Rules of Passion (Greentree Sisters 2)

“Are we still strangers or can I call you Marietta?”

“I don’t know. If we’re strangers then I can stay here in your arms, but if I’m Marietta then I have to start thinking about my future and my past, and—”

“You understand that I won’t be able to let you go now.”

She smiled. “I don’t see how you can possibly keep me. I’m very expensive, you know, and you have no money.”

“Sometimes we want the most unsuitable people.” His gaze was shuttered from her, far away.

“Max,” she whispered, “I’m starting to worry about you.”

He laughed and kissed her, slowly, using his lips and tongue to make her forget herself once more. After a little while she felt him against her thigh, hard again, and reached down to stroke the velvet strength of him. His hardness moved in her hand, and Max groaned into her mouth. He had removed her blouse and now he cupped her breast with his palm, enjoying the warm weight of her, and then his other hand was between her thighs, stroking

the cleft that still felt swollen and replete from the last time.

“Oh Max…”

He was looking at her and there was an expression in his dark eyes she didn’t understand. Determination mixed with desire, but something more than that. As if he had come to some hard-fought decision—an epiphany. She reached to caress his wild curls tenderly, her mouth soft and dazed as she kissed his face. She had never felt so happy, and she didn’t want it to end, and she certainly didn’t want to know what Max was plotting.

“Lie down,” he said and, supporting her, he lay her upon the sofa among the cushions. She blinked up at the ceiling where the angels and cupids frolicked, and her fair hair was spread smooth and gleaming about her. Max removed his coat, looking down at her. Then he removed his waistcoat and pulled off his tie, before dragging his shirt over his head.

She caught her breath, reaching out to smooth her palms over his skin, rubbing them back and forth against the dusting of dark hair, exploring his hard stomach.

He stood up and tugged off his footwear and his trousers. And suddenly he was naked, big and gorgeous, looming over her. As he pulled off the remnants of her trousers and tossed them aside, she briefly wondered if her legs were really that short, and then it didn’t matter, because he was on top of her and inside her and all around her.

She licked the skin on his shoulder, and then sucked at it. He ducked his head and his mouth was hot and open against her neck. He nuzzled her hair, breathing in the scent. His body moved against her, steady, and she ran her hands over his buttocks, urging him.

“Don’t you stop,” she said.

“I won’t stop. I’ll never stop.”

The pleasure was building in her again, and she pushed up at him, her bosom flattened to his chest. His fingers reached down between their bodies and plucked at her, and she gasped out his name in dizzy shock. He did it again and lights seemed to burst behind her eyes. Her bones turned to liquid, and the angels above her smiled. But he wasn’t finished with her yet. He thrust on, slow, steady, watching her face.

Her eyelids flickered and she looked up at him.

“Come with me to Cornwall,” he said.

She couldn’t believe it. He must have said something else. While she was trying to decide what to reply, he picked up the rhythm, the hard length of him sliding deeper inside her with each thrust. Amazingly her body began gathering itself up for another leap into ecstasy. She wrapped her legs about his lean hips and pushed back.

He smiled. There were beads of sweat on his face, and he looked pale. This couldn’t be good for him, she thought belatedly. He had been ill only a short time ago—he was probably still ill. “Perhaps you should stop now,” she panted.

“Not yet.”

He lifted his chest higher off her and grasped her thighs in his big hands, lifting her up and opening her wide, and then he came up on his knees above her and drove himself into her with exquisite expertise.

Marietta raised her head and took one look at him slipping in and out of her, and the lights burst inside her head again. She arched up, her voice louder, almost a…well, a scream.

He let himself go, driving hard, and crying out as his body released.

Marietta was beyond exhaustion, but it was a nice feeling. She knew she didn’t have a bone left in her body that hadn’t turned to water, and she couldn’t have raised a finger. Just as well Max was there to lift her in his strong arms and carry her over to the vast apricot satin-swathed bed.

“Poor darling,” he whispered, “desire is very fatiguing. And, as you will find out soon enough, very, very addictive.”

The bed was feather soft and the coverings were softer and she snuggled in with a sigh. She was almost asleep before she realized he was back again, and although she knew it was Max, dressed in his black coat and white shirt, he seemed like a stranger, this man who had used her so expertly and so well. Someone else entirely.

He bent over her, and kissed her brow, gently. “Marry me and come live with me at Blackwood,” he said, and this time she could not be mistaken. Her eyes opened just enough to meet his, and see that he was deadly serious, and then they closed again.

When she woke up much later, Max was gone.