On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

"That"-Dexter spoke quietly but his tone was hard-"was a long time ago."

Luc shifted. "Indeed." After an instant's awkward silence, he said, "I'll leave you to enjoy the night, then."

Amanda could imagine their stiff nods; they were alike in more ways than the purely physical.

Minutes ticked past; she didn't move-had stopped seeing the fireworks long before. Then Martin stepped nearer; through her cloak, his fingers closed about her elbow. "Come with me."

The words were a whisper drifting past her ear. Without hesitation, she turned and let him lead her down the hill, into the empty walks.

Behind them, white fire lit the sky. A breeze stirred the leaves, setting the shadows shifting, sighing through the boughs like some watchful ghost. They turned from the main cross walk into an even darker avenue. Martin slowed, Amanda looked about and recognized where they were.

The Dark Walk.

The one Walk no young lady was ever supposed to let herself be lured into. She'd never heard of any verified drama associated with breaking that rule, but she'd never known any young lady who'd travelled the Dark Walk.

Especially with a man like Martin Fulbridge at her side.

She shot him a glance; he was waiting to capture it. Shadowed, unreadable, his eyes held hers. "I assumed a promenade down the Dark Walk would feature in your scheme for excitement."

"Indeed." In her scheme for excitement, and more; she knew opportunity when she saw it, when fate offered it to her on a plate. Tucking her hand in Martin's arm, she moved nearer. "Can we walk the whole way?"

He hesitated, then replied, "That was my intention."

It was a narrow, winding walk. The bushes that bordered it were dense, crowding in, rendering it secretive and gothic. Dotted along its length, tucked around bends, were benches and structures designed for dalliance. With the crowd distracted by the fireworks, the Dark Walk was deserted.

Save for them.

Amanda considered each bench, each gazebo as it appeared; none was quite right for her purpose. Then she saw what she needed-a small Grecian temple set back a little way from the walk and hemmed in by thick shrubs.

"Look!" She towed Dexter toward it. "Can we go in?"

She felt his sharp glance, but he took her hand and led her up the steps.

Inside was a tiny circular room; in the dark, with the bushes so close, it seemed enclosed. In the center stood a pedestal supporting the bust of some god; she couldn't tell which. There was nothing else-just empty darkness.

In which she stood with her own particular god.

He was looking at the bust. She'd slipped her fingers from his when they'd entered; now she joined him, slippers silent on the marble floor.

Martin's senses alerted him to her nearness-too late. He'd been distracted by the bust-Apollo, the gods' messenger. He'd been wondering what message there was in this for him. Now he knew.

He was too late to stop her from pressing close, from laying her hand on his chest. From leaning into him, reaching up and drawing his face to hers.

Too late to stop his body from reacting, to stop himself from bending his head, meeting her lips, taking what she offered. He tried-for one instant fought against her spell. But she'd captured him; despite all his logical arguments, there was too much of him that simply wanted her.

And it was only a kiss. That was what he told himself as he sank into her mouth, let his arms slide around her and gathered her to him.

One kiss. What harm could one kiss do? It wasn't as if he wasn't in control, of himself as well as her.

The kiss lengthened, deepened. She wound her arms about his neck and stretched upward against him.

He let her. Gloried in the feel of her lithe body pressed to his, the femin

ine curves, the tempting contrast of softness and resilience that beckoned, promised and teased.

She wanted more; he knew it. All sense of time, of place, of safety, fled from his reckoning. He knew nothing beyond her innocent hunger, and the powerful need to be the one to slake it.

Innocent though she was, Amanda recognized that need. She tasted it in his kiss, felt it in the arms that caged her, cradled her. Coveted it, wanted it-wanted him.