Her Secret Lover (Aphrodite's Club 2)

Quickly she turned the page.

The pictures were amazingly educational. Who would have thought some of those feats were even possible? And when she imagined doing them to the highwayman, she found herself growing warm. Her breasts began to tingle, and she pressed her hands to them, closing her eyes and remembering their encounter in the darkened room.

Looking at pictures was all very well, but Antoinette preferred the real man to pretend images. Remembering the taste and scent and texture of him made the flesh between her legs begin to ache. Antoinette told herself she had more study to do, and opened the second book.

Lots of women in scanty harem trousers and tiny blouses, cavorting with leering men similarly dressed and with amazingly large…swords.

Hurriedly she closed the book, and then sneezed when dust rose up in a cloud into her face.

Antoinette was certain she now knew enough to put her plan into action, but whether she would be brave enough to actually do it when the time came…

That was another matter.

Wexmoor Manor was sleeping. Gabriel climbed the stairs, avoiding the creaking board on the landing from long practice, and moved silently along the short passage to Antoinette’s room. For two days he’d waited, allowing himself to cool down. Or so he thought. In truth, as soon as he stepped into the manor, that ache of desire began its familiar throbbing and his hopeful body began to ready itself for release.

He’d been strong, but he didn’t know if he could be strong much longer. She had the letter and they both knew it, but how could he persuade her to part with it? This way wasn’t working, not unless he wanted to be driven mad with unfulfilled lust. Perhaps he should have gone with violence after all, he thought, and shook his h

ead with a wry smile, knowing he could never hurt her.

He was still smiling as he quietly unlatched her door and swung it inward.

She was asleep, breathing softly, the night breeze stirring the curtains that were drawn back from her open window. Sally Wonicot had told him about the window and Antoinette’s refusal to close it. He smiled. She was an unusual woman, his sparrow, and not one to do as others did just because that had always been the way of things. She made her own decisions and lived her own life, and he found he liked that about her.

He was beginning to feel as if he understood her, and he was aware that bullying her into handing over the letter would only make her more stubborn and determined not to give it to him. She was a strong woman who thought for herself, and he admired her for it. Antoinette Dupre was an honorable enemy.

Gabriel strode softly over the old Turkish rug toward her bed and stood staring down at her. She didn’t move, her hand flung out on the pillow, her hair in a single braid across her shoulder, her lashes like dark crescents on her alabaster skin.

She looked so innocent and yet so desirable, both at the same time. It made no sense, but that was what he felt. Before he could stop himself, or even try, he stooped over her and kissed her soft mouth. Savoring her taste, taking his time, enjoying the exquisite sensations she created within him. Because in a moment he knew she would wake up and demand he leave, and then…then the whole push and pull between them would begin again, with both of them determined to be the victor.

She was stirring. He kissed her again, drawing her gently into his embrace, and with a sigh she lifted her arms and draped them about his neck. He felt her lips smile, saw the flicker of her lashes as her eyes opened and she gazed into his.

“You,” she murmured sleepily.

“Yes.”

“I thought I was dreaming.”

Her voice was soft, sweet, and for some reason the sound of it brought a new ache to his chest. Not lust this time but something else, something he didn’t have the time or the courage to explore too closely. Besides, her lips were brushing his, her fingers twining in his hair, and he let her have her way.

Gabriel was completely unprepared for what happened next. He felt her give his chest a sudden shove, and then he was falling off the bed and landing hard on the Turkish rug. Surprise slowed his reaction, and before he could get to his feet she was on top of him, landing hard, and driving the breath from his body. For a moment she lay sprawled over him, her nightgown rucked up over her legs, and her soft breasts in his face. He was enjoying the sensation so much he forgot to struggle. He even reached for her, intending to carry on.

But Antoinette had other ideas.

She sat up, straddling his waist, her palms pressed to his chest for balance, her single braid swinging down to tickle his chin.

“Now it’s my turn, highwayman,” she said in a triumphant voice. “You’ve had your way for too long. Lie still and do not struggle, or I warn you, it will be the worse for you.”

She sounded so dramatic he began to laugh, he couldn’t help it, and he couldn’t stop. She laid her hand across his mouth to silence him, and her face swooped down to within an inch of his, her dark eyes round and bright and full of anticipation.

“Lie still,” she ordered. “And do not fight me. I will have my way.”

Gabriel blinked. It was the first inkling he had of what she intended to do to him, and he wondered if he should be afraid of her. But he didn’t feel afraid. Instead excitement tingled down his spine, and his body, already eager, leaped once more to attention.

Antoinette took his silence for acquiescence. She removed her hand from his mouth and began to undo the fastenings on his shirt, before tugging the garment over his head. His bare torso seemed to fascinate her. She brushed her fingers lightly over his chest, tracing the curve and dip of bone and muscle, before she bent her head and began to blaze a new trail with her lips and tongue.

He tried to clasp her to him but she pulled away, firmly removing his arms and laying them down at his sides, and shaking her head.

“No. I told you. I will have my way.”