Midnight Jewels (22 page)

Croft watched her face, drinking in the signs of her mounting passion as she quivered under his hand. Mercy knew he was watching her intently and it only seemed to add fuel to the fire within her. When he teased her with his finger, easing just barely inside her and then withdrawing, Mercy grew impatient.

"More," she begged.

"How much more?"

With a low moan of frustration, Mercy reached down to catch his wrist and force him to penetrate her more deeply with his finger. She shuddered as he willingly obliged.

"Ah," Croft said softly. "Is that what you want?"

"I may strangle you when this is over."

"Think of it as justice. Sweet justice." He introduced another finger into her and when she cried out with excitement he began slowly separating his fingers, stretching her gently.

He released his grip on her thigh and used his free hand to lightly graze the throbbing bud of her desire.

Mercy nearly came apart in his hands. She was wild for him now, arching upward, clutching at him in an effort to drag him down across her body.

"Now, Croft. Please, now, or I'll go crazy."

"We're going to find out what happens when you go crazy. I want to watch."

"I
will
strangle you. I swear it."

"But not just now, right?"

"Did anyone ever tell you that you can be a real bastard?"

"Yes. But somehow it sounds different coming from you."

"You're laughing at me!"

"No, I'm making love to you." He edged the two fingers deeper, widening the slick, hot channel. When she trembled violently, he sank down on his knees between her legs.

Slowly he withdrew his fingers. Mercy cried out in protest, but when she felt his hands on her inner thighs, she suddenly realized what was about to happen. Croft's warm bream fanned the damp, glistening curls at the juncture of her legs and Mercy's overwhelming excitement metamorphosed into overwhelming panic. She had never been kissed like this.

"Croft, don't. Stop it. Not like that. I don't want you to do that… I've never…" She was flushing furiously, starting to struggle.

He paid no attention to her stammering pleas. His fingers clamped gently into the soft skin of her inner legs, holding her in position, and then his tongue was on her in the most intimate of all kisses.

Mercy gasped at the unfamiliar caress. She tried desperately to retreat from the silky touch of his tongue. And then her panic changed back into the most unnerving kind of desire. The wildness returned, claiming her completely. She shuddered again and again as Croft tasted the heart of her.

Then she lost control completely. The coiling tension inside her gave way with a convulsive snap that sent incredible pleasures lashing through her.

Croft released her and came down on top of her before the convulsions had dimmed. He drove himself into her, groaning thickly when her body tightened instantly around him and sucked him deeply inside. Mercy could feel him, hot and huge inside her, filling her to the limit, stretching her body and the bounds of sensation until another shivering release cascaded through her.

Croft tried to pull out a short distance but ended up surging back into her hot sheath, unable to resist the pull of Mercy's climax. It sparked his own, a bolt of lightning in a hot, dry forest. The wildfire consumed him.

Mercy clung to him as she felt him spill himself inside her. For a timeless instant she was bound to Croft and he was chained to her. She could feel the invisible forces linking them and hope washed through her even as the last of the sensual pleasure faded from her veins.

It may not have been the safest way to let Croft make love to her, but at least she knew for certain she was getting some genuine emotion from him. She didn't want to think about the emotion he was getting from her. She was certain there was far too much of it. It was dangerous to let him know she was this vulnerable to him, but there was no way to avoid it. All she could do was endeavor to take him with her whenever she lost control in his arms.

Croft opened his eyes slowly, still half intoxicated by the warm, spicy scent of Mercy's perspiration damp body. One of her legs was still curled around his. Her fingers were trailing across his shoulder and around the back of his neck as if she were conducting an idle survey of him.

He stretched slowly, flexing his back muscles as he carefully eased himself out of Mercy's clinging warmth. He looked down at her and saw her watching him through a veil of lashes. He realized he felt totally replete and completely drained. It was an effort just to move off of her and lay down beside her, but he managed it. A moment later his legs dangled over the edge alongside hers. He put a hand on her thigh, squeezing gently.

He felt good. Better than good. He felt magnificent. All-conquering, all-powerful and filled with a gracious, generous tenderness toward the vanquished.

The only problem was that once again he wasn't quite sure which of them was the vanquished. How did she do it to him? he wondered. How did she pull him so thoroughly into the sensual storm? He had intended to ride
that thunder and control it, but it never seemed to work out that way. Instead she pushed him and goaded him and beat on him until he lost the self-control he had taken for granted for years. The next thing he knew he was sucked into the heart of the whirlwind, his emotions raging as wildly as Mercy's.

Croft grinned suddenly in the darkness. At least they went over the edge together. She was such a stubborn little thing, so bound and determined not to be the only victim of the seduction. Well, he could afford to overlook her initial stubbornness. She had learned her lesson and he had gotten more than he'd bargained for when he had decided that it was time to remind Mercy where her loyalties lay.

"You're a reckless woman, Mercy Pennington. One of these days you're going to get into real trouble."

"With whom?"

He laughed softly, hearing the teasing tartness in her whispering voice. "With me, of course. You think I'm going to let you mess around and get into trouble with anyone else? Try asking permission just once to go out and play with some other man and see what happens."

"If I have to ask permission to get into trouble with anyone else, I am in real trouble," she observed thoughtfully.

"Your logic is impeccable, sweetheart. You've got it in one." Croft decided not to dwell on the primitive, satisfying sense of possession in which he was wallowing. He knew enough to realize there were some reactions it was better not to question or analyze. It was like trusting instincts. Some things a person just accepted and accommodated.

He raised himself on one elbow and decided that it would be more comfortable for both of them if he adjusted his and Mercy's positions on the bed.

"Up you go," he murmured, sitting up beside her, changing position and tugging her back down onto the pillows. "That's better."

"Croft?"

He glanced at his watch, frowning at the time. "It's late, sweetheart. Better get some sleep." The household should be settled down by now, he decided. Unless Gladstone really did have a listening device planted in Mercy's room. The image of the elegant Gladstone, attired in a silk smoking jacket, hunched over the receiver as he got hard and frustrated listening to Mercy climax in Croft's arms was amusing. Croft decided not to mention it to Mercy, however. She probably wouldn't find it humorous at all.

"Croft, I think we should talk."

He leaned over and kissed her mouth, effectively closing it. "Not here. Not now. Go to sleep, honey."

"But, Croft—"

He put his mouth to her ear. "Bugs."

"Oh." Her eyes widened faintly. It was obvious she had temporarily forgotten the possibility of hidden microphones.

"Sleep." He made it an order and smiled to himself when she gave a resigned sigh and obediently closed her eyes.

There were advantages to letting Mercy think her every word might be monitored, although Croft was privately certain the room was clean. The lady was too unpredictable and
much too rash. She needed to be lightly but firmly reined in, he told himself.

He was beginning to think he was just the man who could handle that challenging task.

Croft let another forty-five minutes go by before he reluctantly released Mercy's soft, curled body. Then he got out of bed without making any sudden distributions of weight that might awaken her. He made his way back to his own room on silent feet and pulled on a pair of jeans.

He let himself outside into the hall. He was already adjusted to the quiet shadows. All he had to do was make himself one of them. He wouldn't use the stairs. The possibility of a weight-sensing device under the carpet was too strong.

Croft took hold of the railing along the landing, tested it briefly with his hands, then vaulted lightly over the side. He dangled for a moment, his hands around the railing, and listened intently. When he heard nothing to alarm him be began making his way downstairs using the supporting posts of the banister for hand holds. A moment later he dropped soundlessly to the main level of the house.

One more level to go.

Mercy discovered she was tired of waking up in the middle of the night with a sense of something being wrong. This sort of tiling, repeated on a regular basis, could turn a woman into a devoted insomniac. At least this time she was able to figure out the problem as soon as she stretched and wriggled one foot under the quilt.

Croft was gone.

The bastard
. Mercy sat bolt upright, fuming. Who the hell did he think he was to believe he could just walk into her bedroom any time he pleased, take a quick, flying leap into bed with her and then walk out again before dawn? The man was definitely a diamond in the rough in spite of his fancy meditation habits and his persnickety tastes in tea. If he was going to insist on hanging around her, she decided as she threw back the covers, he was going to get some polishing.

Shape up or ship out as her Uncle Sid always said.

She hurried across the room, grabbed her lightweight traveling robe and went briskly through the closed connecting door. Once on the other side she stopped, letting her eyes adjust to a different set of shadows. It didn't take her long to realize Croft wasn't in the room.

Feminine pique gave way to dread. Mercy reached out to steady herself with a hand against the door. She had almost forgotten
that Croft still considered himself on a mission of sorts. She might have no real doubts about Gladstone's honesty and integrity, but Croft would not be so easily convinced. It was very likely he had gone in search of evidence.

Visions of humiliating discovery and embarrassed, awkward explanations flashed into her mind. She could just imagine what would happen if Dallas or Lance came across Croft going through desk drawers or fiddling with the lock on the library vault.

The vault.

It was the most obvious place. If Croft were out skulking around he would undoubtedly head straight for the vault. He had once claimed he had originally traced Egan Graves through his book collecting habits. He'd said he intended to start his current investigation by trying to get a better look at Gladstone's collection so
that he could compare it with what he knew of Graves' book buying habits. But heaven help her and Croft both if he was discovered nosing through the vault. Mercy was positive no one was going to be very understanding.