Seduction in Mind (31 page)

He shouldn't be kneeling at her feet, naked and aroused and much too close, when she should be thinking about leaving. But he was like forbidden fruit—intemperate, profligate, infinitely seductive. Instead of resisting temptation, she was literally trembling for him.

Undisturbed by moral issues, innately single-minded when it came to sex, Sam was aware of her arousal, taking note of her breathing, of the small rigidity in her spine. He took his time rinsing and squeezing out the cloth before brushing the cool linen over her inner thighs, deliberately prolonging the procedure, then finally touching her where she most wanted to be touched. Despite her efforts to resist, her body wouldn't cooperate—a pearly fluid diffused the pinkness of her labia. She was wet with desire.

"What am I going to do with you?" he asked, discarding the cloth, inserting one finger into the slickness of her vagina, gently stroking the sensitive flesh. "You're always ready for fucking." Reaching up, he stroked one of her nipples with his other hand, gripped it lightly, and tugged on it until she was forced to look at him. "Tell me, what am I going to do with you when all you want to do is fuck?"

She wouldn't answer save for the fevered look in her eyes, his touch inside and out kindling her ready sexual appetite.

"Just say the word and I'll give you cock," he whispered.

She glanced at his upthrust penis, turgid with pulsing veins, and drew in a sharp breath.

"You like it, don't you." Releasing her, he held his erection away from his body and ran the wetness from his finger around the swollen, gleaming head.

Only the sound of her agitated breathing broke the silence.

It was a contest of wills or willpower—mutual and perhaps more evenly matched than not, for the notorious Ranelagh had finally met a woman he couldn't ignore.

Headstrong, unfamiliar with restraint, he gave in to impulse first. Abruptly shoving the bowl aside, he surged to his feet and grasped Alex by the shoulders. Twirling her around, he placed her hands on the chair arms and pushed her over so her pink bottom was raised conveniently high—his for the taking.

Heedless of all but urgency, oblivious to issues of submission or command, he peremptorily entered her.

The swift, plunging invasion drew a shocked gasp of affront. "Damn you," she spat out, struggling to rise. "I hate you."

"Sure you do, and I hate fucking you too," he growled, holding her down with a firm grip, ramming in so hard, she was propelled forward by the force.

Abruptly grasping her hips, he jerked her back, the brute, unguarded impact buffeting their senses into a momentary breathlessness. When his brain began functioning again, he gruffly muttered, "Jesus, you feel… good."

"You're a bloody brute…" But the rancor was modulated by a heated undertone.

"And I should cut and run while I can." The powerful muscles of his legs flexed, but he didn't leave. He held her motionless instead and deftly rotated his hips so they both felt a seething delirium in the pleasure centers of their minds.

"I don't know what to do," she breathed, half angry, conflicted, ravenous.

"Stay with me," he whispered, bending to kiss the velvety softness of her neck, the controversy of their mutual obsession muted by tumultuous sensation, the rhythm of their bodies exquisitely matched.

He continued to hold her captive, but she no longer decried her submission because carnal lust blurred her edgy discontent and orgasmic excess brought her to the verge of fainting. When he carried her back to the bed after a time and gently set her down, he settled lightly above her, overwhelmed by rare emotion. "Just one more time?" he breathed, feeling unquenchable.

"No… no… no."

"You always say no." He slid inside her, felt her welcoming flesh give way, and shut his eyes.

Lavish, soul-stirring ardor engulfed her. She was out of her depth, she realized, so far out of her depth she could no longer clearly distinguish the perimeters of the real world. It frightened her to be so enslaved to a man's touch. Could one become addicted to this glorious lust… to Ranelagh's inexhaustible stamina? Could she become servile to her inordinate need for orgasms?

But Sam moved just then in a particularly persuasive way, in a rare and refined demonstration of ultimate penetration, and raw, acute feeling washed over her in powerful waves, inundating apprehension.

Moments later, when she was able to breathe again, when she'd forcibly gathered her senses into a measure of order, she whispered, "I can't keep doing this—every day, every night—I'm feeling… out of control."

"I like… the way I feel." Lying beside her, his arms were flung over his head, his eyes half shut.

"We should take a small hiatus…"

"No."

At the curtness of his tone, she turned her head on the pillow and looked at him. "No?"

"No, not now. No, not tomorrow. No, not next week." His eyes opened fully, he turned his head, held her gaze, and smiled. "And I mean that in the nicest way."

"Now, if only you had the power to enforce those pronouncements."

"I don't think it takes power." His voice was whisper soft. "Do you?"

She couldn't help but smile. "I concede on that count, my fine stud. However," she said with a new determination, well aware how predaceous his allure and how weak her defenses, "I can't just allow myself to be swept along on a tidal wave of lust. I have a very busy life." Her voice was brisk, as if her tone might bolster her resolve. "A life, I might add, composed of a multitude of activities other than making love."

"Why not take a hiatus from that instead of the other way around," he suggested calmly.

"I wish I could."

"Then, do it."

"It's not that easy."

"Of course it is. You're in charge of your own life."

"Sam, really, consider. I can't simply stay in bed with you until… when? Such a time as you become bored with me?"

"Is that what you're driving at? You don't bore me in the least. In fact, I'm perilously aware of my attraction to you. You have my full attention, darling. My word on it."

"You don't understand. Much as I love to make love to you, I can't devote my life to pleasure. It's too—too… frivolous, for one thing."

His dark brows rose in arched query. "Is life supposed to be unconditionally dutiful?"

"I hardly think you need worry about that."

Rising onto his elbows, he directed a skeptical gaze her way. "Are we comparing obligations in our lives?"

"No, of course not. I didn't mean to imply that."

"Do you think you perform more good deeds than I?"

"Outside of bed, you mean?"

"Very amusing. Why don't I have Patrick give you a list of my charities and the various boards I sit on, and you can relax."

Reaching up, she touched his cheek. "I'm not taking issue with your goodness—in any number of realms. I'm trying to deal with my own unease. I don't like to be so enamored. I don't like to think of you day and night. I don't want to want you every waking minute."

"Why not? I feel the same way."

"Because…" She hesitated, struggling to reconcile a level of wistful dreams with reality. "I haven't lived my life like you," she began to explain, trying to be diplomatic and honest at the same time. "I don't mean it in a pejorative way. I mean only, until I met you, I considered myself a rational person. I've never been impulsive or so… so—physically tempted. My decisions have been based on practicality and logic."

"Like marrying two old men."

"They were good men and very good to me."

"And I'm not?"

She smiled. "You're very good, darling. In a thousand different ways. In so many ways, I feel myself losing my perspective. And that loss and my loss of reason makes me uncomfortable. All I'm asking is for a brief hiatus from—"

"Fucking? I don't want to."

"But I do."

He sat up and scowled at her. "Jesus, Alex, you're asking a lot. How long a hiatus?"

"A few days, that's all."

"
Days
! I'll go crazy." The tacit exclusivity in his reply suddenly struck him, and he softly swore.

She lay very still. "I'm not asking."

He swore again, his brows drawn together in a frown, not sure he was willing to agree. After a small silence, he finally muttered, "Very well," because regardless of the unnerving implications in his need, he wanted her more. "But only for a day."

"Three days."

"I could lock you up here and no one would be the wiser." She looked so lush and inviting lying there, he was sorely tempted.

"My father and Loucas would be over by tomorrow."

"I could take you to my country house."

"I'm sure they know where that is as well."

"I'll take you abroad."

"Darling, please, don't be childish."

He grimaced. "I don't like this idea."

She smiled. "I'm not forcing
you
to do anything. I simply need some respite for myself."

"Don't split hairs," he grumbled. "Your respite becomes mine. Oh, hell—two days, then, but not a minute more. And don't try to tell me you're any less used to having your way."

She couldn't in good conscience disagree, when she'd been fiercely independent all her life. "Two days, then. Thank you for your understanding."

He gave her a black look. "It's going to be hell."

"It's an opportunity for us both to clear our heads."

"My head is
very
clear."

"Then, it's an opportunity for me."

"What the hell do you have to do?"

"Catch up on all the appointments I've missed since I met you."

"You needn't sound so cheerful." He was astonished at his discontent. As though he hadn't lived his entire adult life fleeing entanglements.

"I
will
miss you."

"You'd better not see Harry."

"I have no intention of seeing Harry. Does that mean you'll be celibate as well?"

It took a stunned moment to digest the word celibate, and then another moment to fully absorb it, and a moment more to persuade himself he could withstand the shock to his system. "I suppose if you can, lean."

"You sound unsure."

"Not
unsure
precisely."

"Unwilling?"

"I don't think so."

"How reassuring you are."

"Give me time to—"

"Fully understand what it means?"

"I suppose." His shoulder rose in an unconscious shrug. "It's in the way of an aberration for me, that's all. But I'll play golf while you're gone. That way I won't drink too much and, well, never mind. You did say two days."

"Just two days."

"No, it's two
whole
days," he countered. "What happens if I can't wait?"

"You have to wait."

He softly growled. "I wouldn't do this for anyone else, you know."

Her purple eyes held a gleam of amusement. "I'm flattered."

He suddenly grinned. "You should be. Now, when do these two days begin? I mean… would we have time now for—"

"I'd love to if I didn't have to meet my mother at our school's musical competition. And believe me," she said with a smile, "I'd much rather stay here with you than listen to her ring a peal over my head."

"I'll go with you. We can bend the rules if I don't touch you, can't we?"

"If you're interested in bending the rules," she suggested, "after we see my mother, we could have tea with
your
mother."

A low groan greeted her remark.

"That's what I thought," she said briskly, sitting up. "Why don't I meet you back here in two days."

"No Harry," he reminded her.

"No women."

He didn't answer, but then, he took orders poorly. He said instead, "If you leave now, the two days will begin that much sooner. I'll help you dress."

"Have you no patience?" she teased.

"Do I look like I have patience?"

"Actually, you look slightly
impatient
," she judged, her gaze on his beautiful erection.

"It wouldn't take long," he whispered.

"I don't know…"

"Another few minutes won't matter…"

But it turned out to be much longer, because pleasure wasn't so easily relinquished, nor desire curtailed, particularly in two people who had found a rare, enchanting Cytherea in a previously commonplace world. She said, "I have to go" twice, then twice more, to which the viscount always replied, "Yes" and then kissed her again. Or made love to her again… or made her laugh again.

She was very late leaving.