Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

His lips were parted-she slid her tongue between to tangle challengingly with his. He tasted powerful-wonderfully, elementally male-a mind-whirling sensation gripped her. He hadn't moved-instinctively she deepened the caress, angling her lips against his.

Passion.

It burst upon her, upon her senses, in a hot flood tide. It rose from within him, from between them, pouring through her, cascade upon cascade of exquisite sensation, of deep, swirling emotion, of soul-stealing compulsion.

On one heartbeat, she was the leader, on the next, he resumed command, his lips hard, his body a steel cage surrounding her. A cage she no longer wished to escape. She surrendered, gladly yielding; ravenous, he stole her very breath. Breasts aching, heart thundering, Honoria stole it back.

Between them, desire smoldered, flared, then exploded, flames licking greedily, devouring all reticence. Honoria gave herself up to them, to the beckoning pleasure, to the thrill of desire, to the urge of molten need.

She pressed herself against him, flagrantly enticing, hips shifting in unconscious entreaty. Fingers sliding into his thick hair, she reveled in the raw hunger that rose, naked, elemental, between them.

Their lips parted briefly, for less than a heartbeat; who pressed the next kiss was moot. They were lost together, trapped in the vortex, neither in control, both beyond reason. Hunger welled, swelled; urgency mounted, inexorable, compelling.

An almighty crash shook them to their senses.

Devil lifted his head, arms tightening protectively as he looked toward the door. Gasping, literally reeling, Honoria clung to him; dazed, she followed his gaze.

From beyond the door came sounds of calamity-wails and recriminations exchanged between two maids-then Webster's sonorous tones cut across the commotion, bringing the plaints to an end. The sound of tinkling glass and the scrape of a whisk on the polished boards followed.

Honoria could barely make out the sounds over the thundering in her ears. Her heart thudded heavily; she had yet to catch her breath. Eyes wide, she looked into Devil's face-and saw the same driving desire, the same inchoate longing gripping her, reflected in his silvered eyes. Flames lit the crystal cores; sparks flew.

His breathing was as ragged as hers. Every muscle in his body was taut, coiled. Like a spring about to break.

"Don't-move."

He bit the words out; his eyes blazed. Light-headed, barely able to drag in her next breath, Honoria didn't even think of disobeying. The planes of his face had never looked so hard, so graven. His eyes held hers steadily; she dared not blink as, rigid, he battled the force that threatened to consume them-the passion she had unleashed.

Degree by painful degree, the tension holding them decreased. His lids lowered, long lashes veiling the subsiding tempest. Gradually, his locked muscles eased; Honoria breathed again.

"The next time you do that, you'll end on your back."

There was no threat in his words; they were a statement of fact.

Hedonistic, unpredictable-she'd forgotten about the wild. A peculiar thrill shot through Honoria, immediately swamped beneath a tide of guilt. She had seen the effort her naive tactic had cost him; remnants of their passion still shimmered about them, licking at her nerves, shivering over her skin. His lids slowly rose; she met his gaze unflinchingly.

And put up a hand to touch his cheek. "I didn't know-"

Turbulence engulfed them as he brusquely drew back.

"Don't-" His features hardened; his gaze transfixed her. "Go. Now."

Honoria looked into his eyes-and obeyed. She stepped out of his arms; they fell from her but not readily. With one last, hesitant glance, she turned away; head high, shaken to her toes, she left him.

The three days that followed were the hardest Honoria had ever faced. Distracted, her nerves permanently on edge, her stomach a hard knot of reaction, she struggled to find some way out of the impasse that faced her. Hiding her state from the Dowager left her drained, yet being alone was not a desirable alternative; once free, her mind dwelled incessantly on what she had seen, what she had felt, what she had learned in the morning room.

Which only added to her distraction.

Her only consolation was that Devil seemed as distracted as she. By mutual consent, they met each other's eyes but briefly; each touch-when he took her hand or she placed it on his arm-rocked them both.

He'd told her from the first that he wanted her; she hadn't understood what he meant. Now she knew-instead of frightening her or shocking her, the physical depth of his need thrilled her. She gloried in it; at some fundamental level, her heart positively sang.

Which left her feeling exceedingly wary.

She was standing before her sitting-room window, mulling over her state, when a knock fell on the door.

Her heart skipped a beat. She straightened. "Come."

The door swung inward; Devil stood on the threshold. He raised a brow at her.