Beyond Seduction (Bastion Club 6)

Her lungs were locked when, both cuffs undone, she drew her arms free. The blouse fell behind her. Lifting her arms, she reached for him; his lips curved as he gathered her in, and kissed her—took her mouth in a long, slow kiss that made her shudder.

With rising need.

She felt the tug at her waist as he undid the laces of her skirt; he held her to the kiss, immersing her in a cauldron of heating desire that swirled and swelled and steadily grew as he eased the laces free. Then she felt them release and he pushed the skirt down over her hips; it sank to the floor, crumpling in a pool about her feet.

His fingers immediately searched for and found the laces anchoring her riding trousers, equally expertly dealt with them. Then he drew back from the kiss. Eased half a step back, then he dipped his head and placed a kiss on one silk-clad nipple before going to his knees before her.

He drew her trousers down, revealing…His lips curved. “You do wear drawers. I’d wondered.”

The unexpected comment surprised a small laugh from her, but she was more intent on him, on watching him as he undressed—no, unwrapped her. There was a suggestion of long-anticipated discovery in his usually impassive face, his features no longer quite so unreadable when invested with desire and its concordant emotions.

He stripped her trousers to her ankles, then rolled down her garters and stockings and held her boots as she, needing no direction, lifted first one foot, then the other, free. He swept her clothing aside, so she stood barefoot on the polished boards. Then he sat back and looked up—all the way to her face.

Despite her height, he was so tall himself that his face was level with her midriff. She looked down at him and arched a brow, wondering what he intended next.

His gaze lowered, slowly, to her breasts, then descended further to her waist.

Then he smiled.

And reached for the silk ties anchoring her drawers.

She would, she thought, remember that smile always. Raising one hand, she threaded her fingers through his hair—and watched, waited. Breath bated. Nerves tightening, flickering, skin flushing, heating. Her heart beating just a little faster, just a little harder.

Gervase felt her fingers lightly riffling his hair, understood the unspoken encouragement. She was with him, unquestioningly, unconditionally, even though he was perfectly certain she was following him blind. She didn’t know what he would do; no matter how great her theoretical knowledge, he doubted she could guess. Quite aside from all else, he hadn’t scripted this encounter; he’d thought of it often enough, but had been unable to see her and how she would affect him, unable to predict his responses let alone hers well enough to make planning at any level worthwhile.

So he was operating on instinct, pure and unfettered, following some inner guide he wasn’t sure he fully understood.

The knot he was coaxing at last came undone; letting out the breath trapped in his lungs, replacing it with one even more shallow, he hooked his fingers in the waistband, releasing the gathers, then drew the soft garment down.

And simultaneously rose to his feet, one palm cupping the back of her knee, then sliding upward as he stood and stepped toward her—a long, evocative caress that swept with deliberation up the back of her thigh, sliding beneath the edge of her chemise and rising further until he closed his hand over one globe of her derriere, skin to bare skin, and held her to him as with his other hand he framed her face, and kissed her.

As he’d been wanting to kiss her—waiting to kiss her—for days.

Possessively.

There was no longer any need to disguise what he felt—what she evoked in him; she was here and she would be his—of that he no longer had the slightest doubt.

So he kissed her ravenously, let his beast have its fill, then, when she trembled and gasped, he drew back. Lifting his head, he released his grip on her bottom only to band his arm about her waist; his gaze locking on her heaving breasts, he eased back enough to jerk the ribbon tie of her chemise undone, hook his fingers beneath the gathered band and draw it wide, then he lifted it free of the ruched peaks of her breasts and drew the fine silk down.

To her waist, then he shifted his arm and drew it past, further, until it slipped from his fingers and floated to the floor, the sound a whisper of surrender.

One she heard. She shivered, inwardly quivered; her eyes on his face, her hands tangled in his hair, she searched his eyes, then licked her swollen lips. “You now.”

He heard, but his gaze lowered and fastened on her breasts. He’d touched them, tasted them, but he hadn’t before fully appreciated the reality. He felt her draw in another breath. “In a minute.” He lifted his hand to lightly touch, to watch her nipple tighten even more. “In a moment.”

Her breath tangled in her throat.

Easing his arm from about her, he gripped her waist for an instant, ensuring she was steady, then let his hands fall. “Just let me look.”

He took one step back, then another, would have closed his eyes at the painful throb of his erection but…his entire awareness, his eyes, mind and senses, were too fascinated. Captured and held by the sight of her.

From the moment he’d first focused on her, he’d known she would be statuesque, that, naked, she would resemble a goddess—one of the Roman dieties, full-figured and proud.

But her clothes had disguised her charms to a greater extent than he’d guessed.

She was more, much more, than he’d expected.

Enough to turn his head, to steal his breath, to lock every last iota of awareness he had—on her. In that moment, he lived for nothing else—nothing beyond appreciating, worshiping, drinking in her beauty.