Under the Boardwalk: A Dazzling Collection of All New Summertime Love Stories (26 page)

"You're too good for a snake like Peter, duke or not," he said in a determined voice. "You're going to forget he even existed."

"DeWilde." She gave a sigh. "You have a nice chest, do you know that? So strong."

He swallowed, not certain what to do. So he just stayed in that dangerous position for several seconds, breathing her faint soapy scent, mingled with liniment, feeling the softness of her skin. His body throbbed until the suspense of holding her became unbearable.

"What are you doing?" she whispered groggily.

"Letting you go back to sleep." Lord, his voice sounded rough, but he was so hot for her, he ached with it and could barely force the words from his throat.

"Did I hear Audrey's voice?" she murmured, cuddling against him.

"She jumped out the window," he said distractedly, trying to pry her hands away before he ended up on top of her.

"Jumped out the window?" She made a little snorting sound against his shoulder. "You're teasing me."

"Actually, I'm not," Rylan muttered. "I'd like to, but this probably isn't the time."

She tilted her head back. "I had the oddest dream."

Her mouth was soft and inviting. He wanted to taste it in the worst way. He wanted to brand every inch of her delicious body with his kisses. "Did you?"

"Umm." Her hands tightened around his neck. Rylan looked down and saw her night rail slide down again off the slope of one ivory shoulder. The sight made him instantly hard.

"I dreamed about you." She gazed up at him. "You touched me."

"I didn't." He gave her an innocent grin while his body went on the warpath.

"You did." She sighed, and he realized she was still half-asleep, too relaxed to censor her thoughts. The quilt slid to the floor. Sydney curled her knees into her body.

"And where did I touch you in this dream?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"I'd be embarrassed to say," she breathed, lowering her eyes.

"Did you like my touching you?"

She smiled against his shoulder, whispering, "Yes. I did, now that you ask."

Rylan swallowed, his face stark with self-denial. He was so aroused it hurt to breathe. "I didn't kiss you, did I?"

Sydney hesitated, and twisted her fingers in his hair. "I—"

"Not like this—"

And his mouth covered hers in a kiss that was only a prelude to all the naughty things he planned to do to her. He kissed her with such devastating skill that she quivered, breathless, in his arms. He teased the corners of her mouth with his tongue, easing her back onto the bed.

"Oh," Sydney said. "Oh."

Her lips were pouting, swollen and red when he finished. A pulse throbbed in the hollow of her throat, and he lay against her, a man in torment and loving every second of it.

He kissed her neck and shoulders until she lay gasping with pleasure. He tugged her night rail down to her belly, exposing her creamy breasts. His face intense, he studied her as he squeezed and pinched her distended nipples between his fingers. Then he tormented each tip in turn with sensuous licks of his tongue. He took his sweet time teasing her. Sydney arched off the bed in shock and anticipation.

She took shorter breaths, letting him have his way. She gave a moan in her throat. The sound sent a shiver of lust down his spine.

"Am I dreaming this?" she whispered.

"I don't know." His voice was hoarse. "It's possible we both are."

"Good," she breathed, "because if I weren't dreaming, I really would have to stop you."

He ran his palm over the mound of her pubis, pressing hard. She drew a breath. He leaned down and kissed her there, tantalized by the scent of her arousal. Musk of virgin. She went still as he raised his head to stare at her.

"I want you very, very badly," he whispered.

"I like this dream," she whispered back. He hesitated before reaching down for the quilt. He could so easily take advantage of her, but there wasn't much pleasure in seducing a half-awake woman, no matter how badly his body throbbed to possess her.

He wanted her to be fully aware when he loved her.

He wanted her to always remember the moment he'd made her his.

"Go back to sleep," he said.

"Hmm," she said, closing her eyes.

The hounds in the garden below were howling again. He settled Sydney back in the bed and got up to investigate. From the window he could just make out three shadowy figures running hell-for-leather toward the moor.

"That takes care of that," he said grimly.

He'd gotten rid of his first obstacle.

"Don't dream about anyone else but me, Sleeping Beauty," he said from the door.

Sydney awakened and heard the wind whistling outside the window. She'd heard the hounds too, but she was too achy and drugged to investigate. Besides, it was still dark outside, and she could hear the sea, restless and rough.

She touched her forehead, wondering if she had developed a fever.

DeWilde's virile scent hung in the air, dangerous, erotic. The scent of brandy and male desire. His face rose in her thoughts, tauntingly sensual, and she began to shake. Why did she ache and flush with these bewildering sensations? Her breasts felt engorged, and her mouth was so tender.

She sat up on her elbow, frowning into the dark.

Odd voices kept echoing in her brain. She shouldn't have read the first chapter of
The Elixir of Death
before falling asleep. Fear was playing tricks on her imagination.

He sailed naked down the Nile…

Your reputation will be ruined
…

The door creaked open slowly.

Sydney peered up through her eyelashes, hesitant to breathe. She pulled the cover up to her neck.

A
dark bulky shape pushed into the room. It panted and paddled over to the bed like a horrible beast.

He's a villain, Sydney. A villain .
. .

"Frankenstein," Sydney whispered in relief. "What do you want?"

The dog stared at her for several seconds with pleading eyes. Then it jumped up on the bed and settled on Sydney's chest, breathing doggy breath in her face before laying down its head.

Sydney grinned and closed her eyes again, knowing somehow that both the dog and its master would take care of her through the night.

She limped down the stairs late the next morning and found Lord DeWilde alone in the drawing room. Papers, books, and pens sprouted in piles on the sofa and at his feet. The house appeared to have been furnished in a most haphazard manner. But he looked like a man who spent as much time outdoors as at his desk. That powerful body could have been honed only by hours of hard riding or, to judge by the size of his shoulders, possibly by lifting boulders twice a day.

She stared at his strong forearms in fascination. The sleeves of his white shirt were pushed up to allow him to write. His long, elegant fingers swept across the paper in bold strokes.

Sydney was embarrassed at how easily she could almost feel those fingers stroking her skin, leaving a wake of wonderful shivers instead of words.

She tiptoed up behind him. "Goodness, is that your latest masterpiece?"

The pen stopped. A secretive smile crossed his face as he swiveled around. "I was struck by a sudden inspiration late last night. I've decided to write about a succubus."

"A succubus?" Sydney said in a startled voice.

"It's a female demon who seduces men in their sleep," he explained. "She—"

"I think I should wait to read it when it's published," she said hastily. "I wouldn't want to spoil the suspense."

"You were my inspiration," he said with a low chuckle, looking her in the eye.

"Me?" she said, her voice a squeak of shock.

He rose from the desk, towering over her. He was so blatantly masculine that Sydney stepped back in self-defense. He looked even larger in this cluttered room than he had last night on the beach. His virility had not seemed as intimidating outside against the backdrop of rugged cliffs, and she hadn't spent an entire night in his house.

Something had happened, but she wasn't sure what. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, or what she would do when she found out.

An expectant silence fell. Sydney felt a flush crawl over her body. There was a sizzling tension between them which she had noticed yesterday, although not to such a degree. She could practically taste the change in the air.

This was alchemy.

This was trouble.

"Have you ever sailed naked down the Nile, my lord?" she asked him without thinking.

Rylan dropped his pen in surprise. Then he started to laugh so hard that Frankenstein, who had followed Sydney downstairs, ran to hide behind a chair.

Sydney felt like joining the dog to cover her embarrassment. Where on earth had that question come from?

"I was only half-naked, actually," Rylan said when he managed to get his amusement under control.

Sydney restrained herself from asking which half of him had been naked. In fact, she was wishing she'd never asked such a strange question at all. She didn't know what she'd been thinking, but the thought had to have come from somewhere.

He shook his head, surveying her from top to bottom. That wicked smile kept lurking on his lips. It unsettled Sydney. He seemed to know something she didn't, and she was certain he would use his knowledge to disarm her, although he wasn't the kind of man who would deliberately hurt a woman. He didn't seem to have Peter's hard streak.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, looking amused all over again.

She blushed without knowing why. "I must have."

"Why do you say that?" he asked with a grin.

Sydney frowned. "Why shouldn't I say that?"

He came around the desk. Dark mischief danced in his eyes. She looked even better to him now than she had last night in bed. He wondered if she was just pretending that nothing had happened. "You don't remember your… dream?"

She blinked in disbelief. "Are you telling me it wasn't really a dream, the kissing and the—" She just couldn't finish.

"Of course it was a dream, if that's what you want to believe," he said in a patronizing voice that made her want to throttle him. "A dream come true."

She edged toward the door, but Rylan apparently wasn't going to let her escape with any dignity. He moved behind her, settling his big hands on her shoulders in a proprietary hold.

She froze on the spot, staring down at her shoes. His breath raised a row of goosebumps on her neck. She swore she could feel the power of his hands all the way down her spine, and the only thing she could think about was him sailing down the Nile in the altogether.

"Don't you remember
anything
?" he said in a hopeful voice.

She ground her teeth as his lips brushed her nape. His touch was bringing back all the details that she'd lain in bed this morning musing over in privacy. Only it had really happened, and if she wasn't careful, it was going to happen again.

"Of course I don't remember," she retorted.

His chuckle was annoyingly smug. "Sydney, are you telling me a fib, or is this just a ploy to get me to refresh your memory?"

She spun around. "I'll tell you what needs refreshing—it's your manners. I've never met such an overbearing man in all my days."

His mouth curled into another teasing grin. "Not even in your dreams?"

"Good heavens," she said.

He slid his hands down her back. "I don't think you should be on your feet," he said gently. "The doctor wants you to rest."

"I feel perfectly fine." But she didn't. Her knee throbbed. Her head felt hot and giddy, and even worse, she half wished he'd keep rubbing her with his big hands.

She backed away.

He followed.

Then somehow, by hoping to evade him, she ended up flush against his hard body. Somehow his mouth captured hers, and the world dissolved in a dreamy mist. The floor rushed up to meet her, and he caught her in an iron grip, saving her the humiliation of falling at his feet.

His features blurred. His mouth demanded more and more. Shivering, she tasted the guttural growl of pleasure he gave as he backed her into his desk. She was drowning in his kisses, dying in little breaths between them, living for the next.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze lifting to his. Rylan raised his brow questioningly. Then, to his delight, she softened and let her body relax, giving him the permission he needed.

He felt the world dissolve around him in a red mist. The floor rushed up to meet him, and the lust he'd kept at bay all through the night unleashed itself like a gale. He hadn't been sure that she'd really felt the same way as he did, but now that he knew, nothing on earth was going to stop him.

He didn't waste a second in taking advantage of the situation. He wasn't going to give her a chance to change her mind.

He practically devoured her with kisses that left her gasping in surprise and pleasure. He supported her with one hand while the other was busy unbuttoning her jacket. He ate at her mouth until she clung to him, until she would have done anything he asked her then and there.

They danced around the desk, locked in a heated embrace. They knocked his books and papers to the floor, months of research lost in a moment. They kissed their way in carnal combat across the carpet and ended up entangled together on the sofa, breathing hard, with Frankenstein playfully jumping up to join them.

"Go," Rylan shouted, waving the hound away as he nibbled his way down Sydney's neck. "We're busy."

"No, we're not," Sydney said, coming up for air.

She took a deep breath. Rylan's knee had gotten wedged between her skirts. Her unbuttoned jacket dangled from her wrist. And then he was leaning over her, looking beautiful and wild and downright dangerous. He was a master at this.

There eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"Do you want me to carry you back up to bed?" he said, his voice tender and persuasive. He traced his forefinger across her wet, trembling mouth.

Sydney thought she was about to experience a fatal heart seizure. A violent tremor went through her. She was ashamed to admit to herself that it wasn't a socially acceptable tremor of mortification.