Evening Star (Star Quartet 1)

“That is not what I meant.” Her voice sounded slurred and low, completely unlike her. The fire was blazing brightly, and yet she felt herself shivering. She walked toward the welcoming fireplace to warm herself.

“Take off your cloak and bonnet, Giana.”

She did so, her fingers clumsy and awkward. He helped her, tossing the garments to the sofa.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, and jumped. He was turning her toward him, molding her against him. His hands were caressing her arms, and she felt a warmth in her body—whether because of him, she did not know. Tell him again that you are a virgin. Tell him that you are ill. But her only protest was a soft moan from deep in her throat. No, don’t tell him anything.

Alex looked down into her glazed eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted. He felt her hands pressing against his chest. “Relax, love,” he said gently. Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted warm, he thought, delectably warm, the heat of her passion welling up to him. He felt her tremble, and when his tongue slipped into her mouth, he felt her start, as if surprised. He closed his arms tightly about her back and drew her against him, exploring her mouth with his tongue just as he would her warm belly. He left her mouth and kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her throat.

“Alex,” she said, trying to draw back from him. “I’m thirsty. Please.”

Alex was trembling, he wanted her desperately, and it surprised him. He was mauling her like an untried boy.

“Yes,” he said slowly, getting a hold on himself. “I am too. Champagne?”

She nodded. Perhaps champagne would clear her head.

Alex drew a bottle from his valise and popped the cork, spewing the warm champagne over the carpet. “I even had the foresight to bring glasses,” he said, grinning at her. Why the hell was she staring at him so warily, as if he were some sort of untamed beast? “Here,” he said gruffly, handing her a glass.

The champagne slid down her throat, cooling her mouth. She downed another glass and asked for a third. She was beginning to feel light-headed, not at all an unpleasant feeling, and the pounding at her temple was lessening.

“Can an experienced man always tell if a woman is a virgin?” she asked.

He eyed her curiously for a moment. “I suppose so, usually. Did the first man you enjoyed not know you were a virgin?”

“If a woman has led a very active life, horseback riding, and all that, is it possible he would not know she is a virgin?”

“It is

possible, I suppose, but there would still be a bit of pain.” He cocked his head at her. “You fascinate me, Giana. Why your interest?”

She shrugged. “I merely wondered, that’s all.” She held out her glass to him again.

“No more, Giana. I have no wish to have a drunk woman in my bed.”

“I don’t want to be in your bed, Mr. Saxton,” she said.

“Then how about in front of the fire?” He took her glass and set it down on a small table, his movements deliberate and slow. He would go easy with her until she wanted him.

He gently caressed her face, and raised her chin to him with his fingers. When he touched his lips lightly to hers, she parted her mouth willingly. While his tongue caressed her mouth, his hands roved lightly down her back to cup her hips. He felt her stiffen, and then, to his immense pleasure, she rose to her tiptoes to fit herself against him.

“I hate all the damned clothes you women wear,” he said against her ear.

She felt his fingers prodding at the tiny buttons over her breasts. He kissed her again, deeply, and pushed her gown from her shoulders. When she felt his hands against her bare flesh, she clung to him.

“Still more garments, Giana,” he said, pulling open the ribbons of her chemise. She drew back, suddenly frightened, and tried to cover her breasts. She raised wide, confused eyes to his face.

Alex didn’t notice. He gently pulled her hands away and gazed at her full breasts. His hands trembled as he gently cupped them. She was incredibly white, her flesh like smooth silk, her nipples a pale pink velvet. As he caressed her, he felt a bolt of anger at the thought of other men touching her, delighting in her as he was now. He leaned down and closed his mouth over her.

Giana gasped, in surprise and in pleasure. She felt her breath quicken, and arched her back to him.

He felt her quivering against him, heard low moans from deep in her throat. Jesus, he thought, there is such passion in her, such openness and giving. And why not? Why would she give her body to so many men if she did not enjoy it?

“Damn you,” he said. He jerked off her gown, and with it, her many petticoats. She stood passively, letting him roll down her silk stockings and pull off her shoes. He stared up at her a moment.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. Her mind felt heavy and dull, and she shivered again, for only her chemise covered her now.

With a low groan, he grasped the straps of her chemise and ripped it away.