Rexanne Becnel (35 page)

Against her will, her eyes sought out Dillon, standing tall and handsome among the other, less vital men. Dancing would never be the same without him as her partner. No man could ever compare with him or be good enough for her. Not after Dillon.

Her decision came easily. It was not even a decision in the truest sense, but more an innate understanding. By the time Mr. Andrews returned her to Dillon’s side, murmuring his blushing thanks, she already knew.

Mr. Andrews—Roger, as he’d insisted she call him—was obviously enamored of her. With only a little encouragement, he would vote with her, yet that did not begin to be enough in a man. When Dillon again led her out to the dance floor, his hand possessively riding her waist, she knew that only
his
touch, only
his
caress would ever be enough for her. She would not marry him, not the way he wanted her. But she would have him in her arms at least one more time. She would have his love, or at least the physical expression of it one last time. Whether she won or lost tomorrow, whether she was able to keep the school going or not, Dillon was someone she would carry in her heart forever. After this, she would have to keep her distance from him. But tonight…

She determinedly ignored all the dire repercussions her rash decision might carry with it. They had nothing to do with her heart anyway. Without thinking she moved a little closer to Dillon. She became more pliable in his arms, more fluid in her movements.

Dillon looked down at her curiously, but she did not meet his astute gaze. She knew she was too transparent and that all her emotions were an open book to him. Although she was willing to surrender to his exquisite embrace and thrilling kisses, something in her feared to let him see how deeply she really felt about him. If he knew that she loved him, it would be too hard. It would be impossible.

They would be lovers, she decided. One more time they would be lovers. But she would never let him know that she loved him.

In the hours that followed Lacie felt like Cinderella at the ball. Dillon, a most convincing prince, was her constant escort, seeing to her needs most earnestly. He monopolized her on the dance floor, not hesitating to stop anyone who approached with his dark, quelling stare. Their conversation steered clear of business as if by mutual agreement. It occurred to her that he might be deliberately trying to prevent her from circulating among the other board members and garnering their support. But even if he were, she didn’t care.

As the evening wore on, she knew that he sensed the change in her. It was in his eyes, intense now as he stared down into her upturned face.

“What are you thinking?” he asked as they swayed in slow, sensuous steps through the thinning crowd.

Lacie returned his steady gaze, searching still for an emotion she could never expect to find. “How unlike any other man you are,” she replied without pausing to consider her words.

One of his dark brows arched at this unexpected honesty.

“And what should I read into that?”

“Whatever you like,” she answered. Under differing circumstances, her reply would have been light and amusing, but here it was anything but. She felt his embrace tighten. With every breath, she felt the intimate pressure of his chest against her breasts. His voice lowered to a husky murmur.

“And you are quite unlike any other woman I’ve ever met, Lacie.” She felt the warmth of his breath stirring her hair, teasing against her ear. “All fire and ice. Yesses and nos.” He whirled her around until she was dizzy and faint. “My adversary. My partner.”

“So you admit we are partners?” she asked breathlessly.

His answer was only a faint, heart-stopping smile. She was hardly aware that he had danced her out onto the roof terrace, she was so undone by that smile. Then he pulled her firmly against him so that her every contour was fitted against his.

“I burn for you, Lacie. Here.” His hand moved to her derriere, then pressed her against the hard warmth of his arousal. “And here.” He lowered his head and took her lips in a deep, searing kiss.

Lacie had no thoughts of denial or resistance. This was their time. It would be their only time, and nothing on earth—or in heaven—would make her turn him away. Her mouth was pliant beneath his demanding kiss. Her lips opened to his searching, and her tongue crept readily forward to meet his.

There was no slow warming in their, desperate embrace. It was more like an explosion, as if the entire evening had been a buildup and now they could release the powerful desires that gripped them both. They clung ferociously together, their bodies perfectly aligned, their two desires one.

The ground spun dizzily beneath Lacie’s feet. Dillon was the center of the world, and everything—even the stars—circled them at his command. She was overwhelmed by the sheer power of it, the perfection, the inevitability. He was the center of the world, and she had been a fool to struggle against him for so long, when to give in was to find every pleasure she could want, every delight she could imagine, and more.

She was drowning in sweetness, engulfed in a fire that scorched her, both body and soul. Dillon’s solid presence was the only constant, both the source and the relief of the torments that consumed her. When he raised his head, gasping raggedly for breath, she let out a low moan, then pressed her face against his chest. Her decision was right, she knew without doubt. He would be hers tonight, and she would be his.

“I won’t let you go this time,” he murmured hoarsely. “There’s no turning back for you and me, Lacie. No turning back.”

Tears caught in her throat, making her reply impossible. But her answer was clear in the way she clung to him so recklessly, in the way she stretched up to meet his kiss.

Soft yet demanding, her lips opened to him with an urgency that tortured them both. In that kiss their pact was sealed. In that moment her answer was clear, and she sensed the answering triumph in his tightened embrace. When he finally drew back from her, holding her at arm’s length, he was breathing hard and for once he seemed almost as shaken as she. Still, that little distance did nothing to dim the fire that heated between them. Despite her voluminous skirts and his civilized attire, she could feel as distinctly as if they were clinging together the imprint of his virile masculine form upon her.

“I’ll have you tonight—and forever,” he said in a hoarse tone that seemed almost a warning. His eyes pierced her very soul with their intensity. When she nodded her mute acceptance, however, his hands tightened almost painfully on her upper arms. “I mean it, Lacie. I’ll have everything from you tonight. Everything.”

He would have more than he even knew, she thought. Tonight he would even have the love she could not admit to feeling. But tomorrow…

She refused to think about that. And as he pulled her nearer for an achingly sweet kiss, thoughts of the future disappeared from her mind. Tonight was Dillon, and he was all there was. He was all there ever would be.

She was unsteady when he led her back to the ballroom. As they bade the other guests good-bye, her mind was focused only on Dillon. His voice as he spoke to the others warmed her with its deep resonance. His solid arm beneath her hand was her only reality. When his eyes met hers she was at once both faint with desire and energized by her powerful need for him. A part of her knew she was giving herself away to him, letting him see far too much of her feelings. But she had gone too far to turn back.

When the last couple departed, they watched the door close behind them. At the far end of the room she heard the musicians scraping back their chairs, packing their instruments for departure. Then silence descended, and they were alone.

Lacie was trembling. It started as a little quiver in her belly, then worked its way up until she was hot and shaking. Dillon pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms about her waist and pulling her back against his chest so that he could bury his face in her hair. It was an exquisite feeling to have him behind her yet hold her captive in his arms. Then one of his hands slid down and splayed open, flattening intimately against her belly and pressing her derriere against the rigid contours of his loins.

Like fire his touch burned her. Like a torch she ignited beneath his fiery caress. It flashed through her mind that she would love to give him a child, that carrying his baby inside her would be the most satisfying thing she could ever do. Then his hand slid a little lower, and she cried out at the exquisite torture of it.

“My sweet, sweet girl. Are you an angel—or a devil?” He pressed himself hard against her, then abruptly pulled away. With hard-won control he took her arm in a more civilized manner and led her without further word to the door. Yet even in their seemingly polite walk across the hall and down one flight of stairs, she was conscious of a barely restrained passion within him. To all eyes he might appear the sophisticated gentleman and she the proper lady. But beneath the surface lurked darker emotions, and when he let them into her room and then locked the door behind them, she was relieved to drop the facade.

Her heart was racing as he leaned back against the door. His eyes were so dark, so filled with fiery light, that she felt burned by their intimate caress. He shrugged out of his coat and flung it negligently aside. Then he stepped nearer, and she was sure he meant to take her in his arms. She was aching for him, ready to rip her clothes away, so desperate and impatient was she for his touch. But Dillon, like one transfixed, had decided already on a course of action, and she could only submit to his whim.

He loosened her hair first, letting the hairpins fall where they would, then filled his hands with her thick, dark tresses. The velvet ribbons were next, but he did not discard them. Instead, he left them lying across the back of her neck and looped the freed ends across his own shoulders. They made a black, glittering connection between the two of them, dark and shining, tenuous and fragile, yet unable to be ignored, like the unseen, powerful attraction that had pulled them unrelentingly toward one another since the day they had met.

He moved slowly around behind her, and she felt the ribbons slide slowly along her neck, as seductive as his own touch would be. Then he bent and lightly kissed the sensitive spot beneath her ear, teasing it with the tip of his tongue.

“Dillon…” Her word was a soft whisper, hardly more than a sigh.

His answer came in his touch. With hands less sure than they had been earlier when he had buttoned up her gown, he unfastened the long row of buttons. With each jet button he folded the fabric of her bodice back, revealing her pale trembling skin, planting more of those warm wet kisses as he went. By the time he had slid the gown over her hips and let it fall in a shimmering black heap at her feet, followed by her crinoline, she was shaking with longing, quite mad with desire.

Then he tugged lightly on the ribbon wound about her neck and drew her once more against him. With her derriere pressed intimately to him and her head fallen back against his shoulders, his hands were free to continue their task. Her corset ties were next, then her slip, until she was clad only in her chemise and pantalets.

His head lowered to her shoulder then, and his kisses grew more passionate as he licked and bit the soft skin near her throat.

When his hands moved up to cup her breasts, she gasped at the response that flooded her. Back and forth across her erect nipples he stroked, until the pleasure was so acute as to approach pain, and she struggled away from his masterful caress.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered urgently.

“I—I can’t help it,” she groaned as he stepped up his sensual assault.

He moved one hand down to her belly and this time let his palm slide lower until he cupped her most intimately in his hand.

“I don’t want you ever to fight me again,” he ordered in a hoarse voice. He let one finger slip between her legs and slide langorously back and forth over the bud that marked the center of her sexual being. “Do you hear me, Lacie?”

She could do no more than nod weakly, for with his clever touch he had ignited a flame that already raced out of control. In fast mounting waves it raised her higher and higher, melting her, dissolving her until she was only what he wanted her to be. With each stroke he brought her closer until she was wet with desire, her whole body quivering on the brink of explosion.

But he knew what he was doing to her, and with a deliberateness that should have outraged her, he slowly pulled his hand away. To her soft cry of disappointment, she felt his answering shudder of self-imposed restraint, but when she turned to embrace him face to face, he held her a little away.

“You have tortured me without mercy, Lacie. Without mercy.” His dark gaze raked over her barely clad form with an avidness that heightened all of her senses. Then his eyes leveled with hers. “You’ve tortured me night after night, and now I shall return the favor.”

His sensuous threat sent a new thrill through her, for such a torture she would gladly endure from him. Slowly, as she watched his every move, he stripped his clothes away, waistcoat, neckcloth, collar, shirt, and studs. Then his boots and socks, followed by his trousers. When he finally stood before her clad only in his silkalines, she could hardly breathe for the emotions that choked her. He was so beautiful, so perfectly formed, with powerful shoulders and arms, and lean waist and belly. Where her own body was soft and pale, his was hard and brown. As her eyes drank in the sight, her skin tingled at the remembered feel of his naked form pressing down upon hers.

How long had she tried to bury that memory? And how vividly had it surfaced over and over again, tormenting her dreams and leaving her weak and aching for him? But now he was here and this time…this time…

He slid his last garment off, never letting his eyes veer from her face. She was unable not to stare at the mighty evidence of the desire he felt for her. Strong and proud, it proclaimed his intentions, and she felt herself grow weak at the very sight. When he approached, her eyes closed, for the intensity of it all was too much to bear. With one hand he slipped her chemise from her left shoulder, then from her right. The fabric caught on the prominent crests of her bosom, but with one finger at the shadow between her breasts he tugged at the flimsy garment, and like an excruciating caress the soft linen slid over her highly aroused nipples.