“Oh, yes, please.” Antonia’s voice was husky and velvety with anticipation.
She had always been aware of his body’s strength and power, but now that he was expending it to protect her from the disorderly crowd, she felt weak with gratitude. She’d always imagined how it would feel, but the reality of his possessive protection enfolded her, gloved her in dark velvet, so that she was absolutely inviolate to any but Savage.
Her steps felt as if they were floating as they whispered across the marbled floors and stairs of his palazzo. The madding crowd fell away as they ascended. Fancifully she thought even a goddess being taken up to Olympus to receive sacred rites could not feel more radiantly alive or more desired.
So much about Adam Savage was unknown to her, his dark face ever unreadable as if he wore a permanent mask. She felt as if she were on the brink of a revelation, perhaps more than one, and yet she suspected she would never know him completely. Which was just as well. A slight shiver touched her fevered skin.
When he opened the door she saw that his chambers were palatial. Two rooms were joined by an archway of white, sugar-spun marble. From a wrought-iron balcony flowers tumbled in abandon to the waters of the canal below.
He locked the door from the inside with an ornate golden key and allowed his glance to lick over her. All of her. He stepped toward her and opened his palm, where the key lay.
She laughed that he should offer it to her. “Is that to keep you from escaping me?”
He was completely serious. “Take it. When you see my scars, you may not wish to remain. You must feel free to leave at any time.”
A tiny frisson went through her, running deep. She knew she would never be free. To show she was ready to obey him in all things, she lifted the key from his palm and laid it upon a marble pedestal that stood beside the door.
He took her hand and led her into the spacious bedchamber. He removed his black silk cape and then he lifted off the Leopard’s mask.
Antonia knew his face as well as she knew her own, and yet its impact made her knees so weak and watery, she sank down upon the bed’s edge. Since first she’d seen him she had wanted to let her gaze roam at leisure over his dark, intense features. Now he invited her to look her fill.
His brows were black raven’s wings, his nose a straight wedge with slightly flared nostrils. The structure of cheekbone and jaw was strongly sculpted, as if his Creator had used a chisel. His lips had a sensual mold. Then, as if the same chisel had been used, a deep gash slashed from the left nostril, straight down through the top lip. His skin was as swarthy as if it had been stained by walnut, then shadowed even darker over the area he kept clean shaven. In startling contrast his eyes were a piercing light blue. She had seen just such a shade in the waters of the Mediterranean.
“Your eyes are as blue as the Bay of Biscay.”
She saw the well-remembered self-mockery. “You are a fanciful, romantic child.” His hands knifed through his long black hair, once, twice. They were powerful, calloused, capable. Capable of gentleness? Possibly. Capable of cruelty? Assuredly. Capable of arousal and satisfaction? Equally!
She reached out to take his hands into her own. The contrast was marked. Hers were pale, his tanned; hers were long and slender, his strong and square; hers were soft, his roughened and calloused. As her finger traced the workworn skin the corners of her mouth went up with the sheer pleasure of touching him. Her green eyes dared to tease him. “You haven’t the hands or the face of a gentleman.”
“No,” he confirmed. “Unfortunately, though, I suspect I am dealing with a titled lady.”
She drew in her breath at his perception.
“Don’t look so dismayed.” A teasing light now appeared in his eyes. “I shan’t put you out on your noble bottom.” He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “You intrigue me. What’s your name?”
His touch stole her senses. “An—” Her eyes widened in disbelief. She had almost blurted out her name.
“Ann.” His voice sounded like velvet as his tongue caressed the name.
Whatever was the matter with her? She’d be calling him Adam any moment. “Do you have a name, my lord?”
“It is notmy lordunless that is part of your fantasy, my lady.”
She laughed up into his face. “Of course it isn’t. How absurd.”
“You’d be surprised how important titles are to most women.” He lifted a brow. “Will Adam suffice?”
“Splendidly.” The sigh reached her toes. His name was so perfect, it would have spoiled her fantasy to call him anything else.
“So then, Ann and Adam it shall be.” He spoke as if everything had been settled between them. And in a way it had. He lifted her hand to his mouth and allowed his lips to brush across the back of her fingers. He whispered the question against her skin. “Are you ready to play the game of love?”
Antonia nodded wordlessly, unable to take a deep breath.
He pulled her up into his arms so that all her golden softness was enfolded in his powerful embrace. His arms tightened, imprisoning her against the hard length of him. Breast to chest, ribs to ribs, thigh to thigh, belly to belly, hard male muscle to soft mons. She yielded up her body to his and he rubbed her against his hardness.
The surface of her skin began to tingle as if it were showered by molten gold dust, then the heat penetrated the surface of her silken skin to plunge deeper, to enter her bloodstream exactly like rivers of molten gold. Crushed against him she felt his body’s heat leap into hers, scalding her wherever they touched.
His eyes held hers intensely, needing to see her experience each and every tiny flicker of this arousal. Then suddenly he held her slightly away from him while his gaze dropped inside the golden crown of her bodice.