On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

Martin hesitated, then replied, his tone hard, "She wants'something more,' by which I take it she means something that would not feature in any marriage contract."

The look on their faces told him they knew exactly what he meant.

Devil's grimace was heartfelt. "Commiserations." After a moment, he asked, "I take it you're not of a mind simply to give it to her?"

"No." Martin considered, then added, "Not if there's any other way."

"And if I was to tell you there probably won't be any other way?"

Martin met Devil's green gaze. "I won't know until we get to that point."

Devil sighed. Nodded. "I'll do what I can, but, conversely, there's little I can do."

"You could speak with her."

"I could, but all that will yield will be a glare, a pert recommendation to mind my own business and a guaranteed wall of feminine disapprobation mobilized to ensure we can do no more to assist your suit."

Vane nodded. "And within the ton, they rule."

"There's a better way." Perched on the arm of the chaise, Demon looked at Martin. "You tell her Devil's given your suit the nod. She'll expect us to hound her. We won't. She'll credit us with better sense than she'd expected, and very likely not mention the matter to our mothers or wives." Demon grinned. "Then we can help you."

Martin considered the committed glint in Demon's eyes, the sense of fellow-feeling now pervading the room. He nodded. "How?"

He told her that evening, on the Fortescues' terrace.

"Devil?"

"He is the head of your house."

Amanda humphed. Resettling her shawl about her elbows, she continued to stroll at his side. "What he or any of them think is beside the point. I have to agree-and I haven't."

"I know." His hard tone had her glancing up; he caught her gaze. "What will convince you to say yes?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I told you before-you need to discover that on your own."

He glanced ahead. Although a dozen other couples were strolling the wide terrace, none had ventured in this direction, to where the terrace was overhung by thickly leaved branches creating a grotto of shadows. "In that case, I assume you're not averse to allowing me to… explore."

She glanced at him. Other sounds reached them; they both turned. Everyone else was returning to the ballroom, drawn by the strains of a waltz.

Martin smiled. "My dance, I believe."

He reached for her, drew her into his arms; she came, but warily. His smile deepened; he began to revolve in the area lit by the wall flares, until she relaxed, until she let the moment and the music sweep her away, and she followed his steps without thought.

Amanda wasn't surprised when he whirled her into the shadows, wasn't surprised when his steps slowed and he drew her closer still.

His words ruffled the curls about her ear. "I've waltzed with you often, so presumably what you want will not be found in the dance." His lips touched her ear, traced the outer curve, then slid into the sensitive hollow behind. "I wonder…"

The hand at her back held her hard against him; his lips caressed so lightly she shuddered. As if that were a signal, he shifted his attentions to her lips, and she suddenly found herself drowning in an inexpressibly sweet kiss.

Not a kiss of claiming, but a kiss that lured, that tempted with promises not just of glory, but… her head spun as she tried to adjust to the sudden shift in his attack. Their steps slowed, halted, as their senses sank deeper and deeper into the enthralling exchange.

His hand didn't leave her back, the hollow just beneath her waist where it habitually rode; his other hand curled about her wrist, lightly stroking.

She was trapped, but not physically. The sensual web he wove was insubstantial yet unbreakable-because she couldn't bring herself to break it, to pull away from the landscape that with his tongue, his lips, his mouth, his breath, he created. It was a landscape where she ruled, and he served. Where, empresslike, she could command, demand, then lie back and have her every desire lavished upon her.

She tried to slip her hand free and reach for him, touch his cheek, but his fingers firmed; he held her hand, drew her closer yet so that the heat and hardness of his body wrapped about her. Shielding her from all else but the communion of their mouths, the drugging promise of the kiss.

"You'll feel much more the thing once you've had a breath of air."