It was Leya who made the first tiny move to break it. Wide-eyed, she put her fingertips on the slubbed silk of his tie. An instant later, she was in his arms.
"Leya, my darling Leya! I've wanted you so badly!"
She speared her ringers through the brown and gold of his hair, luxuriating in the thickness of it as he crushed her close. His arms were under her hair, which swung loosely down her back, and she could sense the rising desire in his hard frame.
The essence of him filled her nostrils, tempted and warmed her on a primitive, very fundamental level. Once again, she touched the knot of his tie and slowly began undoing it.
"You used to talk in terms of golden chains," she reminded him throatily, her lips parting sensually as she worked gently on the tie.
"One of us will be on a chain by morning," he grated. "I'm no longer sure yet who will be chaining whom!"
"Does it matter?" she teased, pulling wantonly at the end of the tie and slipping it from around his neck.
"I'm past caring at the moment," he confided.
He bent, sweeping her into his arms, his eyes going to the swing of her hair as she was lifted high against his chest. And then he was striding toward the stairs, taking them steadily, purposefully.
As he climbed, Leya toyed with the buttons of his shirt, her eyes full of dreams and unspoken love. At the top of the stairs, Court turned toward her room and a moment later she was dumped lightly onto the bed.
"This is the way it should have been that night up in Oregon," he rasped, as he came down beside her, his
solid weight sending waves of shimmering excitement throughout her body.
Her lashes drooped mysteriously, moving against her cheekbones with a pagan, inviting flutter that was as instinctive as it was unconscious.
"Tell me, Leya," he begged, his lips hovering over hers. She could feel the barely restrained desire in him and wondered at it. "It should be easy to give me the words now. Tell me there will be no more revenge!"
"I trust you, Court," she admitted, knowing what he wanted to hear and knowing, too, that she could tell him nothing less than the truth now. "It was myself I wasn't trusting. I didn't want to acknowledge I was so weak where you're concerned ..."
"Damn it, Leya," he gritted. "If you're going to tell me that what you feel toward me is the same weakness you felt for Alex Harlow ..."
"No!" she interrupted gently, her eyes shining. "That's not it at all, Court. Alex used me. I could never have forgiven that in a million years. But I believe now that your deception was only another Court Tremayne attempt to short-circuit the usual methods and get to the heart of the matter. I believe you're telling me the truth when you say you wanted me from the beginning."
"I did, I do! God, how I've wanted you!"
He was raining short, feathery kisses on her temple, her eyelids, and the emeralds in her ears. "I must have you tonight. I can't wait any longer!"
"Yes, Court," she whispered softly, lovingly as her hands slid beneath his shirt and began to knead the hard flesh she found there.
She felt his fingers on her zipper and then the emerald-green dress was tugged off with a swift, impatient movement. The coolness of the room touched her skin briefly as Court levered himself up to skim off his shirt and slacks. Unselfconsciously naked beside her, he began removing the rest of her few garments more slowly, lingering to touch his lips to each new area exposed.
She trembled as he slid his fingers under the elastic edge of her brightly colored briefs, but it wasn't from the coolness of the room, it was from the rising heat in her loins. He felt her reaction and leaned over to first kiss and then gently nip her shoulder. A moment later, he had slid the briefs down to her ankles and she was as nude as he.
"I'm going to make love to you tonight until you can no longer even remember my stupid deception in Oregon," he swore. "Until you can't think of anything else except our future!"
She shivered at the urgency in his words and in his body. She wanted to tell him it was unnecessary to atone for the past, but knew it would have to be done with her physical response, not words. Now, finally, was not the time for words.
His hardness impinged on her softness as he pressed himself against her hips. He was seeking to be enveloped by her in the way men have always sought with the women they needed.
"Oh, Court!"
Her head twisted on the quilt as she pulled him closer. Her toes clenched and unclenched against the soft material beneath her feet.
He gave an inarticulate groan as his hand sought the dampening, fiery heart of her desire, testing and probing. His touch made her gasp and one knee lifted in an agony of physical suspense.
"Leya, my wonderful Leya," he husked against her breast as first his lips and then his teeth circled each nipple.
Leya could say nothing more for a moment, reveling in the voluptuousness of the experience. Court's flame-igniting mouth traced delicate patterns on the hardened peaks of her breasts for a short time longer and then plunged to the soft valley between them. His fingers were arousing her to unbelievable heights, causing her hips to arch upward against his hand in delirious abandon.
"I want you, sweetheart," he gasped, his legs moving against hers, probing between her knees until she welcomed him.
"Ah!"
Her cry was soft, pleading, seductive. As if goaded by it and the small, quick breaths which betrayed her heightened desire, Court lifted himself, looming over her briefly before settling into the warm place he had made between her legs.
His body surged against hers, yet he held off from the final culmination of the embrace.
Instead, he used the intimate position to arouse her still further with threatening, teasing, unbearably exciting little movements that nearly drove her wild.
"Please, Court!" she begged, twisting to sink her nails into the hard muscles of his buttocks in an attempt to draw him closer and closer. His legs were tantalizingly rough against the smoothness of her inner thighs.
As if he was finding the softness of her as entrancing as she found his own hardness, Court reached down to stroke her from thigh to knee.
"Like silk," he blazed. "Hot silk."
Her nails in his hips dug deeper as he found the pulse in her throat with his lips but still he refrained from taking her completely. She delighted in the groan of response her small punishment brought forth from deep in his chest.
"Do you think you can control me in this because you know how much I want you?"
he rasped.
She opened her eyes to find his half-laughing, half-challenging, wholly inflamed gaze eating her.
"Show me how much you want me!" she commanded softly, her lashes lowering in heavy, feminine invitation.
Without warning, his fingers closed around the curve of her hip and she felt his nails lightly scoring the soft skin there.
"Oh!"
The cry was a small shriek of pain and pleasure as the exciting, erotic caress electrified her. With all her strength, she moved against him, feeling the crispness of his hair against her breasts. Her fingers raked the length of his ribs, pleading, cajoling, commanding.
"Leya! My maddening, passionate, irresistible Leya!"
He buried his mouth in the softness of her throat. Simultaneously, he gently seized her wrists, anchoring them on either side of her shoulders. Then, with the power and mastery that seemed an intrinsic part of him, he used his strength to hold her arching body still for a crucial instant.
"Court!"
His name was a broken sob of passion and need torn from her parted lips as he asserted himself against her and, at the same instant, surrendered to her.
There was a sharp sound of raw demand from him as he surged into a driving rhythm that carried her along in the way that a storm over the sea sweeps across the waves. All of Leya's senses were alive in that timeless moment.
As the storm they had created raged, Leya's hands scored the skin of Court's back in passionate intensity. It was an intensity she knew she would never feel with any other man, and it communicated itself to him. Her nails slid lower, digging into the strong thighs above her own and the tiny, sharp caresses she inflicted seemed to push him beyond all control. His mouth closed hotly on hers as if seeking to swallow the faint, choked moans that issued from far back in her throat.
Leya clung to him, having no other alternative but to let herself be absorbed by the intense claim he was making on her body. She felt him push to the depths of her femininity, taking everything as if he had a right to her. A right that didn't hinge on the trappings of engagements or wedding licenses but was somehow far more fundamental and savage.
She felt at once tamed and untamed, as if the man who was putting his brand on her sought not to restrain her but to chain her in such a way that her wildness would be released only by him.
Frantically, the love battle between them leaped forward to its ultimate conclusion, roiling both in its waves until neither could have escaped. But neither wanted to escape, and when the end came they reached for it with all the physical strength and mental will of two strong, healthy bodies and minds.
His deep, hoarse cries of mutual exultation would have left a listener wondering who had surrendered to whom. But in the depths of the huge brass bed, the participants in the small war were unconcerned.
The remainder of the week passed in a confusion of plans, hastily contrived parties given by delighted friends, and early conclusions to every evening.
It was the early conclusions to the evenings that were making her a nervous wreck, Leya decided analytically on the morning of her marriage as she dressed in the wool suit she had bought for the ceremony. For a man like Court Tremayne, it just didn't seem natural. He was the kind who would have taken advantage of the availability of a fiancee. She would have bet money on it. So why had she spent every night of the past week alone in her bed?
His restraint was making her far more nervous than anything else could have done, she realized sadly. And underneath the bridal jitters lay her own sense of guilt.
It was she who had asked for marriage. She felt as if she'd tricked him into this final commitment. Leya remembered the brief shock she'd seen in his face the night she'd made her demand at Keith's party. Nervously, she bit her lip as she automatically went about dressing.
Would he convince himself at the last minute that he didn't have to honor such an extreme demand? she wondered. Visions of being left at the altar crashed through her brain for the hundredth time. If he'd really wanted marriage, why hadn't he taken advantage of her surrender? Why had he held his passion in check since that fateful night of the party?
She shouldn't have pushed him into marrying her, she thought abstractedly. She shouldn't have taken him up on his offer to let her make any request she wanted in exchange for her own commitment.
The waves of guilt and nerves ebbed and flowed around her as she hurried through the last of the morning ritual. What if he simply didn't show up at the church? Could she really blame him if he decided she didn't have the right to this much? Why had she pushed him? Whatever had possessed her? But she'd asked for the one thing she wanted. Or thought she wanted.
Leya shook her head wistfully. It was like being granted a magic wish and making it too hastily. Only in retrospect was it clear she'd asked for the wrong thing. She should have begged for his love. Not marriage. What was marriage without a guarantee of love?
Well, there was nothing left but to carry on now, Leya told herself bracingly as she surveyed the demure skirt and short jacket of her outfit in the mirror. The suit was of a decidedly neutral color, perfect for a wedding that was to be held in the minister's office with only a few witnesses, or so Leya had thought when she chose it. Now, as she looked at the abnormally pale color of the garment, she realized she had wasted her money on something she would never again wear. The lack of assertiveness in the color annoyed her. It didn't attract any of her senses, and the result was irritating.
Still, one could hardly wear flaming red to one's own wedding!
The long length of dark braid had been twisted into a formal knot at the nape of her neck and the only note of color obvious in the mirror was that of the emerald earrings and her silver-green eyes. Leya hesitated over her jewelry box and then decided against adding anything else to her attire. She looked exactly as she felt: not quite herself. So be it.
The knocking on the door downstairs pulled her out of her reverie and, pausing to slide her stockinged feet into a cream-colored pair of heels, Leya headed for the stairs.
"Leya! You look beautiful!" Cynthia announced appreciatively, stepping inside and surveying her boss affectionately.
"Why do people always say that to brides?" Leya grumbled, not feeling beautiful at all.
"Because it's the truth. Brides always look beautiful!" Cynthia grinned, following Leya into the living room.
"You really think I look okay?" Leya's voice held a good portion of the skepticism she was feeling as she searched for her purse.
"Have I ever lied to you?" Cynthia demanded.
"Yes! The day you told me it wouldn't hurt to have my ears pierced!"
"I never came straight out and said it wouldn't hurt! You should have had a clue when I poured two glasses of wine down your throat before taking you over to the department store!" Cynthia retorted righteously.
In spite of her precarious mood, Leya laughed. "And by the time I found out it wasn't completely painless, it was too late to quit. One ear had already been done!"
"It was worth it. The earrings are fabulous." Cynthia located Leya's purse in the comer of the couch. "Ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose. God! I wish my stomach weren't so nervous!"
"Court's is probably just as bad," Cynthia assured her, ushering Leya out the door.
"Where's your suitcase?"
"Good grief! I almost forgot it!" Leya flew up the stairs to collect the luggage Court had instructed her to bring to the church.