The Edge of Desire (Bastion Club 7)

Exasperated—and not a little panicky—she jabbed again, and he moved—but only to wrap one huge hand about her fingers.

And draw her inexorably back down….

“No!” She tried to pull back, but had no purchase. “We can’t!”

He rolled over. Looking sinfully sleep-tousled, he cocked a lazy brow at her. “Why not?”

He continued to drag her closer, until, frustrated, she let herself tumble across his chest. All but nose-to-nose, she glared at him. “Because my maid will be here with my washing water and I absolutely refuse to be discovered in flagrante delicto with you in this bed.”

He smiled, slow, sensual, teasing. “Don’t worry.” He reached for her nape. “I locked the door.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, swiftly replayed his stormy entrance the previous night. “You did not. You slammed it.”

Large and warm, his palm caressed her sensitive skin. “I got up during the night and locked it.”

She blinked. “You did?” She frowned, trying to imagine why he’d thought to do so. Why he’d planned…

He gripped and drew her head down. “Stop thinking. Come and enjoy something you never have.”

She found herself lowering her lips to his. She halted just before their lips met. “What?”

He lifted his hips and she felt…his morning erection.

Her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Indeed.” He drew her down the last inch, into the kiss.

She let him, wondering, tantalized. Seduced.

She’d heard about men’s proclivities in the morning, but as she’d never shared a bed all night with him—and had actively discouraged Randall from spending one more minute with her than he absolutely needed to—she’d never had a chance to experience…the different, strangely compelling sensations of making love when they were already warm and relaxed beneath the covers.

When there were no clothes to remove, no barriers separating their warm skins, so that from the very first touch they stepped onto a higher level of intimacy, yet one that, presumably because the outcome of their tangling naked limbs was all but preordained, held much less urgency, much less driving need—much more simple, tactile pleasure.

Sensual pleasure of a depth and breadth she hadn’t previously known. She let him show her, let him settle her astride him, lift her and ease her down so she took the rigid length of him deep, let him lie back and fondle her breasts as she—clinging to the lazy languor of the moment—rode him slowly.

The end, when it came, was lazy, too. Warm pleasure, bright as the morning sun, welled and spilled down her veins, the glory heightened when he locked his hands about her hips and thrust upward, again, and again, then on a long groan joined her.

One hand tangled in his hair, she lay in his arms, and let the warmth and the peace of the morning hold sway—for just a little while.

But outside the door, locked or not, reality waited.

She stirred, pushed against the weight of his arms across her back. He held her for an instant, pressed a kiss to her temple, then helped her up. Without further argument he rose, found his clothes and donned them, then, passing her on the way to the door, he caught her to him for one last, sweet kiss, then with a salute, left her.

Eyes narrowed, she stared at the closed door for a full minute, then shook her head and crossed to the bellpull to ring for Esme.

Twenty minutes later, in yet another black gown, this one of fine silk crepe, she descended the stairs and headed for the breakfast parlor. She swept in, inclining her head gracefully to Hightsbury in acknowledgment of his bow—and only then remembered that her father invariably breakfasted in his library.

Leaving her to entertain his guest.

Blotting his lips with a napkin, Christian rose and, with an easy smile, drew out a chair for her—the one next to his.

She hesitated. His eyes challenged her. Chin tilting, she swept forward and sat. After resetting her chair, Christian resumed his seat beside her.

Hightsbury had anticipated her needs; tea and toast magically appeared before her. She smiled at the butler, then, bending to the pressure of a large knee against hers, said, “Thank you, Hightsbury. We’ll ring if we need you.”

Evincing no surprise at being dismissed, Hightsbury bowed and left them.

She turned her gaze on the far less predictable male alongside. “What?”