Part 12 (2/2)

At length the music ended-but not the emotion filling her ... That wonderful, heady, swirling emotion was still possessing her ...

What was happening to her? To feel so intensely, so vividly as she did now! So incredibly moved ...

She did not know, could not tell-knew only that the whole of her being was focused here, now, on this moment. This time. This s.p.a.ce.

This man.

The music changed. Slow violins, delicate-quite different from the impa.s.sioned strains of Rachmaninov. But they were just as evocative in their own unearthly way, weaving, so it seemed to her, a net of sound, diffusing into the air. She felt alive, vivid, as she had never felt before.

A sound made her turn her head. A log had fallen in the fire, opening up its glowing heart. She watched as Angelos set down his cognac once more and crossed to hunker down on the pale soft rug, reaching for more wood to rebuild the fire.

On impulse-she did not know why, only that she wanted to, right now, while in this strange, breathless mood-she slid on to the floor, kneeling by the table, stretching her hand out not for her undrunk coffee but for his cognac gla.s.s. She wanted to inhale its bouquet again, wanted to feel that pleasurable light-headedness that had come last time. She lifted it to her mouth, letting her lip curve over the gla.s.s edge to sample the fragrance within. It was less powerful now, and she tilted the gla.s.s more. The cognac touched her lips, and without her volition she realised she was opening her mouth to it. It filled her mouth with liquid fire, and for a moment she almost gasped. Then it had slipped down her throat, leaving a burning wake. Her eyes widened, and she felt the fire snake down. Blinking, she set the gla.s.s back and picked up her coffee cup, draining it rapidly to quench the fire.

She'd been foolish, she knew, to do what she just had-and yet, amazingly, right now she didn't care. Didn't care because inside her a warmth was spreading-a warmth that seemed to wash through her, through every cell of her body. Taking her over. Her vision seemed to blur for a moment, then cleared-with a clarity she had never known before. Behind her, very close, Angelos was tending the fire, hunched down on the soft, large sheepskin rug that stretched between the sofa and the hearth, brus.h.i.+ng his hands free of wood dust. His cashmere sweater stretched over the sculpted musculature of his back. She could see the softness of the fabric, moulding his lean, hard body. Could see, with a strange, luminous clarity, her hand reaching out, the tips of her fingers brus.h.i.+ng, scarcely touching, the fine, soft wool.

He stilled, hands pausing in their movement, then hunkered back, twisting as he did so. She drew back her hand. He didn't speak, only s.h.i.+fted so that he was, she vaguely recognised, now sitting on the rug, one knee drawn up, the other splayed. He crooked his arm around his knee and reached for his cognac. Vaguely, she felt she should get back on to the sofa, but it was comfortable here, leaning back against it. She watched him take a mouthful of his cognac, his eyes holding hers.

They were so dark-a deep, drowning dark-and she gazed into them. Everything was very clear, like crystal, and yet only he was in focus. It was strange ... so strange. She went on gazing at him. In the background the music crept, slow and somnolent, weaving its net about her senses. Behind him, the fire crackled softly, its warm light glowing. The lights in the room, too, seemed softer, shadows pooling.

He sat, arm crooked, the slow, rhythmic swirling of his gla.s.s flickering in her vision, but she could not look away from him. She could feel, somewhere, that her heart had started to beat-as if till now it had never done so. But now the pulse was tangible, like a low, aching throb.

She wanted to reach out-wanted to let the tips of her fingers brush down again lightly, so lightly, on the soft, luxurious surface of the cashmere. She could feel her hand lift, and as it did, his voice stayed her.

'Wait.'

His voice came low and deep, with an imperative note in it. Her eyes gazed into his questioningly, confused. He spoke again, in that same low, intense voice.

'I must know-is this truly what you want?'

His eyes were playing over her face, searching. Searching for the answer he sought-wanted so much. Had waited for so long, it seemed. All evening he had felt the power of his response to her released, accepted finally, and now, in this intimate setting, he was on the point of achieving what he knew he wanted with every part of his being. Her beauty was intoxicating, haunting-his desire for her was consuming. But after all that had been between them, all the anger and strife and bitterness, it had to be right-right for her. He had made his peace with her-was this now, finally, her making peace with him?

His eyes searched hers, needing an answer.

For one long moment she simply gazed with limpid clarity, revealing everything she felt about him at that moment, everything she wanted. Then she spoke one word only. A breath, a sigh ...

'Yes ...'

She could see the sudden blaze in his eyes, hear the catch of breath in his throat. Feel in her veins her own pulse beat. The air was thick. Thick, the blood in her veins. The emotion she could not name, could only feel with a s.h.i.+mmering intensity all through her body, was creaming through her. All she wanted was here, now ... this moment.

This man ...

And slowly, very slowly, her eyes still clinging to his, she did what she wanted. Reached out with the tips of her fingers to brush the rich softness of his cashmere sleeve. He sat completely still, not even swirling his depleted cognac, just holding her eyes as her fingers brushed the soft fabric. Then her fingers reached further, rounding over the contours so that her palm was curved around his sleeve. Beneath the fabric she could feel the muscled sinew of his arm. Hard against the softness of the wool. Her hand curled over it, feeling the warmth of his body seeping through into her palm.

Then slowly, very slowly, she lifted her hand away.

For a long, long moment she could only sit, legs slanted away from him, meeting his gaze. Around her the music wove its web and the soft firelight played on the strong features of his face, flickering in the shadows of the room.

She heard him murmur something honeyed and mellifluous. Then his hand was reaching forward. The other still cupped his cognac gla.s.s, but the outstretched one was turning, so that the back of his hand was brus.h.i.+ng slowly, so slowly, down the sleeve of her top.

She could not move, could not breathe, could only twine her eyes with his while the back of his hand stroked down her arm. Lightly. Then it lifted again. This time to her cheek.

It was light, so light, his touch. Almost not there. And yet her breath stilled in her lungs. His long, strong fingers were cupping her chin, tilting it upwards, and then his long lashes swept down over his eyes and his head was lowering.

The brush of his lips on hers was like snow drifting, as light as snowflakes melting on her lips.

He brushed them softly, so softly, and her eyelids fluttered closed, to feel the bliss of it. Because bliss it was. Bliss to have that soft, sensuous touch of his mouth on hers. He murmured something, but she did not know what it was. Then both hands were cupping her face, lifting it to him, and his mouth was opening hers ...

Soft and warm and blissful-so, so blissful.

He was drawing her down, his arms coming around her to ease her across his body, cradling her as his mouth moved on hers. Pleasure filled her. Sweet, sensuous pleasure. Firing through every nerve ending, drawing her down, down, down into its seductive depths.

She was lying beside him on the warm, soft, fleecy rug, the fire hot on her back. He was kissing her still, murmuring to her, and his arms were cradling her, his hand running softly, so softly, along her spine. She was wordless and speechless and could only lie there being kissed so softly, so sensuously, so blissfully.

Whatever else existed in the world was no longer there. There was only this-this warm, velvet sensation at her mouth, his hand at her nape, sliding the restraining fastening from her hair so that it fell in a long, pale wave across the rug. He murmured again-words she could not hear but only feel, like a fine vibration through her whole body. His fingers, long, and sensitive, threaded through her hair, and the sensation on her scalp was a soft, evocative tingling. The wonderful headiness in her mind consumed her. She felt the sensual delight of his mouth moving against hers, his body strong and lean, and her hands curled over his shoulders, kneading into the aching softness of the cashmere to meet the sinewed resistance of his flesh. She wanted to feel that smoothness, that muscle and sinew, and she moved restlessly in his arms. Her hands slid down his torso to his waist, and her questing fingers found the s.p.a.ce beneath the soft wool. Oh, it was bliss-bliss to run her hands along the hard, smooth contours, warm to her touch, to let her arms wind around him, palms splaying out across his spine, the sculpted perfection of his back.

His kiss deepened, and now she was lying on her back. She did not know how, knew only that her hands were being taken and lifted over her head. He was arched over her, his mouth still moving on hers, but now his lips lifted away and he was gazing down at her as she lay beneath him, his hands holding hers. Her narrow skirt had twisted around her limbs, so that she could not move them, but she did not want to. She wanted only to lie here in the warmth, with the strange, overpowering headiness in her senses. She lay still, gazing up at him. His eyes bored into hers, and she gazed upwards into pools of night.

His hand was at her waist, gliding upwards beneath her top, skimming, so lightly, the surface of her skin beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her breath caught again, and then he was easing the material upwards, lifting it over her head, peeling it off, casting it aside. And then, his task done, his gaze returned to her.

She lay, hands caught in his, hair streaming loose over the fleece of the rug, bared to his view, his touch.

Arched above her, Angelos gazed his fill.

She was his.

Now-this night, this moment-now. The waiting was over-fulfilment was now. Emotion surged in him-desire flowing like an unstoppable tide as she lay beneath him, her body his at last. So incredibly, extraordinarily beautiful-the extreme slenderness of her torso, the incredible grace of her shoulders, her arms, and the high, rounded, exquisite b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Past and present merged. But this time he did not have to deny himself-did not have to put her away from him, thrust her from him with harsh, contemptuous words. No need for that now. And from her there was no more hatred, no more wariness, no more hostility. No more defences.

Only the warm, soft ardour of her body, the longing in her eyes, her touch.

This time she was his, completely.

His hands lifted to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, shaping them with the tips of his fingers, while the unnamed emotion creamed within him. The coral tips hardened at his touch, and she gave a low, helpless sound in her throat that sent the blood surging in his body. Her eyes were glazed, unfocussed now, and her aroused lips were softly parted.

The languor of desire was upon her.

Waiting for his possession.

Slowly he lowered his head once more. But not to taste her lips. As his mouth grazed the straining peak of her breast he heard that low noise in her throat again. Arousal quickened in him.

And in her.

He could feel it-feel the sudden tensing in her body, feel her wrists pulling against his as her body tautened like a bow. He suckled her again, more strongly, and felt again that torsion in her spine, the low moan in her throat. He moved his mouth, trailing across the satin skin to the slight valley between her exquisite b.r.e.a.s.t.s, allowing himself for a little while no more than the pleasure of her flawless bloom, before reaching for her other peak, laving and arousing it, until he could feel her move restlessly, wrists flexing against his hand.

And then suddenly he could wait no longer. He had waited so long for her, but no longer. In a movement as swift as it was sudden he scooped her up, lifting her slight weight into his arms as he got to his feet. Her eyes flared, but he was already striding from the room, sweeping her up the stairs, her bared torso crushed against him, her head on his shoulder and her hair like a banner streaming over his arm.

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