Beyond Seduction (Bastion Club 6)

He stopped, turn

ed back as she drew her hand from his and sat on the steps. Rucking up her skirts, she pulled off her riding boots and stockings, and set them aside. Seeing, he followed suit, toeing off his shoes, pulling off his stockings, leaving them beside hers on the steps.

Retaking her hand, he set off; she kept pace beside him as they trudged down to where the retreating tide had left a section of compacted sand on which they could more easily walk. Reaching it, he turned east, away from the castle. They set out at a pace that quickly slowed to ambling. Neither spoke, but their thoughts—mutual, she had not a doubt—lay heavy between them.

They strolled a little way, slowing even more as they both watched the waves roll in, small and gentle, their edges laced with phosphorescence. When he said nothing, she drew in a tight breath. “About what I said this evening—”

“On the dance floor—”

They’d spoken over each other; both stopped, and faced the other.

Their eyes met. He nodded. “You first.”

“I wanted to say…to assure you that I understand.” When he searched her eyes, waited, she went on, “About your bride. I know that you’ll need to return to London, to choose a bride, then bring her back here. I wanted to say that when the time comes for you to do those things—” She broke off and gestured with her free hand. “I won’t make a fuss.”

She met his eyes, held his gaze. Drew in a breath and, lungs tight, lied. “I don’t want you to imagine I’ve changed my mind and expect more from you just because…” Again words failed her; a gesture had to suffice.

“Because we’ve become lovers?”

His voice sounded harsh, but that might have been the sea. She nodded, put up a hand to hold back her wafting hair. “Because we’ve drawn close.”

His eyes had remained locked on hers; his expression wasn’t as rigidly impassive as usual, but she couldn’t identify the emotion behind it.

Then he sighed through his teeth, a hiss of frustration. “You don’t understand.”

She blinked. He sounded exasperated.

Releasing her hand, he gripped her shoulders, drawing her closer, his eyes locked on her face. “You haven’t understood anything at all.”

She frowned. “I just told you I understand perfectly.”

“What you’ve just told me is that you’ve missed…” He broke off, his eyes narrowing on hers. “Or is it ignored?”

She narrowed her eyes back. “What? What in all this am I ignoring?”

His jaw set. “This.”

He pulled her to him and kissed her.

She had one moment of lucid thought: That she knew all about this. All about the heat, the yearning, the need. All about the passions that would flare, rage and swallow them.

A second later, the heat, the yearning, the need, the passion and the desire that swam in its wake, caught her, and ripped every scintilla of thought away. Replaced it with sensation.

And behind the sensation, as she was learning to expect, came emotion.

Stronger; every time she was with him it grew and swelled. More powerful; she couldn’t any longer deny it, let alone ignore it.

It drew her, captured her, drove her—to sink against him and yield, to surrender and take, to set aside all restraint and simply love him. Physically, yes—she now understood why the act was termed lovemaking—but the more precious, more costly gift she had to give dwelled in what powered the physical—her intention, her commitment, her devotion to him.

They’d come together too often for his kiss to be anything but incendiary; he’d meant it that way, so it was. His lips were hard, commanding, ruthlessly demanding, and she readily complied.

Readily surrendered her mouth, gasped when his hand closed over her breast. She barely registered him opening the front placket of her riding dress, then stripping it away—because by then the only thought in her head was to be naked in his arms.

Her dress fell to the sand, followed by his jacket, neckerchief and shirt, her chemise and his trousers…only when her drawers whispered down her legs and the sea air caressed skin rarely exposed did she realize…

She drew her lips from his, gasped, “We’re on the beach.”

“So?” His hands spread, he held her to him, her hips molded to his. “There’s no one else within miles. Just you and me, the stars and the sea.”