She saw the slow burn begin deep in the smoky irises and drew in her breath sharply, totally and stingingly aware of him, of this silent seclusion. He wanted her. It was there in his eyes, in the tightness of the line of his mouth. He wanted her and she needed him...
‘Get to bed,’ he said roughly. ‘You look done in.’ He turned, retrieved the trophy and put it down on a coffee table. Elena swayed on her feet.
The split second of danger was over. He’d successfully fought it off. But she could still feel the dark sting of it pulsing through her veins. All the wanting, all the need, had practically solidified into something she could reach out and touch. Emotion powered through her as she faced the acres of carpet, the bedroom door that seemed to shimmer and shift, recede even further into the distance.
She swayed dizzily, and strong hands grasped her shoulders, steadying her, holding her. ‘You’re ill?’ he demanded, using one hand to lift her chin and read the truth in her eyes.
‘No,’ she whispered threadily, deploring the weak rush of tears to her eyes, the way her lips parted helplessly as he gently brushed the moisture away with the ball of his thumb.
‘Don’t! I can’t bear to see you cry,’ he said rawly. ‘Tonight you looked so beautiful, so assured. I want you to stay that way. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to be unhappy.’ He folded his arms around her, holding her just a little away from him, as if he wanted to make sure that their bodies didn’t actually touch. ‘I thought I did, but now I know I can’t hate you that much.’
A primitive spurt of anger made her pull in a ragged breath. She felt humiliated. His emotions where she was concerned weren’t powerful enough to even let him hate her properly! Had his former so-called love for her been similarly lukewarm? Was that the reason he’d been able to shut her out of his heart so damned easily? Had refusing to believe the truth about her baby’s conception been the easy way out for him?
She felt weak and shaken, but she balled her hands into fists and pushed feebly at his chest. He ignored her childishly ineffectual blows and scooped her up off her feet. ‘You’re physically and emotionally exhausted,’ he told her in a matter-of-fact near monotone as he carried her towards the door to her bedroom. ‘I’ll see you into bed and ask Room Service for warm milk and toast. That should help you sleep. You were far too hyped up to eat anything at dinner.’
She didn’t want his spurious kindness, his warm milk, or his dratted attention to what he would see as his precious duty! She wanted... She needed...
A fierce rush of adrenalin pushed all caution to the winds. She squirmed hectically against him, struggling to get back on her own two feet, shrieking, ‘Let go of me! Stop being such an odious holier than thou, pompous, prattish little gentleman!’
She squirmed more furiously, wriggling and pushing against him, her narrow skirt riding high on her thighs, her face scarlet with temper, outrage and frustration, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, unaware until it was too late—far too late—of the fine tremors that shook his lean, hard frame, of the dangerous glitter of fiery intent in eyes that were suddenly narrowed, black with savage emotion.
‘I can be as ungentlemanly as you like, sweetheart, believe me!’
His hands tightened on her body as he shouldered open the bedroom door and strode to the bed. He tumbled her onto the covers, one hand fastening her wrists together above her head, his darkly glittering eyes making a quick inventory of her body, sweeping up the length of her silk panty-hose-clad legs to the scrumple of champagne satin around her hips and on to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, their swollen peaks thrusting against the slithery satin that barely contained them now.
And back down again, more slowly. Much more slowly. Caressing her. Elena shuddered helplessly as desire made a pool of liquid heat inside her. She stopped breathing as she followed the journey his eyes were making, her flesh quivering in mindless anticipation because each slow stroke of his eyes was like the physical touch of his lean, sensual fingers.
She could feel the tension in him, almost feel the tremors that shook his taut frame, smell the raw, hot male scent of him. Slowly he released her wrists, and her body conquered what was left of her mind and moved luxuriously, sensuously, beneath the burning drift of his eyes, drugged eyes, that swept slowly up to lock with hers.
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Now.’ He removed his jacket and tossed it carelessly aside, ripping away his shirt to reveal muscles clenched with need, a need that raged tempestuously through her, too. A need she understood, found impossible to deny, a need she answered as she lifted her arms to him in silent invitation.