Chapter Fifteen
Never in her life had Lydia spoken so boldly. Never had she felt passion burn with such intensity. Even if her logical mind had been awake and alert, she could no more stop her need to lie with Greystone than she could stop the sun from rising.
You’re in love with him.
The words whispered through her mind, soft and warm and wonderfully inviting.
Was it love?
It was more than infatuation. The undeniable attraction had been there from the moment they’d locked eyes. She wanted him—until she discovered his name—and then she’d tried to stop the pleasurable sensations that made her dizzy in his company. Since then, she had grown to admire his kind heart, admire the hardness that made men fear him, admire his muscular body and wicked lips.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” Greystone stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I came hom
e for vengeance and found something infinitely more rewarding.”
Her heart soared. This meant something to him, too.
“I’m glad you came back.” She did not want to imagine a life where she despised him, where she believed the gossip and lies. She did not want to imagine an empty life, devoid of these magical feelings.
Greystone captured her hand. She waited for his lips to graze her knuckles but he did something far more wonderful. He pressed their hands together, palm to palm, examined how they looked—a large sun-kissed hand swamping the small porcelain-white one. A vibrant energy flowed between them. They laced fingers in a firm clasp that promised something powerful, something eternal.
“You understand that I struggle to control myself around you,” he said huskily. “You understand that I want to make love to you, right here, right now.”
The coil of desire wound tighter in her stomach. “I want the same, too.” She lacked experience in these matters. But with him, how could it be anything but pleasurable?
“You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
Greystone moistened his lips. “I shall be mindful of your situation.”
Her situation? Oh, he meant the fact she knew nothing about intimate relations. The thought was sobering. Nerves pushed to the fore.
“Greystone?”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps we should stop talking.”
A sinful smirk played on his lips.
Lydia stretched up to meet him as he bent his head. The first kiss was soft and gentle. The second one lasted longer. The third involved a slow mating of tongues, a sensual dance that left her wanting.
But then the mood shifted from tender teasing to a blaze of unsated passion. By the fourth kiss, they were moaning into each other’s mouths. Their ragged breathing punctuated the air. Lydia scrambled out of the bedsheets, craving contact. Greystone hauled her onto his lap and encouraged her to sit astride him.
As Greystone relaxed back against the pillow, the fervent look in his emerald eyes sent heat pooling to her core. With deft fingers, he untied the belt on the robe she wore, pushed the garment off her shoulders and smoothed his hands over her hips.
“I’m going to remove that shirt,” he said with a smooth hum of appreciation. “Don’t be shy.”
How could she be shy when sitting on the thick evidence of his arousal? Indeed, she resisted the urge to arch her back and rub against him, to ease the delicious ache that was like a living thing inside her.
“Strip me if it pleases you.” Lust had turned her wild and wanton. “I am yours tonight, Greystone.”
He raised a brow. “Only tonight?”
“No.”
“No?”