Making senses stretch.
The summerhouse rose before them, blocking out the lake. “Do you think Camden’s papers are safe where they are?”
“Yes.” She looked down as they reached the summerhouse steps. “They’re safe.”
She reached down to lift her skirts. He released her elbow and started up the steps.
Immediately realized she hadn’t; she’d remained on the lawn.
He swiveled on the step and looked down at her—at her pale face, her shadowed eyes; she was looking up at him, hesitating.
He caught her gaze, held it, then extended his hand. “Come with me, Caro.”
Through the dusk, her eyes remained locked on his; for an instant, she didn’t move—then she made up her mind. Transferring her hold on her skirt to one hand, she placed her fingers in his.
Let him close his hand about them and lead her up into the soft dimness of the summerhouse.
It took only seconds for their eyes to adjust; the last glimmer of light in the sky was reflected off the lake into the section of the summerhouse built out over the water. They moved into that gray half-light. She twitched her fingers and he let them go, content to prowl in her wake as she glided to one of the arched openings where a wide padded bench filled the gap, a tempting place to sit and look out over the lake.
He had no eyes for the lake, only her.
He halted a few feet away; Caro drew in a deep breath and faced him. She was aware of the onrushing storm, of the dance of charged air over her bare arms, of the breeze plucking at ten
drils of her hair. Through the twilight, she studied his face—briefly wondered why, with him, it was all so different. Why, when they were alone, here, by the pond—she suspected anywhere—it was as if they’d stepped onto a different plane, one where things were possible, acceptable, even right, that weren’t so in the normal world.
Regardless, they were here.
She stepped forward. Closing the distance between them, lifting her hands to slide them over his shoulders to his nape, she cupped his head, drew it down, stretched up and kissed him.
Felt his lips curve beneath hers.
Then they firmed, took control, parted hers. His tongue filled her mouth, his arms closed around her, and she had never been more certain that she was where she wanted, even needed, to be.
Their mouths merged, both eager to take, and then give. To participate fully in what they already knew they could share. Heat bloomed—in them, between them; the exchange quickly grew more demanding, more ravenous, more fiery.
His hunger was there, real, unfeigned, increasingly potent, increasingly undisguised. How strong was it? How lasting? Those were her burning questions—there was only one way to learn the answers.
She met him, taunted in response to his teasing, challenged and dueled. Then she stepped closer, fought to suppress her reactive shiver as their bodies met. Nearly fainted with relief—a delicious giddy faintness—at his reaction. Instantaneous, hot, greedy—almost violent.
Powerful.
His arms tightened, locking her to him, then his hand moved on her back, urging her closer still, then sliding, gliding lower, over the indentation of her waist, lower, over her hips to the swell of her bottom. To trace lightly, then cup, edging her closer, drawing her into his body so she could feel—
For one finite moment, all her senses stilled; for one instant, her mind refused to accept the reality, flatly refused to believe…
He shifted against her, deliberately, evocatively, seductively thrusting. The solid ridge of his erection rode against her belly, the soft silk of her old gown the flimsiest of barriers, in no way muting the effect.
Exultation rushed through her, welled, gushed; her mind seized, then whirled on a joyous tide.
He molded her to him; delighted, she wallowed, greedily grasping every sensation, holding each to her, balm to her old scars, and more, a tantalizing promise of what might be.
His desire for her was real, indisputably so; she’d actively evoked it. So could they…would he…?
Was it possible?
Her breasts were swollen, hot, tingling; as deliberate as he, she shifted against him, sinuously pressing the aching peaks against his chest, easing and inviting, enticing.
Michael read her message with incalculable relief; never before had he been so driven by such a simple and powerful need. She was his and he had to have her. Soon. Perhaps even tonight…