On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

That wasn't, however, a bad place to start. The more frequently she gave herself to him like that, the more trusting she became, the closer they drew, the more emotionally attached; even he could sense that, and he was hardly an emotional being.

Her game could further his cause, too.

Her goal might be to bind him to her with lust, hers to command forevermore — his goal was to evoke love to keep her his, now and always.

Amelia had no real proof her plan was working, but there was a look in Luc's eyes when they rested on her when he didn't realize she knew he was watching that set her heart soaring.

Like now. From his chair at the end of the dining table, he watched as she snipped off a bunch of grapes and laid it on her plate. Luncheon today had been a light meal in deference to the heat outside. It looked set to be a long hot summer.

She popped a grape between her lips and glanced at Luc.

He shifted, looked away, reached for his wineglass.

Hiding a smile, she looked down at her plate. Selected another grape. "How do the hounds fare in such weather?"

"They just lie around, tongues lolling. No runs or training in such heat." After a moment, he added, "Sugden and the lads will probably take the pack down to the stream later, once the worst of the heat's passed."

She nodded, but declined to help him out with another question.

Decided that her plan would be better served by silence, and by eating her grapes delicately, one by one.

Her plan was simplicity itself. Love existed between them — she recognized it in her, had always believed she could find it in him. But to evoke it, call it forth, not once but again and again until, stubborn male that he was, he acknowledged and accepted it, too — to do that, she needed his emotional shields down.

But they never were down, not ordinarily.

Only when they were physically entwined — only then could she sense the emotions that drove him, the power behind his desire, behind the tumultuous passion. By whipping passion to new heights, she'd hoped to weaken his shields so she could connect with those emotions he otherwise kept so hidden.

And she'd been right. It wasn't only that look in his eyes that had grown stronger by the day. Interlude by interlude, the emotional surge when they came together grew stronger, clearer, more powerful. It hadn't yet broken free, hadn't yet flattened his defensive walls and forced itself on his consciousness, but victory seemed only a matter of time.

It still amazed her that a man could be so hard, so ruthless, so passion-driven, so dominant and dictatorially inclined, yet when he touched her, there was care, protection, and a devotion in him not even the most ruthless passion could disguise.

That last made her shiver; she didn't try to suppress it. She glanced at him, saw he'd noticed; she smiled. "Higgs told me the grapes are grown here, in succession houses. I never knew you had any."

He met her gaze, watched her take another grape between her lips, then replied, "They're to the west, between the house and the home farm."

Her eyes steady on his, she asked, "Perhaps you could show me?"

One black brow rose. "When?"

She raised her brows back. "Why not now?"

He looked at the windows, out at the lawns drowsing under the sun. He sipped his wine, then looked back at her. "Very well." He gestured to her plate. "When you've finished."

His eyes held hers — challenge accepted, another issued in return.

She smiled, and applied herself to her grapes.

They left the dining room; she linked her arm with his, and they headed down the corridor and through the west wing. He opened the door at the end and she stepped outside; a warm breeze stirred her curls. She glanced at him as he joined her. He met her gaze; rather than offer his arm, he took her hand, and they set out, strolling across the lawn.

"The most direct route is through the shrubbery."

He led her through the archway cut in the first hedge. Beyond lay a series of green courtyards opening one to the next. The first held a fountain in a central garden, the second a sunken pool in which silver fish flashed. The last played host to a large magnolia, its trunk thick, its branches twisted with age. A few late blooms remained, pale pink against the green foliage.

She eyed the tree; it was an ancient monster. "I've never been this deep into the shrubbery before."

"There's little reason to come this way unless you're heading to the succession houses."

Luc drew her to an archway in the last hedge; she stepped through. Ahead stretched three long, low, elongated sheds with many glass panes in their roofs and walls. Paved paths led to doors set in the nearer ends of each; Luc steered her to the leftmost shed.