All About Love (Cynster 6)

Her gaze slid helplessly over him, from his face, limned in silver, over his shoulders, his chest. The muscles of chest and forearms were shaded by dark hair, while those of shoulders and upper arms formed smooth, sculpted curves. She could imagine their heat beneath her palms. The band of hair across his chest coalesced to a dark line that trailed down, over his ridged abdomen. His waist was narrow, as were his hips. She couldn't stop herself; she didn't even try. Her gaze lowered. Her mouth dried.

She felt her lips part, her jaw drop; she couldn't summon a single coherent thought. By the time her gaze reached his bare feet, her face was aflame.

In his right hand he was carrying a naked sword, its edge winking silver in the moonlight. He held it in a relaxed grip, as if he were used to wielding it. It was presently pointing at the floor.

Not so that other part of him, equally naked, equally unsheathed. That was pointing-

She wrenched her gaze upward and fixed it on his face. Even then, she couldn't breathe. She could feel his gaze like a living thing, a warm weight on her skin. He was watching her, considering her, his eyes heavy-lidded.

Then he smiled, a flash of white in his dark face. It wasn't a comforting smile. With the sword in his hand, he looked like a pirate. A naked pirate. Fully aroused. With wicked thoughts filling his mind.

He stepped forward; she stepped back-the backs of her booted calves struck the chest.

Without taking his eyes from her, he reached behind him and closed the door. The click of the latch sounded loud in the suddenly warm dark.

"I suppose," he murmured, his voice deep, his tone languidly conversational, "that you're going to be stubborn and refuse to tell me what you came here looking for."

What she came here looking for. The letters? An alternative truth rose in her mind; she quickly buried it.

He stalked slowly toward her; she struggled to keep her gaze on the naked blade-the one the moonlight was glinting on. She'd seen Jonas in various stages of undress, but nothing had prepared her for this.

The letters. She'd intended telling him about them in the morning. Why not now? She looked into his face. He was close enough now that she could see his eyes glinting, could appreciate the subtle changes-changes she'd seen before.

Desire-he desired her with an almost brutal intensity. A thrill slithered down her spine. What was he planning-what would he do to her if she refused to tell?

"I…" Her voice wavered; abruptly, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. "I don't want to tell you yet."

He halted in front of her, a yard away. He held her gaze, then his lips curved. His expression held no disappointment, only a keen anticipation.

"I'll just have to torture it out of you, then."

The intent was there, ringing in his voice, yet the promise was not one of pain but of pleasure-pleasure too tempting to resist, too powerful to withstand. The threat filled her mind with images of warm flesh, hard muscle, silk sheets, and burning touches.

She licked her lips. "Torture?"

His eyes had never left hers. They searched briefly, then he nodded. "Hands up."

The sword flashed upward between them. Phyllida jumped.

"Up." He gestured with the sword.

Frowning inwardly, she raised her hands, palms facing him, up to shoulder level.

"Higher."

The sword flashed again; she frowned openly, but raised her hands to head height.

The sword tip hovered level with her nose, then slowly lowered… she followed it with her eyes. It stopped, resting on the top button of her shirt, just above her breasts.

She looked up-the sword flashed. Openmouthed, she watched as the button rolled over the floor and under the bed. "What…?" The word came out as a strangled squeak.

She looked back at his face.

He grinned. "I've always wanted to do this."

The sword flashed again-once, twice-pong, ping. Her shirt gaped fully open. Instinctively, she reached to pull it closed.

"Oh, no." The sword flickered warningly before her, quicksilver in the moonlight. "Keep your hands up." He paused, studying her face. "You're not ready to confess yet, are you?"