Unwrapping her legs from around his waist, he carefully set her on her feet. “We’re both fortunate,” he said, dropping a kiss on the bridge of her nose. “Would you like to rest a moment?”
But toward dawn, even two wild, insatiable lovers needed some rest, and lying side by side, they momentarily paused in their exploration of prodigal sensation.
Zelda may have dozed briefly. But he must have sensed her coming awake, even though it was dark, even though she hadn’t moved. She’d only opened her eyes.
“Please,” he said into the silence. “I dislike pillow talk.”
“As do I. I was about to frighten you instead.” She felt him stiffen and wondered how many women there had been to so prejudice his response. But a woman who’d braved the jungles of Brazil wasn’t easily intimidated. “I just wanted to tell you I think I’m in love. You needn’t reply. You’re only indirectly involved. Did you sleep?” she asked, as if she’d not uttered the word
love
.
Crisis averted, he softly exhaled. “No, I didn’t sleep.”
“Do you lie awake often?”
“No, never.”
She giggled. “Dare I hope that—”
“No, you may not. And I don’t want to talk about that either.”
“What if I want to?” She’d never been in love before; the sense of wonder was difficult to ignore.
“Later,” he said, and rolling over her, he stopped her from talking in the way he knew best.
But it was different in the end, like it always was with her, the sunny landscape beyond the threshold of that open door luring him on, offering him not only sensual delight but a mystifying happiness. He wouldn’t call it love; he was less impetuous or perhaps more cynical. But whatever it was, the concept of a future suddenly held promise when the word had been obliterated from his vocabulary in the last few years, when he’d been living day to day, minute to minute. Without hope.
Head over heels, heedless of logic, Zelda was blissfully steeped in love, the impossibilities muzzled, the world brushed aside, only the presence of the captivating man who dispensed pleasure so effortlessly of any significance. “Tell me we’re completely alone in this enchanted universe,” she whispered.
He smiled. “Of course. The universe is ours alone.”
“Do you believe in fate?”
“I do.” Another lie, but the truth wouldn’t serve.
She softly laughed. “How glib you are.”
“With you, I’m not sure what I am,” he said, scrupulously honest in that, at least. Not that nuances of truth mattered with dawn fast approaching. Taking note of the faint light beginning to extinguish the shadows in the room, he said with a novel feeling of regret, “We still have a little time, darling. Kiss me.”
CHAPTER 9
H
E SHOULD HAVE left long ago. He actually did once—or nearly did, but Zelda pulled him back. Not that he needed any persuasion with her warm, welcoming body the ultimate Nirvana and his libido operating within the very narrow range of sex, sex, and more sex. When the meaning of Keats’s phrase, “O for a life of sensations rather than of thoughts!” had been gloriously revealed in all its sensual manifestations, and he’d not quite had his fill.
“Stay, stay, stay,” she’d whisper when he’d contemplate leaving.
“Give me reason to stay,” he’d softly say.
She always did.
She had a fertile imagination.
To which he’d add a refinement or two, his entire nervous system slave to sensation.
But even hot-blooded lust was ultimately susceptible to besieging reason, and the increasing sounds of activity in the hallway gave warning that the household was stirring. Servants would be knocking on the door shortly, wanting to light fires and draw baths. Soon the entire house party would be awake.
While Dalgliesh was indifferent to respectability, he knew Zelda was vulnerable to scandal. “I really
have
to go,” he finally said, coming up on his elbows, resting his weight on his forearms. “Unless you relish being the titillating topic of conversation at breakfast,” he dryly added.
“I’m not sure I care, but yes, yes, go.” Zelda reached up to lightly brush the dark stubble on Alec’s jaw. “And thank you again, my dear Dalgliesh, for your many and spectacular”—she smiled—“kindnesses.”
“My pleasure.” But her smile gave rise to an odd rush of unwanted affection and, swiftly withdrawing from her body, he rolled off the bed, putting distance between himself and temptation. Although the sight of Zelda all rosy and pink from lovemaking lying within reach was damned enticing. He drew in a hard breath and spoke with the civility the occasion demanded. “In terms of kindness, darling, you were perfection. I’ve never enjoyed myself more.”
Exquisitely indulged, the sweet, lush afterglow still pulsing through her body, Zelda smiled. “Such a tame word—enjoy . . .”
“Ring the word in diamonds and pearls and trumpet it in the square for all to hear,” he said with a grin. “Is that better?”
She laughed. “I didn’t know you had a poet’s soul.”
“And I didn’t know you were Circe’s sister. You kept me here
much
too long.”
“In that case, this must be where I politely say—if you’re ever in the Highlands . . .”
“I’ll stop by and visit,” he smoothly replied, and bending, he kissed her lightly as he would any woman who’d entertained him for the night. But rather than feel the need to escape as was his wont, he found himself reluctant to leave. A circumstance both terrifying and—tantalizing. Although it was pure lunacy to want her still after so many hours of fucking—a total breach of custom and realistically
unacceptable
. Which thought firmly coerced his insubordinate feelings into compliance. “Perhaps I’ll come up for salmon fishing next summer,” he pleasantly said.
“You’ll have excellent fishing.” She didn’t believe him for a minute.
“I’ll bring Chris.” Another lie.
“I’d like that.” They should have been on stage
.
“You should try and get some sleep.”
“I couldn’t possibly sleep. I’m still blissfully aglow, thanks to you.” Zelda languidly stretched, feeling infinitely content, sated, replete. Check off another satisfied conquest for the talented Earl of Dalgliesh, she reflected without malice, relaxing against the pillows as he began gathering his clothes. He was truly talented, with a subtle finesse unusual in a man his size. No wonder he was in demand. “So how did I do?” she playfully queried.
He looked up, his waistcoat dangling from his fingers. “Do?”
She grinned. “Did I meet your expectations?”
His smile was charming and boyish and quite genuine. “You far exceeded my expectations in
every
way.”
He didn’t ask her whether he’d met her expectations, she noticed. But then he no doubt knew from considerable experience that he had. “Will you stay at your hunting lodge long?” His smile vanished so swiftly, she was tempted to say something outlandish. “I was only making conversation,” she remarked, deciding to behave. “You needn’t take alarm.”
“Then, no, I won’t be staying long.” But his voice held a palpable reserve, as if he’d learned to be wary of women asking questions.
“I’m off to France next week for more hunting.” That should calm his fears.
“Where?” His clothes gathered, he was swiftly dressing.
“Fontainebleau.”
“Excellent coursing ground. You should have some good riding.” At which point, adept at morning-after small talk, Dalgliesh turned the conversation to safe topics like horses and hunting.
Zelda understood the protocol; she carried her part with equal politesse. But she couldn’t deny the fact that Dalgliesh intrigued her. A shame he was unavailable.
Although, he
had
sought her out last night, when, by his own admission, he would have preferred remaining aloof. He’d also stayed much longer than he’d wished. Was it possible she’d engaged his interest beyond the ordinary?
Might she enjoy his incredible talents again?
Alas—his reputation suggested otherwise.
“Lost in thought?”
She looked up to find the earl standing at the bedside, dressed, or more aptly, semidressed, with his shirt unusable, his waistcoat stuffed in his pants’ pocket, his shoes in hand, and a polite smile on his handsome face. She grinned. “Yes, and you don’t want to know.”
Her reply set off warning bells. “Then I’ll thank you again for a lovely evening and take my leave.”
“It
was
rather splendid, wasn’t it? My compliments, Dalgliesh, on your competence.”
He grinned. “Pleased to be of service.” With a dip of his head, he turned and strode away.
Damn, damn, damn.
An overwhelming sense of loss washed over her. She felt bereft, as if some sweet magic had eluded her, when plainly no magic was involved, only the Earl of Dalgliesh’s glorious cock, unrivaled skill, and stamina.
For heaven’s sake, get a grip,
she charged her errant emotions
. It’s only sex.
But her heart leaped as he paused at the door.
He’d already turned the knob, releasing the bolt from the strike plate—a slight tug was all that was required.
Do it!
the voice inside his head commanded
.
A second passed.
Don’t be a fool! Open the door!
But he didn’t and another second elapsed, a third
. . .
As the silence lengthened, a servant’s giggle in the hallway outside was magnified in the hushed room. A mounting tension filled the air.
Zelda opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it. Dalgliesh was unlikely to respond to a woman’s plea.
Restless, his nerves raw, Alec fought against an unspeakable lust that had taken up occupation in his brain and wouldn’t be evicted. Wouldn’t respond to reason or sanity, or calls to conscience and duty.
He swung around, patent repulsion on his face. “You
must
be a witch, damn you!” His gaze was fierce, sullen. “I always look
forward
to leaving after—”
“A night of fucking?” She could be rude, too.
He scowled. “Call it what you like.”
“You know what I’d like to call it, but you wouldn’t approve.” Although perhaps she wasn’t alone in her obsession, she thought—Dalgliesh’s black look aside. “Look,” she said, trying to mitigate what could only be an embarrassing revelation for a man like Dalgliesh, “I’m as mystified as you about this—us—this curious predicament.”
“Predicament?”
His expression was contemptuous. “You’re fucking up my life!”
“I could say the same of you,” she tartly retorted. “I’m not in the habit of dissolving into a puddle of love just because I’ve had incredible sex. I’m not that scatterbrained. As a matter of fact, I’m not scatterbrained at all.”
“You’ve had incredible sex before?” he growled.
“Are you even listening?”
“Have you?” Edgy and querulous.
She came up on her elbows, her scowl matching his. “Not this good. You’re the best. Satisfied?”
Restive and disturbed, his mind in tumult, he didn’t answer. “I’ve never had anything like this happen to me.” His voice was harsh with disgust. “Never.”
“Feeling something beyond lust, you mean.”
He couldn’t pretend not to know what she meant. “Yes,” he muttered. “That.”
“You’re not alone, if it’s any consolation.”
He stared at her, moody and obstinate. “I’m not looking for consolation. I’m looking for a way out.”
“Then you should go.”
“Damn right I should.”
She sat up in a surge of temper. “I have no intention of begging you to stay, if that’s what you want,” she snapped.
“A pity,” he drawled.
“Life is full of disappointments.”
“Spiteful bitch.” Amusement suddenly glittered in his eyes and his mouth twitched. “Christ Almighty—what am I going to do with you?”
“You seemed to know what to do last night. So many times I lost count.”
He didn’t speak for so long she thought she’d been too flippant.
Breathing quietly, his feelings locked away, he stared at her.
She stared back, never self-effacing or timid, too long a woman of independence to give way to a man. Also, the view was particularly fine, if truth be told.
Dalgliesh was leaning against the door, barefoot, bare chested, sleepy eyed, his dark hair disheveled, his state of undress testament to a night of excess.
A powerful, unmistakable sensuality marking the man.
A quiet authority as well.
As if he knew he had but to beckon and she’d come.
He adjusted his shoulders slightly against the solid door, a small compensatory gesture perhaps to offset his irresolution. Then, deaf to reason and intellect, he gave voice to his capricious will. “So . . . what are we going to do?”
Tamping down her wild jubilation, Zelda forced herself to speak calmly. “We?”
He looked startled, as if she’d coined a new word, as if he’d not uttered the pronoun seconds before. “Did I say that?”
She smiled. “I’m afraid so.”
“Christ, I’m losing my mind.” Dropping his shoes, he pushed away from the door, crossed the room with his long, easy stride and, reaching the bed, stood motionless for a moment, thoughtfully regarding her.
Unnerved by his scrutiny, she felt a sudden compulsion to clarify her position. “I’m not asking for anything beyond simple sex.”
He smiled. “Or not so simple. But yes, I know.”
“Stay or go. It’s up to you.”
“I know that, too.”
She gazed up at him, her violet eyes guileless. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the word
love
. It was stupid, like your—”
“
That’s
not up for discussion.”
“Well, neither is love from now on. How’s that? Better?”
“Fuck if I know,” he said when his idea of
better
had to do with Zelda locked away in his bedroom at Crosstrees until he fucked himself to death. Deprived of that option, shackled in a vicious marriage, frustrated and resentful, tantalized beyond sanity, he abruptly leaned over and, gripping her shoulders, revolted against circumstance. His kiss was vastly different this time—not casual, but fierce, deep, his hands on her shoulders leaving bruises, a kind of desperation fueling his ardor. Abruptly shoving her onto her back, he followed her down, forcing her thighs wider, settling between her outstretched legs, his erection insistent and hard, his mouth ungentle, his brute urgency redress for the anarchy savaging his brain. “Can you feel this?” he growled against her mouth, grinding his trousered cock against her sex. “Tell me.”