On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

As the crowd grew more unruly, she considered every opportunity, ready to seize any advantage. Before the stage, they came upon an area filled with waltzing couples. Abruptly stopping, she turned. Into Dexter's arms.

"Can we dance?" Suppressing her reaction at the sudden contact, breast to chest, hip to thigh, she ignored the tension locking his frame, the possessive grip of his hand at her waist. Eyes wide, she looked up at him.

He glanced at her, then at the dancers. His jaw hardened. "If you wish."

Smiling, she lifted her hand to his shoulder. He gathered her close and steered her into the twirling couples. Here, the waltz was a different dance to that performed in the ballrooms. Slower, more intimate. Infinitely more useful.

He'd used the dance for seduction before-the moves came too easily, second nature to him. Even now, when she knew he wished it otherwise. They slowly revolved; the floor was too crowded for him to hold her at any distance. The domino he'd brought for her shifted constantly against his coat, against her silk gown, making it hard for him to hold her firmly. Then she misread his direction and was jostled again. Jaw set, he flicked the domino open and slid his hand beneath, to rest at the back of her waist, firm against her gown. He drew her to him-not close so that their bodies shifted against each other, teasing and tantalizing-but all the way, so she was locked flush against him, held, trapped. His.

For one instant, she couldn't breathe, then she leaned closer, rested her temple against his shoulder. Lips curving, she relaxed into his tight embrace, let her body flow with the suddenly intense tide. He felt like hot rock against her; they slowly whirled, hips and thighs caressing, pressing close.

Excitement, a hot streak of sensation, raced through her, then pooled, liquid heat, deep inside. Barely able to breathe, she raised her head, looked up-fell into his mesmerizing eyes. Soft, deep green flecked with gold, they burned with the promise of limitless passion, limitless but restrained. She couldn't look away, wondered what he could read in her eyes.

That he wanted her was plain; the desire she'd sought to evoke was there, and even more potent than she'd guessed. The knowledge thrilled her-unexpectedly scared her. This was what she'd plotted to get; now she'd got it… the thought of what came next set her heart pounding.

Shifting her hand, she grazed her fingertips through his silky locks, then, wonderingly, ran the backs of her fingers along his jaw. With his habitual languor, he bent his head; her heart stood still, her lips throbbed, parted.

As he had once before, he touched his lips to the very corner of hers. "Don't worry." His voice was deep, a rumbling purr. "I won't eat you."

Damn! She rapidly reassessed, read again the tension holding him, the strength of his restraint. He was going to spare her. Noble of him, but not what she had in mind. How to explain-

"Oh! You dreadful man!"

The words and the slap that followed had them glancing to their right. Raucous laughter engulfed a group surrounding the protesting woman. She was smiling and laughing, too-she'd merely slapped a gentleman's straying hand away.

Amanda's eyes nearly started from her head. The woman's gown… the bodice was transparent. Her breasts, nipples erect, were displayed for all to see. A number of gentlemen were looking.

Her faint "Good God!" was overridden by Dexter's much more decisive "Come on."

He whisked her around; holding her close, he steered her in the opposite direction.

Scanning the crowd, Martin mentally cursed. The waltz had distracted him; he'd missed the moment he'd been watching for-the moment when, by general consensus, the tenor of the evening changed. From the licentious to the determinedly bawdy. From what he could see as he glanced about, matters would soon descend to the outright lewd.

The change had happened early tonight, as it sometimes did. Normally, he would retire to his box with whichever lady he had on his arm, there to indulge as they would in privacy; over the past year he might have eschewed the ton, but he hadn't lived the life of a monk.

Tonight, however, celibacy was definitely his fate. As he bundled Amanda up the stairs to their box, the idea of spending any length of time with her there, alone, his behavior rigidly correct when what he wanted to do-

He cut off the thought with another mental curse.

She stepped into the box. Before he could stop her, she went straight to the front and looked out. "Great heavens!" After scanning the throng, her gaze fixed on one spot. Her jaw fell. "Good Lord-look at that!"

He didn't need to; she didn't, either. Martin grasped her elbow-

A muffled shriek jerked their attention to the next box. Other sounds followed-panting, incoherent exclamations, garbled directions. Martin gave thanks that the occupants had had the foresight to draw the curtains. Tightening his grip, he drew Amanda back. "Come on-we're leaving."

"Leaving? But-"

"No."

On that uncompromising syllable, Amanda found herself drawn irresistibly to the door. One part of her wanted to dig in her heels; this was her last night with him, her last chance at him, and he was cutting it short. On the other hand, the venue had not proven as amenable as she'd hoped-not romantic, not subtly seductive-not subtle at all. Subtle was what she needed, she was sure of that.

The behavior of the revellers they passed as Dexter grimly escorted her out of the building reinforced the notion that Covent Garden was the wrong place for her purposes. Fighting her blushes, disguising her shock, was too distracting; she needed her wits about her.

She was actually relieved when Dexter handed her into his carriage, but she had no time to relax, although she pretended to do so when the door shut and he sat beside her. The carriage rocked, rolled forward. She glanced at the street and racked her brains for inspiration. She'd got him where she'd hoped to get him-burning with desire for her. But how to capitalize when he was so determined to resist? How to snatch victory from his jaws?

The horses clopped along Pall Mall as she frantically searched for some way to prolong her time with him. Tried to think what she could do to further weaken his defenses; if he escaped her now in the mood in which he presently was, she would not, she felt sure, see him again. The carriage passed St. James; the dark shadows of Green Park lay ahead. Amanda glimpsed them, and suddenly knew what to do. A sense of calm descended; she waited until the carriage had turned into the street bordering the park before glancing at Dexter. "It's still early, the night's mild. Can we walk in Green Park for a while?"

Martin looked at the park, designed for strolling, gravel walks spread beneath tall trees. During the day, it was the preferred venue of governesses and nursemaids with young children; by night, it was deserted. It was free space, not fenced; safe enough given it was all lawns and trees, no bushes or anywhere any miscreant could hide.