Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(66)
They came apart with a gasp, both stunned by the heavy blow of their ardor. Trembling, Shanna leaned against the stacked barrels, helpless, drained of strength. Her eyes were closed, and her bosom heaved with her effort to breathe.
His self-control sorely strained, Ruark almost took her in his arms again, but the thought intruded—Not in a dingy cellar! She was worth so much more than that to him. And they’d only come, and he’d be snatched away again. Patience! Patience, man!
Ruark struck down his ravenous lusts with an iron will and turning, slowly climbed the stairs, letting his body and brain cool as he went. He caught Mister MacLaird’s eye as he opened the door and shrugged away his question.
“She’s counting the kegs.”
When Ruark entered the cellar again, Shanna had also composed herself, but her eyes followed him until he returned to her side, then she whispered, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he murmured as he gently wiped a smudge from her arm. “There will be a better time and a better place than this.”
Ruark went for another load, and as he brought the last kegs into the store, Shanna was being led out the door by Mister MacLaird. Milly still gawked, her hunger bold in her eyes; and rather than face her mewling attention, Ruark slammed the cellar doors, snatched up his hat and shirt, and left with what one might have called undue haste.
Chapter 8
MORNING BLOSSOMED with vibrant hues that glistened upon and changed the color of the waters, touching the tossing surf with the pinks and golds of the breaking dawn. The very air seemed laden with a rosy mist, and the greens of the lawn and trees spread endlessly beneath until they joined the blue of the gently rolling sea.
Shanna stood alone on her balcony, bathed in the pale, soft gold of the rising sun. Her pastel dressing gown was like a cloud swirling about her, rising on the fitful breezes that stirred the fragrance from the flowering vine twining about the balustrade. Her face was cast in a wistful mood, her eyes yearning, and her fair lips parted as if in anticipation of a kiss. Her arms hugged her slender waist as if they sought to replace a lover’s embrace which now was but a memory of yesterday.
The glory of the dawn faded into the bright light of day as the sun cleared its bulk from the horizon and began the arching flight across the sky. Sighing, Shanna returned to her bed and tried once more to sleep before the heat reached her room and she would be forced to rise. Closing her eyes, she felt again the almost-pain as her breasts were crushed against Ruark’s unyielding chest and the warmth of his breath against her cheek; once more she saw the urgency in his golden gaze as he lowered his lips to hers.
Shanna’s eyes flew open, for again the awakening of pleasure deep within her was strong and disturbing. And so it had been the whole night long. When she relaxed, the memory of her own response seared through her brain, flooding her body with a pulsing warm excitement.
What was the cure for this malady? Shanna moaned to herself. Why was she so afflicted? Was she one who would ever yearn for men but find satisfaction with none? She had been mauled before under the attentions of much more lordly men and found no softening of her heart, yet now her mind ever envisioned the face of that one who haunted her, this Ruark, this demon, this dragon of her dreams.
Her eyelids were heavy with the need of sleep, and slowly she succumbed to the weight, her mind sailing uneasily upon a tossing sea of slumber. He was there, with his gleaming, glistening body of oiled bronze, waiting for her just before she could reach her dreams, and she knew if she touched him, he would be hard and real.
Her eyes found his face and were trapped there by some satanic seduction. The eyes raked her like golden talons while he leered and jeered, and the lips moved unceasingly in a low, cracked whisper:
“Come to me. Bend to me. Yield yourself. Give yourself. Come.”
She resisted, all on the strength of her fear. Then the face began to change. The nose grew into a long, dragonlike snout with smoke curling from the nostrils. His skin became green with warted scales, and the eyes glowed like twin gold-lensed lanterns, snaring her gaze with their hypnotic brightness. The ears stood out like tiny bat-shaped wings. The white toothed leer became a fixed grin, gaping wide and edged with evil fangs. Then with a bellowing roar, he breathed out flames which engulfed her in a searing passion, tingling across her body, sapping her strength, weakening her will, drawing out her every resolve until she groveled in helpless terror, begging the beast to cease, crying for his mercy, fighting for her breath in the airless flame.
Shanna woke with a chill trembling her, yet the heat of the room brought perspiration. Her gown and the sheets were wet with it. She was fighting for air, gasping to draw a full breath as if some heavy, unseen presence crossed her face. In panic she flung herself from the bed and ran out onto the balcony. There, reason returned, and she calmed. The world was as it had been, the sun but a trifle higher and the day but a trifle warmer.