He shifted his hand slightly, slipping one finger inside her, and her breath stopped altogether. His thumb took possession of the sensitive bud hidden by her damp curls.
The slow, patient, perfect brush of his thumb against that part of her that so ached for his caress ... and the indescribable sensation of having him touch her inside ...
She cried out brokenly as she felt a tremor beginning, spiraling upward from deep within her body, tension that wound tighter ... tighter ...
She gripped fistfuls of the cloak, bit her lip until she drew blood, helpless against the pleasure that whipped through her, helpless against the wildness rising from some unknown, savage place inside her.
She could not fight it, could not resist the ecstasy rushing through her. Could not deny him any more than she had been able to deny his kiss.
Or the feelings she had for him.
But there was no time to think. His touch was sweeping her upward, carrying her to an unexplored place, lifting her free of the earth in the same strong, powerful way he had lifted her free of the water. His fingers began to move faster within her, his thumb alternating soft, teasing flicks with rough, demanding caresses.
“Gaston!”
It was the last word she spoke before the spiral broke. In a single beat of her racing heart, an exploding shower of fire and light claimed her, cascading through her with an intensity beyond anything she had ever imagined. Pleasure raked her every muscle and nerve ending and she writhed in its grasp, uttering a primitive cry of revelation and release that echoed through the trees and the night. And when it had passed, she went limp, trembling, weak, as if she had just been born.
Gaston wrapped the cloak around her and pulled her into his arms, holding her close, his embrace strong and secure as the world spun wildly. She breathed into his shoulder, feeling his heart pounding as hard as hers.
“My sweet, sweet Celine,” he said roughly, holding her tighter.
Celine felt a surge of joy in the midst of her blissful light-headedness. He had remembered her name, her real name. She did matter to him. She wasn’t just another female body, interchangeable with all the rest.
She lifted her head from his shoulder, still dizzy and weak and languid. “Th-that was ... it was ...”
“Nay, do not try to describe it, little one.” He rained kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her lips. “Saints’ blood, how I want you. Damn my black soul, I want you to stay with me.”
Celine was stunned. “Gaston, I can’t—”
“Nay, I want you, and I know you want me. Do not deny what we both know is true.” He cupped her face in his broad hands, looking at her intently, his eyes burning with reflected firelight. “You cannot deny it any longer. Not now. By nails and blood, I must have you. There is a way—”
“Gaston, I can’t stay with you—”
“Nay, listen to me. There is a way out of this, for us both.” He kissed her again. “If you will go before the King and tell the truth, it will release me from our marriage so that I may wed Lady Rosalind. Then we will be free. Free to share our pleasure for as long as we wish. You can stay with me. As my mistress.”
Celine stared at him, her pulse roaring in her ears. She didn’t know which she felt first: fury or hurt. Both ripped through her with such force, she almost slapped him.
“As your mistress?” she cried. “And what about your wife?”
“Wives are for land and for heirs, naught more,” Gaston said dismissively, stroking her cheeks gently, looking as if he thought this was a perfectly reasonable offer. “I will bed her only to get sons—but you, my lady of fire, you will have my passion.”
“And what of your love?” she demanded furiously. “Which one of us gets that?”
His expression hardened. “That discussion we have already finished, ma dame.”
Celine felt so crushed by hurt and disappointment and disbelief that she couldn’t stand to be near him. She thrust herself out of his embrace, scooting backward, taking the cloak with her. “If you offer me passion without love, you offer me nothing!”
“Do you refuse me?” He seemed both surprised and irritated.
“Do you really think I would stay as—” She broke off, feeling tears burning her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, anyway! This is impossible. We’re impossible! I’m from 1993 and I have to go back to my own time. Don’t you understand?”
“Nay, I do not understand your lies in the least, Christiane.” He reached out to cup her chin. “But you, I believe, do understand. I have been proved right. Despite all your naive female notions of love, milady, you have just shown how beautifully you respond to pleasure.”