on in the darkness, leaving them in their own world. She chewed on her lip, trying to suppress a cry. Could the driver hear them? Did he know?
Alex seemed to understand her concern. “It’s soundproof, my sweet. And I am going to prove it, when I make you scream for mercy.”
With that, he yanked down on that gorgeous—now ruined—dress, peeling it off her body like the skin of a fruit. Jacyn had decided not to wear any underwear—the gown had been designed to replace a bra and panties would have spoiled the graceful lines of the skirt. So she was bare to him; naked and unabashed.
Alex looked like a man whose attention was divided, his gaze moving slowly from her breasts to her undulating belly to the soft vee and long, slender legs. “You’re a goddess,” he murmured.
Then he feasted upon her breasts once more, before his mouth began to descend, pausing at her navel to plant kisses in a circle around it, and then moving lower. He stopped just at the line where that soft tuft began, and then lifted his face to look into her eyes. Was he asking her permission to go further, or taunting her, making her suffer and wait?
Either way, she needed him, now. In an anguished plea, she lifted her hips to him; no words needed. He lowered his face to her, inhaling deeply like a man savoring the bouquet of a rare wine, before plunging. The first contact was torture, and every flick of his tongue brough more devastation.
Jacyn arched her back, pressed upwards with her hips to maximize contact, feeling the jolts of pleasure slamming into her over and over. His hands on her hips and bottom were possessive, insistent on her pleasure, and he knew when to press forward and when to pull back, until she felt like she was losing her mind.
And beg him she did, grasping at the front of his trousers, pulling on the zipper until his warm shaft leaped free into her hand, thick and hot and ready for her. And when he slid into her, slid all the way home, something inside her died and rose again like a phoenix, a flaming spirit that overwhelmed and consumed them, until all they could think of or taste or feel or smell, was each other.
***
The first thing Alex noticed when he woke up was that his arm was asleep. The weight of Jacyn’s head on his bicep shifted, and he eased his arm from under her, flexing his fingers to bring the blood flow back into it.
“Sorry.” She looked up at him and gave him a sleepy smile.
He sat up and surveyed his surroundings. He was in her bed, and the glare of the sun streaming through the windows made it clear that the day was already well along. The sheets were rumpled, and the cascade of awful pillows had made their way to the floor.
Memories came rushing back to him, almost overwhelming in their intensity. He and Jacyn had made love all night after arriving at the château. It had been fierce and shattering—both of them washed away by a tsunami of lust, anger, hunger and heat.
He felt alive, elated—but also shocked at himself. What the hell had led him to behave like that last night? Dragging her out of the gala, accusing her of flirting, and then claiming her right there in the back seat of the limo?
Jealousy, that was what. But Jacyn wasn’t his. This whole engagement was a farce; play acting. So what made him think he had the right?
“Alex?” Her voice was timid as she peered at him from under her tousled hair. At some point he’d relieved her braids of their updo, and the bed was strewn with pearl-tipped pins. “Are you okay?”
He looked down at her, his emotions swirling. Although he needed to reconcile in his mind what had happened, the last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel bad. Morning-after regret could cut a person to the soul. He wasn’t about to do that to her.
So, he smiled and said, “I’m fine. Didn’t realize it was so late, is all.” He leaned forward and kissed her, first lightly, and then deeply—and immediately felt desire begin to rise inside him. He drew away, taking in the curves of her face. She truly was a beauty.
And he needed to get out of there—immediately.
He rose from the bed and looked around on the floor for his clothes, but the heaps of rags they’d left strewn around weren’t worth sorting through. Instead, he proceeded to the door that joined their suites, stark naked. He could feel her eyes on him all the way. He didn’t want to leave her feeling stranded, so he promised, “I’ll see you later.”
Freshly showered and dressed, he hurried down to the stables. What he needed right now to clear his head was to spend some time with the one creature who knew him best: Brute. As he entered, he noticed someone leaving. Willa’s tutor, Martin or Murray or whatever his name was. A lanky, carrot-haired Englishman who frequented the stables, claiming to have “done a spot of riding at Oxford”. He was allowed to ride when not teaching Willa. Although they had only encountered each other briefly in the corridors, somehow, Alex didn’t take to him. The two men nodded at each other, then Alex retrieved his horse.