When she moved into his arms, he bent his head at once, his mouth latching on to hers, his fingers laced behind her nape to hold her captive while his tongue thrust deep in a hungry claiming. This was the taste he’d needed, craved, all evening.
Summer felt the same craving. Eagerly she rubbed her body against him, feeling her nipples harden and the now familiar quickening between her legs.
To her surprise, though, Lance broke off the caress. With a questioning look, she led the way to their bedchamber, setting the lamp on the small table that served as a dressing table and writing desk. Removing the black knit shawl from around her shoulders, she folded it and stored it on a self inside the armoire. Lance was already pulling off his clothes and tossing them on the rocking chair that sat in one corner.
In only a moment he was naked, beautifully naked—wearing only a gauze bandage over his healing ribs that contrasted starkly with his bronzed skin. Summer drew a sharp breath, captivated by the beauty of his dark, sleek animal body illuminated in the lamp’s glow. Just the sight of him made her own body tremble and grow heavy and sultry with wanting.
He caught her watching him, and his manhood reacted, filling, swelling, engorging, till it stood thick and rigid and ready.
He didn’t offer to help her undress as a gentleman would. Instead he tossed back the covers of the rope bed and carelessly sat down, his shoulder propped against the headboard, one leg stretched out, the other foot resting on the wooden floor. His swollen shaft rose nearly straight up. Summer found she couldn’t tear her eyes away; she could only remember the exquisite feel of that hard flesh moving inside her, impaling her, filling her, and she wanted to moan.
When finally she managed to look up, her gaze locked with Lance’s, and time seemed to falter. She was aware of the most potent sense of anticipation she had ever felt.
“What are you waiting for, princess?” he murmured, his voice low and husky.
What indeed?
Her cheeks flushing, she unbuttoned the bodice of her gown with shaking fingers, aware that Lance was deliberately making it harder for her. He lay powerfully lithe on the bed as he watched her, his gaze hot and possessive.
With awkward haste, she removed her gown and petticoats and hung them in the armoire. Her underclothes followed, but she modestly kept her back to him, until Lance commanded softly, “Turn around. I want to see you.”
Almost quivering, Summer obeyed. She could feel the slow, hot sweep of his gaze linger over her bare breasts, her belly, the juncture of her thighs.
“Take down your hair,” Lance commanded.
Dazedly she raised her arms, her fumbling fingers searching for the pins. Finally free of restraint, the heavy mass fell down her back, and Summer distractedly raked the tangled locks through her fingers. Lance’s heated look made the simple task somehow even more intimate than undressing before him.
He moved then. She heard the soft creak of the bed ropes as he rose, magnificent and virile, from the mattress. Her breath caught in her throat as he soundlessly crossed the floor to her. His harsh features dark with passion, he stood over her for a moment, his shining blue-black hair sweeping forward across his high cheekbones. To her bewilderment, though, he didn’t kiss her or take her in his arms. Instead, he gently turned her around and pushed her down to sit on the stool before the dressing table.
She was aware of the cool polished oak surface against her bare buttocks, the radiant heat at her back as Lance moved behind her, the irregular thudding of her heart. In the mirror’s golden reflection, she could see his arms come around her, feel his callused hands glide down her chest to cup the swollen mounds of her breasts.
The sight was keenly erotic: his hands dark and powerful against her pale jutting breasts, the nipples hard and distended as his thumbs flicked the aching peaks. The feeling was exquisite. Summer arched, shuddering, but his palms closed around her, holding her still.
The expression on his face was absorbed, focused, as he watched his ministrations, a man intent on giving pleasure, on seeing that his woman was pleased. His hands moved over her skin in a languid rhythm, stroking with delicacy, slowly rubbing her taut nipples between thumb and forefinger. Summer bit back a whimper at the lush heat that was swelling in her, at the delicious flush suffusing her body.
“I want you,” he said softly, hoarsely.
S
he wanted him, too. Her woman’s body craved the maleness of him.
But it seemed that Lance was in no hurry. In a moment, his hands relinquished their pressure, fell away from her breasts, leaving her skin chilled where his fiery hands had been. As if he had all the time in the world, he picked up the silver-backed brush from the table and, in a long, measured stroke, drew the bristles gently through her dark hair. An intimate act, leisurely and sensual. And yet incredibly erotic, too: such a feminine, servile task performed by such a virile, independent man.
His slow, rhythmic motions were quiet and gentle—and implausibly arousing. The languorous repetition of the brush should have lulled and soothed Summer, and yet it only built the rampant desire pulsing through her. Sensation seared along her nerves: the gentle tug against her scalp, the cool silkiness of her hair against her bare shoulders, the knowledge that Lance’s hard, lean body was so close and yet so far away.
He seemed immune to her feverish need. He was studying her tresses with half-closed eyes, as if fascinated by the mahogany length. When several crackling strands tangled with his wrist, he loosened them with infinite care, as if handling something precious.
Watching the way his obsidian eyes softened, Summer could almost believe he was two different men. One a dangerous warrior, defiant, unforgiving; the other a sensitive, sensual lover, eager to be tender.
Who taught you gentleness? Summer wondered. How, with the brutal life you endured, did you ever, ever, manage to keep your humanity?
“I love your hair,” he murmured reverently. “I love the way it feels…like satin.”
“Lance…?” she said breathlessly.
“Mmmm?”
“Do you think you could feel it later? After…?”