Besides, he wanted to see her eyes when she came.
He stiffened at the thought and the reality of his situation hit him like a brick. He wasn’t sure how the Romans had coped, but the thought of his costume betraying his desire on the dance floor in front of five hundred employees and their partners wasn’t appealing. He had to get them both out of here, now, while he could still think straight.
The music track had reached its climax. He was vaguely envious as it wound down to a slow refrain. There was no way he was winding down any time soon—unless this woman had something to do with it. And if he had any say she’d have everything to do with it!
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he whispered, nibbling on her ear.
She felt too weak to respond, lost in the multitude of new and wonderful sensations she was being bombarded with.
Was this how seduction felt? Never before had she felt such liquid heat pooling inside her. This total absence of real thought, all mind function replaced by body function and totally concentrated on one thing, the fruition of one act. One utterly irresistible, inevitable act.
She wanted more of what he was doing to her, more of what he was making her feel. She wanted him.
This was new—to feel such intense longing and desire for any one man! Passion like she’d never before experienced. Bryce had never once made her feel like this in their entire two-year relationship. He’d always made her feel that lovemaking was an obligation.
What was happening now with Damien couldn’t be more different. Right now making love with Damien felt like her destiny. A destiny she felt powerless to deny.
With his hand at her back steering her towards an exit, she allowed him to propel her towards that destiny.
He swooped and opened a side door in her path, his other hand encouraging her through to the dimly lit hallway beyond. He pulled the door shut behind them and spun her against the wall in the same rapid-fire action.
Her back met the wall at the same instant his mouth meshed with hers.
Frantic.
Hungry.
His lips slanted over hers and a moment later he was inside, his tongue seeking hers. He tasted rich and real, of masculine heat and warm brandy, and she let herself go with the sensation, the ecstasy of him filling her mouth.
One hand found her breast and she gasped as his fingers grazed her nipple, searing through the light fabric.
The other dropped to her skirt and he filled his hand with the round of one perfect cheek. Her muscles tightened in response and he was rewarded by the push of her belly into his growing hardness.
He growled, long and low, at the building tension, the anticipation of its relief, and she squirmed under his hands.
His touch was a brand on her, exploring, pushing, urgent and hot. Need radiated inside her like a fire front, the flames spreading wider until every part of her was alight. The oxygen delivered by her rapid breaths fuelled the flames.
The door alongside swung open. Someone looked around, mumbling a quick apology before diving back into the auditorium. Damien pulled his mouth away giving a low soft curse. He grabbed her hand again. ‘Come on,’ he said.
She followed behind him down the corridor, senses reeling as he tugged her insistently along, then round a corner, up a flight of stairs and over a parquet floor. He stopped outside a pair of solid doors flanked with impressive brass framing. The boardroom. He pulled something from a pocket somewhere—a keycard—and shoved it through the slot. In the wooden surrounds and over the muted sounds of the revelry below the click echoed loud and long. And final.
She swallowed as logic fought for precedence in her mind. Once inside there was no turning back. No chance to change her mind.
But she had no intention of changing her mind. There was no way she didn’t want to follow this scene through to its logical conclusion. She’d come too far.
He pulled her into the room, though she hardly needed persuading. The door closed behind them and he turned the lock. They were alone, the room unlit but for the venetian blind dressed window sending slices of moonlight cascading across the sleek boardroom table.
Her eyes adjusted and in the gloom it was as if the years had peeled away and history itself was replaying.
Right now she was Cleopatra and he was her Mark Antony.
He reached out a hand to her face, touching her mask.
She flinched from his grasp and shook her head. ‘No!’ she whispered. She wouldn’t kid herself. He wouldn’t be doing this if he knew who she was. Only after, when it was too late for him to change his mind, only then would she let him take off her mask.
He would be angry, no doubt. Even worse, he would be disappointed. His fantasy would end right then and there. But she would have this memory to treasure for ever. And, no doubt, she would.