Dancing on the Wind (31 page)

In the silence that stretched tautly between them, the lilting music below was clearly audible. Of course, he thought with relief; dancing would re-create the enchantment that had bound them together earlier. He reached out and clasped her hand. "Dance with me, my lady."

After a startled blink, she slid her beautiful long legs over the edge of the mattress and kicked off her slippers. She released his hand, then curtsied gracefully, as if they had just been introduced. "It will be my pleasure, Lord Strathmore."

"Though we have not been properly introduced," he said with matching formality, "I believe that you are Lady Kit Travers?"

She straightened, a smile lurking in her eyes. "I knew it was only a matter of time until you learned who I am. Jane is one of my middle names, though."

"I've thought of you by a hundred names—Lady Jane—Lady Nemesis—Lady
Quicksilver. But Kit is better, crisp and unconventional, like you." He tugged off her blond wig. Then he loosened her hair into a silky cloud, each gentle, circular stroke of his fingertips a caress.

"Mm-m-m." She gave a slow smile. "That feels lovely. No wonder cats like having their heads scratched."

She was still wearing her kidskin gloves, so he lifted her left hand and peeled the glove off. Then he kissed the fragile skin of her inner wrist. Her fingers curled, and her quickening blood pulsed warmly against his lips.

When he did the same with her right hand, her fingertips fluttered across his cheek. "Lucifer, light-bearer," she murmured. "Bright son of the morning."

"Now much fallen from heaven, I fear." He placed one hand in the small of her back. Her spine was vibrant with supple strength. Intertwining the fingers of his free hand with hers, he swept her into the pattern of the waltz. "But I have a glimpse of paradise before me now."

She colored and dropped her eyes. In the candlelight, her hair was a cinnamon-tinted halo. With more space than on a crowded dance floor, they could move freely to the rhythms of the music, their bodies speaking directly to one another. The crimson-patterned carpet was lushly sensual beneath their stockinged feet as they glided across the chamber.

Though her dancing was adept, as befitted a professional, at first there was a stiffness in her movements, as if her mind and body were not quite in tune with the music. But as they circled the open area of the room, the music began to work its magic and the strain faded from her muscles and her face.

Their partnership became fluid harmony. He was intensely, physically aware of the lithe feminine body beneath the blue domino. The reverse was also true, for each of his movements produced a matching response in her, a dynamic, constantly shifting balance between male and female.

As they came to the end of the room, he untied the ribbons of her domino with one hand. The silk billowed outward on the turn and floated obliquely down until it crumpled into the angle between wall and floor. Her bare shoulders glowed like warm cream. His mouth went dry. Not yet. Not… yet.

Her eyes had drifted shut so that she was following his lead purely through touch and movement. She was thistle-light in his arms. He found it oddly moving that she was placing herself entirely in his hands, at least for the moment.

Now that he had relaxed her, it was time to make her tense again. He bent forward and kissed the tender angle between her throat and jaw, lapping upward to the elegant curve of her ear. Her breath caught, and her lips parted as he spun her about in a fluid circle.

What would it take to open her eyes? With an extravagant swoop, he tilted her backward over his arm, supporting all her weight. At the same time he thrust his leg between hers so that they were intimately locked together. Her startled eyes flew open, and in the clear gray depths he saw the passion he had wanted to invoke.

She recovered from her surprise in an instant. "Sir," she said demurely, "I believe that we are closer than is proper."

As she spoke, she slowly squeezed her thighs around his. Heat curled through his belly. Breathlessly he said, "Indeed we are." He swept her upright again and swirled her across the room. "And we are going to get closer yet."

He began to improvise steps that were too shamelessly erotic to be performed in public. Her pliant dancer's body adapted to his effortlessly, as if she was an extension of him. Their bodies met in full-length caresses, then separated, only to come together again with greater fire. They became part of the music, its beat thrumming in their blood as they performed their ardent mating dance.

When the music downstairs ended, they merged into an embrace, swaying together in the center of the chamber. They kissed ravenously, and she rolled her pelvis into his with wicked provocation. He groaned as he felt himself harden against the yielding cradle of her hips.

The time for restraint was over. He unfastened the ties that held her gown at the back so that the garment fell away from her body. Eyes smoky with desire, she gave a seductive shimmy. The gown rippled downward over her arms and hips until it pooled at her feet, leaving her clad only in her chemise and the artfully padded corselet that disguised her own slim figure.

His gaze holding hers, he unlaced the front of her corselet. The garment fell
open and revealed her breasts as softly arching shadows beneath the sheer lawn
of her chemise. He cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples between thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widened, and she ran her tongue over her hips as the sensitive nubs hardened.

Every movement of her body signaled desire. Yet the sight made him realize that desire was not enough. Even more than passion, he wanted an emotional intimacy that would reach all of the lonely places deep in his soul.

As he removed her corselet, he tried to catch her gaze, fiercely willing her to look at him, to share the mysteries of her elusive spirit.

Instead, she stepped forward and slid her arms under his loose shirt, wrapping them around the bare skin of his waist as she hid her face against the triangle of bare chest where his shirt gapped open at the front. Her breasts flattened against his chest as she smoothed her palms over the tight muscles of his back.

Reluctantly admiring the deftness with which she had evaded his gaze, he skinned her chemise up over her head and tossed it away. "You're wearing too much."

"You are, too," she retorted. She pulled his shirt up over his head, then tossed it away. " 'Pleasing was his shape,' " she quoted huskily, " 'and lovely.' "

He had to laugh at the rich absurdity of her imagination. "As I recall, Lucifer was in the form of the serpent when Milton said that."

"Isn't there a serpent somewhere near?" She took advantage of his shirtless state to press scalding kisses to his bare chest.

Her hands skimmed under the waistband of his breeches. He gave a harsh exhalation, and his hands tightened convulsively around her buttocks. The ripe curves fitted perfectly into his palms. Half lifting her from the floor, he molded her malleable flesh against the hard angles of his body.

She bit his shoulder, and the last of his control disintegrated. After ripping off his breeches and drawers, he swept her to the bed. They tumbled onto the mattress with an impact that made the bedframe shriek.

He bore her backward into the pillows, wanting to absorb her into himself, to feast on her intoxicating femaleness. Her mouth met his, open and demanding. They twisted together like wildcats, her hips grinding into his.

Feverishly he buried his face in the scented cleft between her breasts—tangy sweet, salt and carnations. He could not get enough of her.

As he sucked her nipple into his mouth, her whole frame shivered, her head thrown back and her chest heaving with raw demands for breath. She wore only her silk stockings.

Unable to resist the delicious curve of her abdomen, he trailed kisses down it, his breath skimming over the sensitive skin. She moaned and caught his head between her hands, pressing his face into her belly. Her satiny warmth intoxicated him.

He pushed himself up and moved between her legs, his thighs spreading her knees wide to receive him. As he did, he saw the butterfly tattoo hovering teasingly just above her ribbon garter. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to it, and felt her thrumming life force against his tongue. She gasped and spasmodically crushed handfuls of blanket in her fists.

His fingers slid through gossamer tangled curls to the hotly moist folds below. She whimpered with delirium when his fingers stroked, probing and preparing. Shaking with urgency, he positioned himself so that he was pressing into intimate heat.

Her back arched in readiness and her silk-clad ankles wrapped around his as he braced himself over her. Then, with a single eager thrust, he entered her.

She cried out—a sound of shock, not pleasure—and her nails ripped his back as she spasmed with pain.

He went rigid, the muscles of his arms and shoulders like granite, and stared down at her in disbelief. "Jesus bloody
Christ!
he exploded, his eyes changing from the lucent gold of passion to the guttering green of anger. "Why didn't you
tell
me?"

Shaking, Kit closed her eyes. Perhaps this was another nightmare and soon she would wake. But the masculine weight and texture of the body pinning her to the bed, the sharp, intimate discomfort, were inescapably real.

She opened her eyes. Taut and dangerous, Lucien loomed over her, the powerful breadth of his shoulders limned by candlelight. "I… I didn't think you would have to know," she whispered. "I didn't realize how much it would hurt."

He dropped his head forward and rested his brow on her collarbone as a shudder went through him. After a long moment, he sighed and raised his head again. "It would have hurt a great deal less if I had known in advance. Even the most skilled of actresses can't fake everything, kitten." His angry shock had passed, leaving rueful tenderness in its wake. He bent forward and touched his lips to hers in a feather-light kiss. "I'm sorry. I should have known that nothing would be simple where you are concerned. Try to relax now. The worst is over."

He was right. The tearing pain had lasted only an instant, and the uncomfortable sense of being overstretched was also ebbing. He didn't move, simply continued to soothe her with delicate nibbling kisses on her face and throat. His urgency had been transformed into patience, though the perspiration that sheened his torso testified that his restraint did not come easily.

Her body began to accept his alien presence as natural. As it did, the sensual craving that had vanished when they first joined started to build again. Very carefully she curled her hips upward. There was no pain, merely a new kind of compression that was… intriguing.

She moved again with more force. He gasped, and she felt the silky-steel length of him throbbing inside her. "You'd best be careful," he panted, "because I am very close to the breaking point."

"Break away, Lucien," she said huskily. "But you'll have to tell me what to do."

"Just… just move against me rhythmically."

He pressed deeper into her. She matched the movement, feeling the flex where they were joined. Sharp pleasure tingled through her in newly discovered places. "Like this?" she asked breathlessly.