She slipped over him like a glove, her eyes closed as he entered her more and more fully, until she was filled with him. Then he drew her body down in a lissome curve until her breast was in his mouth. Sheer delight transfixing her, Lia buried her fingers in the tangle of blond hair on his chest and threw back her head. This time her climax came as slowly as the heat of a summer day rises with the dawn; her heart began to race against his palm. Not until then did Seth start moving deep within her, long, slow strokes that drove her closer and closer to the edge.
With exquisite timing he waited for his own release until the sharp cries of completion were breaking from her lips. As she rode him, her own excitement like a goad, he rose to meet her and fell with her into that abyss that was both a presage of death and the joy of rebirth.
This time it was Lia who fell on top of Seth, her mask digging into his chest. Part of her wanted to rip it off just because it was uncomfortable; part of her longed to rid herself of it so that he could see her eyes, stunned and slumberous with fulfillment.
But she mustn't. She couldn't. She had a life outside this room. She'd lose any ability to focus on that life if she allowed Seth Talbot to become part of it; she wouldn't even be able to pick up her violin, let alone tune it.
She couldn't toss away something that had been her sole purpose for seventeen years just because of one man. Just because his green eyes with their darts of gold fire had cast a spell over her.
"Are you all right?" Seth said gently, his arm tightening around her in a way she could only interpret as possessive.
She strove to find her voice. To move back from a place where she'd turned into a stranger, a woman whose existence she'd never suspected. "Yes. No. You sure ask complicated questions."
He chuckled, a deep reverberation in his chest. "You flatter me."
"Believe me, this has nothing to do with flattery."
"So you like making love with me."
"There's no need to fish for compliments, Seth Talbot. Like nowhere near approximates how you make me feel. But do you know what?"
"I couldn't possibly guess."
"I didn't have any supper, because I was going to eat at the ball. I'm hungry."
"For food? When you've got me?"
"Yep," she chuckled. "Sorry about that."
He sat up, pulling her with him. "There's a wonderful invention called room service. What would you like?"
His smile had warmed those remarkable green eyes. Was she mad to think tenderness was the emotion behind that warmth? A tenderness that curled gentle fingers around her heart. She said hastily, "Seafood crêpes and surprise me with dessert."
"Done," he said. He reached for the phone, spoke rapidly into it in impeccable French, and replaced the receiver. Standing up, he stretched with lazy sensuality. "I feel great."
"You look better than great," she said primly, "and shouldn't you put something on before you answer the door?"
"Wouldn't want to shock the management." He disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. Moments later he came back with two white robes, monogrammed in gold on the pockets with the insignia of the hotel. "One for you," he said, tossing it in her lap. His voice deepened. "I don't want anyone but me seeing your beauty."
I want to put my seal on you … wasn't that what he'd said?
She couldn't handle such possessiveness; yet didn't the mere thought of him with another woman spur her with a hot jab of jealousy?
Explain that, Lia, she thought; and knew she couldn't.
CHAPTER THREE
LIA lifted the soft white folds of the robe to her face so that her breasts-which she'd always thought were rather too full-were hidden from Seth. "Beauty?" she repeated. "My body's okay. But it's not-"
"You're exquisite," he said shortly.
"Oh," said Lia, knowing she was blushing under her mask and makeup. "Not much point in arguing with that tone of voice."
"None whatsoever. I get the feeling you haven't had many compliments in your life."
Her parents, wrapped up in their own careers, had each had extraordinarily high standards. They'd dispensed advice when they'd thought of it, but little in the way of praise. Lionel, with whom she'd had that short-lived affair, had been too self-absorbed to bother with compliments. As for her music, it was only lately that the critics had started noticing her. A few had doled out cautious doses of praise; and how she'd hungered for that, she thought with uncomfortable truth.
"You've gone a long way away," Seth said.
With a tiny jolt Lia came back to the present. To a man who demanded the truth from her, just as the violin did. She said irritably, tracing the gold monogram with one finger, "You shake me up … and I don't just mean sexually."
Because her head was downbent, she didn't see how his eyes sharpened, nor how intently they were studying her. "Good," he said. "Ah, there's the door. I'll be right back."
She heard the murmur of voices from the other room, then Seth wheeled a mahogany trolley covered with starched white linen into the bedroom. He whipped off the coverings with a flourish, and within moments she was sitting beside him in bed, balancing a Limoges plate on a tray. The crêpes looked and smelled delicious. "Bon appétit," she said, and tucked in with gusto.
Seth poured her a glass of chilled Chardonnay from one of the most famous of French châteaux; again she was unaware of how watchful his eyes were as she ate and drank, enjoying each mouthful. After she'd wiped the last drop of the luscious, velvety sauce from her plate with a piece of crunchy baguette, he removed the silver cover from a platter of French pastries.
Lia's eyes widened. "They're works of art. Oh look, perfect little swans filled with whipped cream … I'll have one of those."
She let her teeth sink into the delicately crunchy puff pastry; the cream was flavored with Grand Marnier. "I've died and gone to heaven," she pronounced.
"So I have a rival already."
She laughed, dabbed some cream on his chin and leaned over to lick it off with deliberate seductiveness. "Can't I have the swans as well as you?"
He passed her a glazed strawberry embedded in crème anglaise and the lightest of pastry. "You have an appetite for life, little butterfly."
Lia licked more cream from her fingers. "Life is meant to be lived," she said grandly.
"You're what-twenty? Twenty-one? And only one bed partner until tonight? That's not what I'd call living life to the full."
"I'm twenty-two years old and I'm interested in things other than sex," she retorted. "Don't let's argue, Seth, I'm having too much fun."
"What things? What do you do with yourself when you're not going to masked balls?"
Subconsciously, hadn't she been expecting his curiosity to surface? Her chin defiantly tilted, she said, "I'm not asking you what you do for your living, and I don't want you asking me-you promised you wouldn't pry."
"I own and run Talbot Holdings. Ever heard of them?"
Her hands had stilled. "Tal-Air?" she said. He nodded. "I often fly with your company. The planes are on time, the seats are comfortable and the staff friendly."
"We try," Seth said, adding easily, "so you fly a lot?"
She'd been stupid to have volunteered that scrap of personal information. "Not a lot," Lia said coolly. "Do you own Tal-Oil as well?"
He nodded. "Along with a line of tankers and cruise ships."
"This suite makes more sense," she said, and took the last mouthful of her pastry. "As do the swans. You're a very rich man." On purpose she made this sound, subtly, like an insult.
Seth bit into a chocolate éclair. "Belgian chocolate," he said amiably. "Want some?"
His change of subject threw her. As he'd probably intended. "Is Paris for lovers?" she rejoined, and rested her hand on his as she bit into the smooth, rich chocolate.
"So are we making love or war?" he asked with deliberate provocation.
"You tell me."
He lifted the tray from her lap, swung his feet down and pulled her to her feet. "Come with me-I want to show you the balcony."
His hand was tugging her along, the hand that had explored her body with such devastating intimacy. In her bare feet Lia padded across what felt like an acre of carpet. Seth swung open the doors and she stepped outside into massed potted flowers, the cool of night and the magic of this most magical of cities. Behind them sighed the unending traffic from Rue de Rivoli; past Jardin des Tuileries lay the river Seine; the lights of the Latin quarter and Les Invalides spangled the sky. Lia gave a sigh of pure happiness. "Glorious," she whispered.