On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

She kept her eyes on the heavens, on the pinpricks of light bright against the darkness, aware that Dexter's gaze never shifted, never left her.

The boat swung into the current, then the oarsmen rested and the craft drifted south with the tide.

Martin eventually stirred, then rose and crossed to the basket. Ignoring the wine, he plucked a grape from the platter, tasted it, then picked up the platter and returned to offer it to her.

Smiling, she chose a sprig of grapes and murmured her thanks. He hesitated, then sat once again beside her, placing the platter between them.

Amanda eyed it, then lifted her gaze to his face, to his profile as he looked out over the water. Popping a grape into her mouth, she looked in the same direction. "You spent many years in India."

His gaze touched her face briefly. "Yes."

She waited, then prompted, "In one place, or"-she gestured with a grape-"all over?"

He hesitated, then replied, "All over."

Pulling teeth would be easier. She looked directly at him, and inquired, sweetly determined, "All over where?" He met her gaze; she sensed the frown in his eyes. Frowned back. "Your travels can hardly be state secrets."

Unexpectedly, his lips kicked up at the ends. "Actually"-he leaned back against the cushions-"some of them were."

Shifting, she faced him. "You worked for the government?"

"And the Company."

"The East India Company?"

He nodded; after a fractional pause he answered the question forming in her mind, "There were precious few Etonites in Delhi, and the maharajahs preferred to deal with those they considered their peers."

"So where did you go?"

"Mostly along the trade routes through the north, occasionally south to Bangalore, Calcutta or Madras."

"What was it like? Tell me."

It was the light in her eyes, Martin later told himself, that and the genuine interest in her face that had him complying-and, of course, the knowledge that while she was listening wide-eyed to his tales, she wasn't plotting his downfall. She peppered him with questions; he found himself telling her things, recounting the years as he had to no one else. No one else had asked.

The end of her questions coincided with the last of the grapes. With a satisfied sigh, she picked up the platter and rose.

He watched as she crossed the few steps to the basket and set the platter in its niche. She stood in the prow, looking out over the black waters, presumably studying the reflections of the stars. She'd flipped her hood up; from where he sat she appeared the very essence of mysterious-a cloaked and silent female, mind and body shielded, hidden from his knowledge.

The urge to know, in every way, completely, waxed strong; he quelled it, restlessly shook aside the impulse to go to her, take her in his arms… he looked away, to the shore, indistinct in the dark. Between them and the banks, other craft slid through the waters, some, like theirs, idling, others pressing on.

Recollection of their unexpected meeting with Luc had him glancing at Amanda. "Sit down." Another craft was coming up swiftly on their right. Leaning forward, he grasped her wrist. "Someone might recognize you."

She turned at the same instant he tugged, the same instant the swell from the other vessel lifted the deck. She lost her balance. Before she could fall, he yanked-she fell across him.

Wriggled and ended up alongside him, breathless, tangled in her cloak, laughing up at him, her free hand trailing down his chest.

He couldn't breathe.

Their gazes met-she stopped breathing, too. The laughter faded from her eyes; awakening desire replaced it. Her gaze lowered from his eyes to his lips. Her lips parted, softened; the tip of her tongue skated over the lower. When he didn't move, she lifted her gaze to his eyes. Studied them. Then, with a deliberation he could feel, she slid her hand up, around his nape and drew his lips to hers.

No, no, no, no… despite the clarion warning in his mind, he permitted it, let her draw him down so he could feast on her lips, sink into the warm haven of her mouth and devour. She welcomed him in, offered herself up to him, and he knew very well what she did.

Knew she was trying to snare him, knew he would be wise to refuse her lures. Simply couldn't.

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Especially not when his logical mind pointed out her inexperience; she could have no weapon, no plan he had not already escaped, that women more experienced had not already used to try to capture him. She was no threat to him. So there was no reason he couldn't savor her, and give her a taste of the excitement she craved. She was safe with him, and, logically, he was safe from her.