Not something he would allow. Rising, lifting his shoulders, he set his mouth to her breasts and heard her muted shriek. Remembered the screams he’d drawn from her the previous night, set himself to hear the same again.
He ministered to her breasts while she rode him steadily, unswervingly to ecstasy. When the peak and the inevitable precipice loomed, when he felt his body gather inexorably beneath her, he freed one hand and sent it skating, pressing hard and possessively down the front of her body, sliding over her hip to close briefly about her bottom and squeeze, then to trace the line between thigh and hip forward and down to the damp curls between her thighs.
The tight knot of flesh he sought stood erect and begging beneath its hood. He caressed it, felt the immediate rush of her response. Bending his head, he drew the peak of one breast deep, suckled strongly as he stroked and pressed, as she rose and fell harder, faster…
She broke apart and took him with her. Head thrown back, her cry rose to the ceiling while he feasted on her breast, while her body closed in tight contractions around his, while he groaned and shuddered beneath her, and surrendered.
To the power she’d evoked, to the power with which he’d replied.
The moment of ecstasy, of infinite pleasure, held them locked in its bliss for an incalculable time…then left them, released them. Let them fall from the heavens into sweet oblivion.
They collapsed, sated, in a jumble of limbs. She shifted, eased. He sank back, closed his arms about her; she rested her head on his chest. They lay still, aware, watchful, wondering, as the power slowly faded.
Jack laid his cheek on her dark hair, felt it like silk against his stubbled jaw.
Power was something they both understood. It was not a passive thing; it didn’t exist unless you wielded it.
Now they had…they would again. That was simply their natures, a fascination they shared. Warrior-lord and warrior-queen. Well matched.
The shadows slowly lengthened as the moon traversed the sky. He felt no urge to move; neither, it seemed, did she. Neither slept; the aftermath coursing their veins was not, this time, of physical exhaustion. What held them awake, quiet and watchful, was their predator’s sense of that power in the air.
A power neither was yet sure they understood.
He let his senses stretch, acutely aware of her, of the svelte body, the long, feminine limbs tangled with his. Of the heat cooling between them, of desire for the moment appeased. Given all he could feel, all he sensed, all he now knew, it was difficult to comprehend why she’d been as she was, unclaimed. Supremely conscious of her warm weight, of the satin skin dewed with passion pressed tightly, intimately, about him, it remained a mystery that his peers had been so blind.
To him, she was sensual challenge personified, give and take demanded…
He inwardly paused, then silently acknowledged that perhaps that was why, with her, no other had succeeded; they hadn’t been willing, hadn’t been strong enough to let her have her way. To let her come to them, to let her be as she truly was, all she truly was.
A plausible, very likely accurate thesis, yet he couldn’t see in it any hint of how to make her pledge herself to him. Not just for a night, or a week, or a year, but forever.
The peace of the night enveloped them; peace of a different sort cradled them. Eventually, she stirred. He helped her lift from him, shifted so she could slump by his side, still lying half over him, her head pillowed on his chest.
Folding one arm behind his head, the other locking her against his side, he squinted down at her dark head. “Where did you learn all that?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. She glanced fleetingly up at him, her lips lightly curving, then looked away. Gently, absentmindedly, she traced patterns on his chest. “The library at Rosewood, the family seat. The collection’s been there, being added to by succeeding generations, for centuries. Some of the volumes were highly informative, highly detailed.”
“I take it you were an avid student.” He had to fight to remain still under her trailing fingers.
“I was interested…intrigued. And I have an excellent memory, at least for pictures.” She shifted against him, sliding around so she could lift her head and look into his face, as her hand drifted lower. “If you must know, I’ve been waiting for years to put into practice all I learned.”
Her voice was beyond sultry; it purred, low and soft in his ears, slunk around him like an artful cat, rubbing her power over him.
He held her dark, blatantly challenging gaze while his mind raced. “In that case”—he swallowed and repitched his voice to a more normal level—“perhaps you’d like to try…” Leaning close, he whispered in her ear.
Then he lay back and looked at her, giving her back raised brows, and a challenge of his own.
For a long moment, she held his gaze, then she smiled, slowly. “Why not?”
He grinned, and reached for her as she rose and came eagerly into his arms.
The next morning, Jack awoke with a familiar urgency riding him. It was the same sense of time ticking by, defined and limited, that he always felt when going into a mission; there were things he had to do first, arrangements to set in train, or the need to act would come and find him unprepared.
In this case, he had to get all he needed from James before Clarice decided to embark on her rescue precipitously, alone.
He headed down to breakfast, plans revolving in his head. Clarice was right; James did need to be rescued, they did need to act. Exactly how, however…that he’d yet to define.
In the breakfast parlor, Percy was tucking into ham and eggs. Jack waved and went straight to the sideboard. Thanks to Clarice, his appetite had definitely improved; his plate piled high with samples of everything Cook had sent to tempt him, he took his seat at the head of the table.