Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

Turning in his arms, she looked into his face, met his dark eyes. They were as unreadable as ever, but his lips twisted wryly.

“I know I shouldn’t push—shouldn’t press.” He held her gaze. “I know you still need time to assimilate all I’ve said, all that’s happened between us, but I wanted you to know how much you mean to me, so your deliberations will be…fully informed.”

She smiled at his phrasing; despite his undoubted intelligence, he hadn’t yet realized that lo

ve didn’t need that much thought.

He smiled back. “And now I’m going to give you all the time you want to decide. I won’t say more, not until you tell me I should.”

Lowering his head, he brushed her lips lightly in an undemanding caress.

It wasn’t something he meant to do, but there was enough in his tone to remind her that, from a man like him, granting her time was a gift.

Her declaration hovered in the forefront of her mind, yet his unstated boon—unneeded though it might be—deserved some acknowledgment; as their lips parted, she rose on her toes, pressed her lips to his, parted them—invited. They were alone, private; no one could see.

Lifting her arms, she wound them about his neck, pressed herself to him. His hands fastened about her waist, held her for an instant, then he laughed softly, angled his head, and took the kiss deeper.

Took her deeper, into the familiar richness of their mutual desire.

For long moments, they savored—each other, the warmth of the exchange, the inherent comfort.

Then the fire took hold.

Neither had summoned it; the flames were suddenly simply there, greedily licking all around them, tempting, luring…

Both hesitated, sensing, seeking the other’s direction…

Both surrendered. Grasped. Seized.

His hands, spread, moved over her back, his touch possessive and sure. She sank her hands into his hair, held him to the suddenly rapacious kiss, and flagrantly demanded more.

Kneading her breasts, kissing her with slow, relentless promise, he backed her against the ungiving stone of his battlements.

Mutual need fired their blood, had her reaching for his waistband, had him raising her skirts.

Mutual passion had them gasping, hungry and greedy as he lifted her, braced her against the stone, sank into her, then thrust deep.

Mutual pleasure caught them; panting, chests heaving, they froze, forehead to forehead, breaths mingling, heated gazes touching, and drank in the exquisite sensation of their joining. Let it sink to their respective bones.

Then he closed his eyes and groaned, she moaned, and each sought the others’ lips.

And let mutual surrender have them, take them.

A click was all the warning they had.

“Oh, my God!”

The shrill exclamation fell like a bucket of icy water over them.

It was followed by a chorus of gasps, and more muted expressions of shock.

Head up, spine rigid, Royce thought faster than he ever had in his life.

Women, ladies, an untold number, stood clustered in the doorway five yards behind his back.

Someone had brought them up here, but who had wasn’t his first concern.

Locked in his arms, supported by his hand beneath her bottom and braced by his body sunk deeply in hers, Minerva was rigid. Hands fisted in his lapels, she’d ducked her head to his chest.