Savage Courtship

Some time later she was watching the dancing inside the cavernous garage, waiting for Richard to return with another glass of pleasantly intoxicating punch, when a black-clad arm suddenly slid around her tiny waist, drawing her sharply back against a lean, hard body.

‘Hello, Meg.’

For the briefest instant Vanessa allowed herself to lean against his welcome strength.

‘Benedict.’

He didn’t move and she didn’t turn. This tiny moment of possession was too precious, too private to be shared...even with him.

‘I’d accuse you of being elusive,’ he murmured, ‘but in that dress I suppose it’s the last thing you could be called.’

She tossed her head, barely missing his chin. ‘Whose fault is that? I didn’t want to wear it!’

‘But you did.’ His arm tightened.

‘I—didn’t have any choice.’

‘There are always choices, Meg. The ones we don’t take are often as revealing as the ones we do. Dance with me?’

He spun her in his arms and looked down at her. Not at her breasts but at her red-painted mouth. He was kissing her with his eyes. Even though he had his glasses on she felt the full impact of that look. His hand fluffed her hair. ‘Dance with me, Meg?’

‘I’m waiting for Richard,’ she said breathlessly, sure it was the wretched basque that must be starving her of oxygen. ‘He’s away getting me a drink...’

He looked over her head. ‘He’s talking to Lacey. Let him stay away. Besides, he’s not in costume.’ He looked back down at her, taking off his tall buckled hat and casting it carelessly aside, revealing the cropped darkness of his hair which so suited the austerity of his garb.

‘He didn’t have time—he’s just come back from ten days in Melbourne. He only got back tonight. He’s virtually come straight from the airport.’

‘Tough!’ Benedict looked triumphantly unimpressed. ‘He has to surrender something of value for his transgression. You can be his forfeit to me, Meg.’ He began to sway, drawing her into his arms and slowly blending into the passing flow of couples.

‘I didn’t think Puritans did anything as frivolous as dance,’ she said shakily as she instinctively matched his languid rhythm.

‘Oh, we can be seduced into the sins of the flesh like any other mortal. We just take leave to feel more guilty about them afterwards.’ He had both hands at her waist now, holding the centres of their bodies lightly together as he moved, the brush of his legs in their thick black breeches catching at her satin skirts.

‘I’m afraid what I know about seduction could be written on the head of a pin,’ Vanessa responded haughtily.

His steps faltered, but not his gaze as his mouth crooked wryly. ‘What fool phrased his compliment to you so badly? True seduction isn’t about knowing, it’s about being...’

His eyes gravitated inexorably to the plunging neckline of her gown. His nostrils flared, his sensual memory recognising the distinctive scent rising from the warm texture of her flesh, the scent that had lingered in his bed. ‘Just be you; that’s all you have to do to seduce me.’

‘You mean, be Meg,’ she said wistfully. In this dress she wasn’t supposed to be her ordinary self, she was his erotic fantasy come to life.

‘I mean be Vanessa,’ he told her huskily. ‘Infuriating, irresistible Vanessa. Do you know why I asked you to dance?’

She shook her head dizzily, and he answered his own question with a frank explicitness that made her breathing sharp and shallow.

‘I wanted to see your lovely breasts move for me. I wanted to watch them sway and ripple like cream with every tiny, delicious motion...every breath, every sigh. I remember how hot and spicy they tasted in my mouth, how taut and swollen they felt when I cupped them in my hands... Do you think any one would notice if I bent and put my mouth just there...in that milky soft crevice...?’

‘I would...!’ Vanessa clutched at his forearms, her shallow gasps turning to a startled moan as her head fell back and her knees sagged. The tiny red spots in front of her eyes turned black.

‘For God’s sake, Vanessa, don’t play the swooning Victorian maiden on me now!’ he said with rough amusement that turned to rueful dismay as she continued to sink, her back arching limply over the span of his strong hands...

He uttered a harsh sound of dismissal as someone offered assistance, half lifting, half carrying her wilting figure off the makeshift dance-floor and through the brick archways lining the back of the garage, to one of the old stable loose-boxes, kicking the bottom of the dilapidated half-door shut behind them. Here at least they were private, if not peaceful, the open half of the door letting in a flood of yellow light along with the insistent throb of music and cacophony of voices.

‘Vanessa? You’re not going to actually pass out, are you?’ he asked with ragged humour as he propped her against the wall, protecting her bare shoulder-blades from the rough wood by sliding his arm behind her.

She pressed a hand to her compressed stomach and shook her head muzzily as she panted, ‘No...I just couldn’t breathe for a moment. It’s being trussed up in this dress—I can’t seem to breathe and dance at the same time. Thank God women liberated themselves from their corsets years ago!’

She took several more quick, heaving breaths before she became aware of the carnal expression on Benedict’s face as he slowly removed his glasses.