Stephanie Laurens - Beyond Seduction

And shattered.

Infinitely more powerfully than before. As if she’d been flung off some sensual cliff and every sense had fragmented.

Eyes closed, sightless, she drifted in the void, but then tactile sensation returned, and she felt him within her, hard, hot and unyielding; beneath her hands, in her arms, hard and heavy above her, she felt him holding still, heard his harsh, ragged breaths beside her ear, his chest laboring, his muscles locked as he fought to give her that moment…then his control gave way.

His lips found hers, covered them; with no longer even a vestige of sophistication he ravaged her mouth-unutterably glad, she appeased him, let him. Gave him what he had given her.

Her body unstinting.

Driven, his body rocked compulsively into hers, powerful and unrelentingly; she wrapped her arms about him and clung, tight, then he abruptly tensed, shuddered, and spent himself deep inside her.

She felt the warmth within, felt his weight as, his trembling muscles giving way, he groaned and slumped upon her.

Holding him in her arms, she felt her lips curve, satisfaction mingling with glorious satiation; the feelings burgeoned and rose through her, buoyed her, then swept her free, onto a calm and blissful sea.

Gervase stirred, then glanced at the woman sleeping in his arms. Warm, trusting, utterly relaxed, she remained asleep.

He stared at her, at her features relaxed in sated slumber, at her tumbling mass of hair now in wild disarray, at the magnificent creamy slopes of her breasts mouth-wateringly visible above the silk shawl he’d draped over her to shield her cooling skin.

The sight held him, transfixed him, then, carefully disengaging, he eased from her side. He sat on the edge of the daybed for a moment, head hanging, then he rose, stretched.

He glanced at her again; when she didn’t stir, he padded soft-footed to the windows.

The sea, the sky, the expanse of cliff, the distant mound of Black Head-nothing beyond the window had changed.

Within the boathouse something had, but even now he had no idea what. What it was, what power had connived to sweep him so far beyond his customary control. Looking back, it felt as if some fate had intervened and handed the reins to his beast, denying his rational mind any say in how he took her.

Not that she’d helped, let alone seemed to mind. She’d given no sign that gentleness and tenderness were what she’d come to the boathouse, and him, to find; she’d had her own agenda, and that agenda had had more in common with his beast’s wishes than his more calm and logical side.

Although he hadn’t planned it, he’d had a definite vision of how this engagement would go, that he, calm and in control, would teach her, show her, introduce her to her own sensual nature…instead, she’d shown him something he hadn’t known about himself, regardless of whether she’d intended to or not.

She couldn’t have intended it; how would she, an innocent, have known?

Regardless, despite his vow of how their next encounter would go, having once indulged without restraint, screens or shields, he wasn’t sure it was possible to retreat and come together in any mild and gentle, distant and controlled way, without igniting that raging heat.

Without succumbing to passion’s relentless beat.

For the first time in his life, with a woman, he was unsure. Uncertain of where he stood sexually with her. He stared out at the surging waves. He would have to wait and see what she wanted, how she reacted; he would have to play by her wishes, be reactive and responsive to them, rather than make and follow any plan of his own.

That was an utterly alien concept-to have a woman calling his tune. So alien that he stood at the windows, staring unseeing at the waves, and tried to find some way, some path, around it.

Madeline watched him, let her gaze play over him. She’d woken the instant his weight had left the daybed, but had lain still and watched from beneath her lashes. He’d seemed distracted, mentally elsewhere; she saw no reason to refocus his attention-not until she’d looked her fill.

Like all the males of her acquaintance, he was totally at ease naked. She wasn’t all that bothered over being nude herself; it was more perceptions of modesty that ruled her actions, but with him, there had seemed little point.

With the remnants of golden pleasure still coursing her veins, she lay back on the daybed and studied him-noted the proud set of his head, the broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and hips, the tight buttocks above his long, strong legs. Rider’s legs, she’d once heard them called, long thighs heavily but sleekly muscled.

He was like that all over; she could appreciate anew the light she’d earlier noted as it played over him, over the dimples and hollows, the muscle bands that shifted and contracted under taut, lightly bronzed skin…as he turned his head and caught her staring.

Somewhat to her surprise, no blush rose to her cheeks. Instead, she watched as he turned from the windows and walked toward her. Mouth drying, she stared some more-still not blushing, instead battling to keep a cat-eyeing-the-unguarded-cream smile from her face.

She just hoped she didn’t look too hungry.

The thought stirred her to action; sitting up, ignoring the silk shawl that had materialized over her as it slithered down to her waist, she reached across to the side table. Selecting a small bunch of grapes, she sat back, plucked one, and lifted it to her lips-and let her gaze travel once more to him. Noting with interest that despite their recent engagement he was again aroused, she reluctantly raised her gaze to his face.

And with becoming confidence, arched her brows.

Her question was transparent: What next?

He halted by the daybed; hands rising to his hips, he looked down at her-as if unsure what to make of her.

Indeed, she wasn’t entirely sure what to make of herself; she felt…not new but different. As if during the last hour he’d freed the sensual woman who had always dwelt inside her, and somehow integrated that hidden self into her whole so that she could now without a blink, with calm assurance and a better certainty of who and what she was, sit there, naked, and watch him, naked too, and calmly wait to see what he would do.

When he didn’t do anything but stare, a frown forming in his amber eyes, she leaned back against the raised head of the daybed, looked him in the eye-then plucked a grape and held it up to him.

He held her gaze for a fraught moment, then knelt on the daybed and with his lips took the grape from her fingers, then slumped beside her. He chewed, swallowed, then reached across and took the stem and remaining two grapes from her hand, plucked one and held it for her to take.

She met his eyes briefly, then did.

He popped the last grape into his mouth, tossed the stem back into the dish, then sighed and settled back. Lifting one arm, he slid it around her; drawing her in, he placed a kiss on her temple.

Settling against his chest, her hand splayed over his heart, she waited.

After a moment he said, “You…I didn’t think it would be…like it was.”

“In what way?” Looking up, she met his eyes. “You have to remember I haven’t done this before.” Regardless, she wasn’t such a ninny that she didn’t know he’d been, at the last, utterly sated.

The look on his face was one to treasure; it wasn’t often he was lost for words. Or rather, that he encountered so much difficulty over choosing which of the many replies that had plainly leapt to his tongue to give voice to.

Eventually, he said, “It wasn’t supposed to be so fast and furious.”

She studied him, raised her brows. “I rather like the fast and furious.”

“Obviously.” He hesitated, then asked, “Are you sore?”

She looked across the room, inwardly assessing, then shrugged. “Not especially.” Not more than if she’d ridden hard astride for several hours. There was a small degree of chafing, a little heat, but…She met his eyes. “Nothing that would prevent me from doing it all again.”

He searched her eyes, then shifted around to face her. “In that case…” Lifting one hand, he brushed back her wayward hair, feathered his fingers over her jaw. “Let’s try it again. Only this time we’ll aim for the slow and gentle.”

He tipped her face to his and kissed her-so gently, so tantalizingly she nearly growled with impatience. She drew back enough to say, “I’m rather fond of the fast and furious.”

“Nevertheless, in the interests of your education, let’s try it with less heat.”

Inwardly wondering why he would want to, she mentally shrugged, kissed him back, and let matters take their course.

The following afternoon, Gervase paced the clifftop path where it joined the track down to the boathouse. His face was set; despite his triumph-his victory in seducing Madeline-nothing had gone as he’d planned.

Not the first time-nor the second.

With less heat had been his dictate. Instead, going slowly had only intensified the firestorm that had raged between them, fueled by passions far more primitive, more urgent and powerful than any he’d previously felt. Why that was so, where such passions came from, why she and no other evoked them in him he didn’t know, but again instead of him teaching her, it had been he who had had to grapple with stunning and startling revelations.

Not that she was teaching him; it was lying with her-joining with her-that opened a door to some novel and disconcerting landscape. She was as new to it as he, but that didn’t seem to bother her-not in the least. She’d embraced every aspect-the fast as well as the furious in their heated-beyond-imagining couplings-with a wholehearted eagerness, an open delight, that had only dragged him deeper.

Further under the thrall of…whatever it was.

Until yesterday he hadn’t known he-not even his beast-harbored such powerful and primal cravings.

He’d needed her, needed to be inside her, needed to see her, feel her writhing in abandon beneath him-and in that moment, he’d needed that more than he’d needed to breathe. Even to live.

In that ultimate moment of madness that she and only she could reduce him to, his entire existence seemed to hinge…on her. On having her, on proving incontrovertibly, in the most explicit way, that she was his.

Raking one hand through his hair, he paced, stalked, inwardly more uncertain than he could recall ever being in his adult life. He’d never been dependent on another person, not for anything; he’d been an excellent operative because he worked alone, entirely self-sufficiently.

Now…

He drew in a breath and looked out over the sea. He needed a wife desperately, but did he need Madeline?

Did he need her and what she did to him?

Hoofbeats reached him; he turned, looked. They hadn’t made any plans to meet again, yet some part of him wasn’t surprised to see her.

At least one part of him leapt at the sight of her.

He’d ridden down to the boathouse and left Crusader there, then walked up to pace the clifftop where the breeze was fresh. She halted beside him; he caught her chestnut’s bridle as she slid from the saddle.

“I was coming to find you. I wanted to speak with you.” She came around the chestnut’s head, tugging off her gloves.

Speak with him? Her features were tight, her expression serious. “About what?”

She glanced up at him, pure Valkyrie, shield up, fully armored. “About yesterday.” Looking down, she tugged her glove free.

“Yesterday.” A chill inched down his spine. “What about yesterday?”

“Well…” Lips tight, she brushed back a lock of hair the wind had blown across her face. “I came to acknowledge your victory, and to tell you that while I enjoyed the interlude, I believe it would be unwise-seriously unwise-for us to indulge again.”

He opened his mouth-

She silenced him with an upraised hand. “No-hear me out.” She paused as if recalling a rehearsed speech, then went on, “I realize that you…that your interest in seducing me stemmed from boredom, as we originally discussed. You clearly saw me as a challenge, in your words ‘a conquest.’ However, now you’ve succeeded, no matter how…exciting and instructive the result, given who we are, given we’re so prominent in the neighborhood, given my brothers and your sisters, let alone Sybil and Muriel, given all those things I believe we should call a halt.” Drawing in a deep breath, she met his gaze. “Neither you nor I should court the sort of scandal that would ensue should a liaison between us become common knowledge.”

Gervase stared at her, struck dumb, not by her words but by his reaction, by the storm of emotions her intention had unleashed; they clawed and raged, threatening to swamp his mind and spill from his throat.