On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

"Good!" Linking her arm with Martin's, she tugged him about. "If we stand still, we're going to be talked at." She glanced up and arched a brow. "Might I suggest we repair to the conservatory?"

Martin studied her eyes, her eager, open expression. Briefly wondered… "I have a better idea."

The garden hall: narrow, deserted, it gave onto a small courtyard beyond which the wider gardens lay. It was reached via a series of interconnecting corridors, but the hall ran alongside one of the major salons.

"I've never been in here before." Amanda looked about as she entered.

Martin closed the door, watched as she turned and looked back at him. The room was dim, yet he still saw the unabashed anticipation in her face as she held out her hands to him.

"Come-dance. We can hear the music, even here."

He went to her. Through the thick walls, the muted strains of an air wafted, created by the orchestra in the main salon. Gathering her into his arms, he slowly revolved.

The beat was undemanding, leaving their senses free to roam. To search, to dwell. His dwelled on the enticing feminine curves filling his arms, on the supple sway of her spine under his hand, on the seductive shift of her silk-clad hips against his thighs. Bending his head, he murmured, "There's another dance I'd like to engage in with you."

"Hmm." Amanda smiled, then freed her arms and draped them about his neck. "Unfortunately"-she deliberately pressed closer and felt his arms tighten in response-"it seems we'll have to make do with the waltz."

A calculated challenge. She lifted her face, offered her lips; he took them without hesitation. Yet restraint was still there, even though he teased her lips apart, surged in, took her mouth, tried to steal her wits away.

More or less succeeded.

She felt her need swell, felt his heighten in response, in reaction as her nails scored his nape, as she shifted provocatively against

him. The ache within, raised and left unfulfilled for the past two nights, sprang to life at a touch, at the first caress of his thumb across her breast. More intense, more demanding; she longed for his surrender, longed to tender hers.

Yet his had to come first.

She clung to her wits, let him tempt her, ply her with wordless promises of glory. Focused her talents on returning the invitation. On heightening his desire, on feeding the compulsive need she sensed behind his experienced mask.

Trailing her fingertips down his lean cheek, she let her hand fall to his shoulder, then his chest. Continued to stroke downward, trailing to his hip-

He caught her hand, twined his fingers with hers, closed his fist. Held tight.

She shifted under his kiss, drew away, murmured, "Let me touch you." Kissed him again, long, lingeringly.

"No." He drew back, then reconsidered. "Many me and you can touch whenever you like."

She laughed, seductive, sultry, supremely conscious as she spread her other hand over his chest how very tense he was. Felt emboldened enough to state, "You won't win me like this."

"Regardless, I won't lose." He caught her other hand, raised both to his shoulders. Released them, reached for her, drew her hard, flush against him, crushing her breasts to his chest, blatantly molding her hips so her soft stomach cradled his rigid erection.

Her eyes on his, she tightened her hold about his neck, drew him to her. Let her gaze fall to his lips. Let her lids drift closed.

His lips touched one corner of hers, then the tip of his tongue lingeringly traced the full curve of her lower lip.

"No other man will ever lay hands on your skin, will ever caress your naked breasts." His breath washed over her sensitized lips. "No other man will ever come between your thighs, will ever bury himself in you. Only me."

The last words were harsh; angling his head, he took her lips, took her mouth. And she gloried in the sudden wash of heat, the unmistakable rush of desire. She stretched higher, met him boldly, urged him on. Caught her breath in anticipation when he backed her into the counter that ran along one wall.

The hand splayed about her hips slid lower, cradling her bottom, holding her as he rocked evocatively against her.

Desire swept her-she wanted to climb up, wrap her legs about his waist, impale herself on him. Knew she could. If he would.

He seemed to have the same idea. His hand firmed on her bottom, kneading briefly, then he gripped her waist-

"Tee-hee! No-don't! Oh, you naughty man!"

They broke their kiss; both looked sideways through the glass doors into the courtyard. A giggling young lady was wrestling with an amorous gentleman. The pair sank onto the bench facing the doors; the young lady shrieked as the man fondled her breast.