Forever His(13)

Celine didn’t know which surprised her more: that such a powerful man could be so gentle, or that she had stopped shivering.

She no longer felt cold or terrified. It was ridiculous—insane!—to feel safe in the arms of a naked stranger, especially one with the build of a world-class weight lifter ... but she did. She couldn’t explain it. She only knew that she hadn’t seen him at the party or anywhere before. No man like this could walk around without drawing the stunned attention of every red-blooded female over fourteen!

“I-I ...” She struggled to find her voice and answer his question, but couldn’t think over the thunder of his steady heartbeat beneath her cheek. “Wh-what did you ask me?”

“It was naught, ma petite.” He laughed again, and she felt as well as heard the easy, pleasant sound this time. His voice, however, sounded strained, unsteady, as if he were just as affected as she by the unexpected currents flowing between them. “Fie, but I am hard put to remember who you are. I truly do not recall taking a woman to my bed last night—certainly not you. Even drunk, I would remember making love to you.”

“We didn’t make love,” she said breathlessly. “That’s what I’ve been telling you all—”

“It matters not. You are here now and we shall remedy the oversight. Tell me, are you one of the beauties who came to the feast with Edric and his party from Languedoc?”

“No, I’m ...” She lost her voice again. His hands were moving, to her shoulders, down her back, to her waist in a slow caress. “I’m ... from Chicago.”

He lowered his head to hers. “I know not this land ‘Chicago,’ ” he whispered, his breath warm against her lips. “But let me sample the sweetness of one of its fair flowers.”

His mouth captured hers with a strong, soft heat and Celine discovered something far sexier than this man’s voice or his body. His kiss. She never had the chance to think of a protest. To think at all.

She had been kissed before, but never like this.

It was neither awkward and teasing nor forceful and overpowering, but long, slow, confident, and devastating.

It was as if he were binding them together, deftly drawing her soul into his.

He tasted of wine and strong spices and the virile promise of shared pleasure. Of strength and tenderness beyond anything she had ever imagined. Her knees gave way. He held on to her effortlessly. His lips melded gently to hers ... then gradually parted.

He angled his head, deepening the intimacy, and Celine made a small sound in the back of her throat. She didn’t know what it was; she had never made a little cry like that before, almost feline, somehow ... restless. Wanting. It seemed more like a plea than the objection she had intended. Her hands pressed against his ribs, but instead of pushing him away as she knew she should, she found herself exploring the corded muscles she encountered there, entranced by the unfamiliar angles and hardness. She felt his breathing quicken, heard a moan shudder out of him, deep and masculine.

Before she could gather up the scattered confetti of her senses, she felt herself slipping deeper into the kiss. Into him. Into this stranger in the darkness who teased her and laughed with her, touched her, awakened her, electrified her in a way no man ever had.

Before she could stop herself, her arms slid around his back and she was holding on to him as much as he was holding her.

His kiss became bolder, more intense. The first touch of his tongue against hers dragged a soft moan from her lips. She felt his arms tremble, as if he were fighting for control. His tongue flicked against hers, retreated, then returned, sliding, seeking. She tasted him, breathed him, felt hot needles of unfamiliar hunger. His bristly five-o’clock shadow rubbed roughly against her chin and jaw.

If ever she had had cause for nervousness, uncertainty, fear, it was now—but that was not what she felt.

She felt longing, she felt tenderness, she felt ... right. She wanted this. As if she had been waiting her whole life.

And in her heart, she knew that she had.

She felt alive. More alive and whole than she had for as many months as she could remember. She nearly sobbed with the joy of it. She must have made some sound, because he broke the kiss and lifted his head.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Neither of them did. They just stood there, clinging to one another in the dark, breathing hard. The heat between them was so tangible it felt as if the furnace had been turned on, full blast.

After a second, the sensual fog that he had spun around her cleared a bit. “Wait,” she whispered. “I-I can’t ... I mean, I don’t—I’m not—”

“Nay, do not pull away.” He lowered his head, nibbled at her lower lip, then nudged at her chin, urging her to tilt her head back. “You are all I could wish, little flower. You are fire and softness and you taste of a sweetness beyond any I have known. Stay with me,” he asked. “Touch me. Let me touch you.”