‘Maybe I like surprises.’
But if she was expecting him to start confiding in her—to explain what had infused his words with that layer of bitterness—then she had misjudged him. Because clearly it wasn’t understanding he sought. She could see from the blaze of his eyes that his needs were far more fundamental than that. Just like hers.
And suddenly she wanted her secret fantasy to take shape. She wanted him to pull her into his arms, only this time, not to dance. She wanted him to kiss her in this moon-washed room on the night before Christmas and take that kiss to its natural conclusion.
‘I want you,’ he stated softly.
‘I didn’t think I was your type.’
‘I’m pretty sure you’re not. But right now, that doesn’t seem to matter.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ she questioned, as if she had this kind of discussion every day. But although she’d never had sex before, she was certainly familiar with negotiation.
‘Maybe it’s that survival thing,’ he continued, narrowing his dark eyes as he studied her. ‘Needing to celebrate the life force when you’ve lived through the possibility of imminent death.’
‘Is that what it is?’ she said slowly, bitterly disappointed by his factual assessment.
Did he detect that his unsentimental words—although commendably honest—were threatening to undermine his ultimate goal? Was that why he walked over and touched his palm against her cheek, as if to frame it, or to revel in its softness? Or was he just clever enough to recognise that the romantic gesture was as seductive as the moonlight? To recognise that once he touched her she would be lost.
And she was.
Totally lost.
CHAPTER SIX
HE’DFANTASISEDABOUTkissing her lips for so long and now they were soft and trembling beneath his. Xanthos tangled his fingers into the soft, rich spill of Bianca’s hair and as she brought her curvy hips in line with his, he groaned. Could she feel the imprint of his erection through the thin silk of her dress and did she find it daunting?
It would seem not, for she kissed him back with a hungry passion he hadn’t been expecting from the cool and independent lawyer. And now she was circling those delicious hips against his legs and he was uncertain whether she was teasing him or testing him, and he drew back.
‘You do know that if you don’t slow down, this is all going to be over very quickly,’ he warned her unsteadily.
He might have imagined her brief uncertainty, but he definitely didn’t imagine her familiar challenge. ‘And do you have a problem with that?’
He groaned again and his breath felt as if it were being ripped from the base of his lungs, because her provocative question appeared to give him permission to behave, not badly, no, but without any of the restraint he had been clinging onto since he’d landed that plane. Usually, he was the master of slow seduction and finesse. He always took his time. And in a way, didn’t his protracted pleasuring of his lovers intensify his own satisfaction by demonstrating his steely self-control?
But there was very little self-control in his body now. Was it that ridiculously sentimental dance downstairs which had robbed him of sense and of reason? As he scooped Bianca into his arms and carried her towards the bed, he felt as if he were on fire. His kiss had never been so hot or hard or hungry, especially when he felt the imprint of a pair of hold-up stockings against his fingers. He toppled her down onto the bed and lay down beside her and his fingers were actually trembling as they began the interminable prospect of releasing the buttons of her dress. How many were there?
‘I feel like ripping the damned thing off,’ he growled.
‘Rip away,’ she invited insouciantly. ‘There’s plenty more clothes in my suitcase.’
And, God forgive him—but he did. With no regard whatsoever for the silky gown, he clasped the delicate fabric on either side of the buttons and wrenched it open. It came apart with a splitting sound, revealing her magnificent breasts—the globes encased in shadowy black lace, which were rising and falling in time with her rapid breathing.
‘Evge...’he breathed, lapsing into a language he rarely spoke these days. His mouth twisted. Hismothertongue. The word filled him with disdain, but his bitter contemplation dissolved the moment he bent his tongue towards the proud nipple which strained through the black lace, just begging to be licked. And when he obliged with the slow flick of his tongue, she squirmed her hips against the mattress with restless hunger and he felt himself grow even harder. His throat dried as he dealt with the skimpy lace panties—her open-thighed invitation consigning them to the same sorry fate as her ripped dress. His finger slid irresistibly over the slick heat at her core and, although he hadn’t intended to, he began to stroke her until she was gasping and pleading with him.
‘No,’ he said, still filled with that delicious sense of the primal which was influencing his behaviour in the most uncharacteristic way. ‘Not like that. Not the first time.’
‘How many times are we going to do it?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On this.’ He kissed her some more, and then more still. She seemed unwilling to let him drag his mouth away from hers and he certainly wasn’t objecting. At least, not until he thought he might explode if he didn’t get inside her. Unzipping his trousers with difficulty, he hauled his shirt over his head until at last they were both naked and she was running her gaze over him with greedy fervour, almost as if she’d never seen a naked man before. But wasn’t he doing exactly the same? Feasting his eyes on the black hold-up stockings which he had left in situ. Her hair was dark against the pillow and her teeth looked very white in the moonlight. As her gaze roved down to study his aching groin he thought he saw her bite her lip and wondered if she was reconsidering her options. Had she changed her mind?
And didn’t some bone-deep instinct tell him it would be better for them both if she had, even though it would half kill him to walk away from her now? Because there was still her connection to his brother—the brother he had decided he was never going to see again.
‘You want me to stop?’ he questioned, through a throat so raw it felt as if someone were throttling him.