by Annie West
‘Because I was jealous.’ Shock slammed into her. Yet she felt the words as well as heard them as his lips caressed her eyelids. He really had said it. ‘From the moment you appeared tonight I wanted you with me. Only me.’
This couldn’t be. Tamsin shook her head, or tried to. He held her so close she couldn’t move.
‘I don’t understand.’ She hated her shaky tone but she was at a loss. ‘You avoided me most of the night.’
‘Displacement activity. I either spent the evening glued to you, or I kept my distance, acting the polite host. There was no happy medium. In the circumstances I thought my self-control admirable.’
His hands moved, slid down her throat and spread across her bare shoulders. Something about his powerful hands touching her so tenderly made her breath catch. His palms circled back to her throat, warming her skin and making her pulse race.
‘Every time I saw you smiling at a dance partner I wanted it to be me you smiled at. No one else. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are tonight?’
He couldn’t be serious!
She couldn’t think logically when he caressed her like that. She needed to think, to understand.
‘Please. Alaric, I…’
‘Yes, let me please you. Like this?’
His hands dropped, skimming the silk of her bodice, down the sides of her breasts, till her nipples tightened and the breath seared from her lungs.
Logic didn’t matter when his mouth was a mere inch away. She craved him with every fibre of her yearning, untried body. As if this were what she’d secretly waited for. Without volition she raised her face, hungry beyond rational thought for his passion.
His mouth hovered, a breath away from hers.
‘I promised I wouldn’t.’ His husky voice stroked like suede, dragging at her senses. ‘So ask me to kiss you, Tamsin.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
ALARIC’S heart slammed against his ribs as he awaited her response. Every nerve, every sinew strained at the need for control.
Part of him was furious that somehow, without him knowing how, she’d cracked the wall he’d built around himself. The wall he’d reinforced the day he’d learnt the need to keep his affairs short and uncomplicated by emotion.
Surely he knew the dangers of reckless affairs!
But this was different.
More than dalliance to hold other women at bay. Far more than a ruse to keep an eye on someone who might, though it surely wasn’t possible, be in league with those wanting to undermine the government.
This was an urgent, blood deep hunger.
Somewhere in the ballroom he’d crossed an unseen boundary.
Had it been when he bundled her from the room in full view of scandalised eyes? Or when he’d hauled her close in contravention of every protocol, staking his unmistakeable claim on her? No, it had been earlier. When he’d read the shattered hurt dulling her eyes and known himself the cause. His pain then had been as sharp as any physical wound.
He’d never felt this intensely about a woman.
He didn’t want emotion. He didn’t want to feel. Emotions were dangerous, deceitful. Yet for now he functioned on a more primitive level. Raw instinct not reason drove him.
He inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the scent of her. Unthinking, he bent to the delicate curve where her shoulder met her throat, nuzzling flesh so soft it made him feel like a barbarian, demanding her acquiescence.
But he didn’t care. Desperation smoked off his skin, clamoured in his pulse, clenched his belly.
From the moment she’d arrived, a demure siren among a crowd of overdressed mannequins, he’d hungered for her.
As he’d watched her laugh and whisper and dance with all those other men he’d experienced a completely alien sensation. A roiling, dangerous, possessive anger.
Jealousy.
The sight of her with that journalist, known as much for his feminine conquests as his provocative editorials, had been a red rag to a bull.
Alaric told himself he’d acted to break up any potential leak of sensitive information. They’d looked like conspirators, their heads close together, their voices lowered. The last thing he wanted was news of her theories about his inheritance splashed across the newspapers.
But in truth he’d stalked across to claim her because he couldn’t bear to watch their intimate tête à tête.
He laved her skin with his tongue, filling his mouth with her essence. Tamsin shuddered against his hardening body and he did it again, unable to stop. She was delicious.
‘Alaric!’ Fleetingly he registered her trembling sigh was probably a protest, though it sounded more like encouragement.
‘Mmm? I’m not kissing you.’ His mouth moved on her skin, trailing up to just below her ear. ‘This isn’t a kiss.’
He closed his teeth on her lobe in a gentle, grinding bite that made her spasm and fall further into him. Fire flickered through his veins.
So responsive. So incredibly attuned to every caress.
Escalating desire bunched each muscle into lockdown. The press of her belly against his erection was exquisite torture. If she moved again…
‘Alaric. No.’ It was a throaty whisper that incited rather than protested.
This time he grazed his teeth against the tender flesh below her ear and was rewarded with a shuddering sigh as her head lolled back against the wall. She’d stopped trying to push him away, her fingers curling instead into his tunic as if to draw him closer.
He nipped his way down her throat, revelling in the sinuous slide of her body against his. Unable to resist any longer, he levered away a fraction so he could cup her breasts. High, ripe, lush, they fitted his palms perfectly.
Suddenly slim hands bracketed his jaw, urgently dragging his face up. An instant later Tamsin’s lips met his, hard and frantic, delightfully clumsy in her ardour.
When her tongue invaded his mouth it was Alaric’s turn to groan at the sheer intensity of sensation. She kissed like a sexy angel. Half seductress, half innocent. For a moment the illusion hovered that she’d saved herself for him alone. That he was her first, her only.
Then he sank into bliss as their tongues slid and mated and thought became impossible. She melded to him with a supple sensuality that drove him to the edge.
He caressed her nipples and she growled in the back of her throat, a decadent purr of pleasure that had him thrusting his knee between hers, parting her legs. In response she arched into his hands, pressing as if she too couldn’t get enough.
He needed her. Now.
Tearing himself from her grasp he looked down. The gown’s neckline was high across her breasts, and tight enough to make them inaccessible. But locating the fastening at the back was the work of a moment. As was lowering the zip enough to loosen the bodice.
He heard her suck in her breath but she didn’t protest. Seconds later he peeled the bodice down enough to reveal her cleavage. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly, silently inviting.
With a swift yank of the silky fabric he bared her breasts, watching blush pink nipples bud in the cold air. Not even a strapless bra. Who’d have thought it of prim and proper Dr Connors?
Alaric wasn’t complaining. He drank in the sight of pure white skin, full breasts, perfectly formed and deliciously uptilted as if begging for his attention.
His erection pulsed and he almost groaned aloud when she rocked her hips, her thighs widening suggestively. He needed that pelvis to pelvis contact, was desperate to sheath himself inside her. But first…
He lowered his head to her breast, skimmed a caress across her nipple and felt her hands claw his shoulders as if she could no longer stand without support.
He smiled as he kissed the impossibly soft skin around her aureole, revelling in her responsiveness as she gasped and shifted beneath his ministrations.
‘Stop teasing.’ Her voice was hoarse and uneven. Alaric looked up to see her brow furrow as she watched him. ‘Just…’ She paused and swallowed hard. ‘Do it.’
Despite the wobbly order, Tamsin’s eyes were dazed and her skin flushed with arousal. The combination of prim command, desperation and luscious wanton was delicious.
Eyes holding hers, he covered one nipple with his lips, enjoying the way her eyes widened as she watched him draw her into his mouth. Heat shot through him, catapulting him into a world of sensual pleasure as he devoured her sweetness. He sucked hard and she jerked like a puppet on a string, head and neck arched against the wood panelling. Her lower body moved restlessly against him, mimicking his own edgy need to thrust into her.
Not yet. Tamsin was pure delight. He couldn’t get enough of her.
He moved to her other breast, daring a tiny erotic bite. She keened her pleasure, her body stiffening around his as if he’d generated an electric current. He breathed deep the sweet scent of feminine arousal and his blood surged south.
She was so hyper-sensitive, was it possible he could bring her to orgasm like this? The notion was almost too much for his threadbare self-discipline.
Another graze of his teeth, this time at her nipple, and another jolt ripped through her. Hungrily he suckled, feeding the demon inside that demanded more, demanded everything from her.
Fumbling, he scrabbled at her skirts, the slippery fabric sliding through his unsteady hands.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
Rising, he plastered his mouth over hers, revelling in her kisses as finally his questing fingers found silk clad thighs. Stockings! He found the upper edge, the line where material met bare, smooth flesh and he faltered, heart pounding at the image his mind conjured.
He wanted to spread her on a bed and leisurely inspect the sexy picture she’d make before taking his fill. But he didn’t have time, his need was too urgent. His erection throbbed so needily he wondered if he’d be able to get out of his trousers without injury.
He drove her head back with hungry kisses as he hiked her skirts. In a perfect world she wouldn’t be wearing panties.
But this was no fantasy. His hands encountered cotton. Despite the sexy gown and stockings, Tamsin had chosen no-nonsense underwear. Underwear damp with arousal.
Spreading his hand to cup her mound, feeling her push hard into his grip, Alaric decided cotton panties were far sexier than silk, more of a turn on than Lycra or lace. Tamsin didn’t need frills. She was potently, earthily sexy.
Her hand insinuated itself between their bodies to grapple with the fastening of his dress trousers.
She’d send him over the edge in a moment. He clamped an iron hand round her wrist.
‘Don’t!’ he growled, his voice thick. He forced her hand back, high against the wall and kissed her again. He wanted this to last more than ten seconds. He’d bring her to climax, enjoy watching her take pleasure at his hands, and only then find release in her body.
His fingers slipped beneath cotton, drawn by her heat.
A roaring explosion cracked the night sky, penetrating his fog of sensual arousal. He stiffened, muscles freezing at what sounded like artillery fire. Dread engulfed him as adrenaline spiked in his blood.
By the time the second reverberating boom rent the air he’d opened his eyes and registered the flash of coloured light. Relief surged so strongly he felt weak.
Reality buffeted him and he dropped his head, gasping, trying to force down raw, conflicting emotions. Relief that he was no longer in the nightmare world of armed conflict. And lust—the almost insuperable need for completion. If only willpower could shift blood from his groin to his brain! Never had he so completely lost control.
‘What is it?’ Tamsin sounded as shaken as he.
Another couple of minutes and he’d have had her, ankles locked round his waist while he shuddered his climax into her. Even now he craved it. The effort of not taking her made him tremble all over.
If he did her gown would be rumpled and stained, proclaiming exactly what they’d been doing.
There’d be stares and rolled eyes about his behaviour but that was nothing. His shoulders were broad, his reputation bad and people’s expectations low.
For Tamsin the gossip would be infinitely worse. He couldn’t do that to her.
He’d failed Felix. Failed his men. But in this at least surely he could manage to do the right thing.
‘Fireworks,’ he murmured, his voice a strained whisper. He cleared his throat and released her hand, letting it slide down the wall. ‘At the end of the ball we have fireworks and champagne. And a royal toast.’
He had to go. There was no chance to lose himself in Tamsin’s slick, warm heat, no matter how much he craved her. Reluctantly he dragged his other hand from between her legs, felt her shudder at the movement and wished it could be different.
He let her skirts fall and stepped away, face drawing tight at the fierce pain in his groin. Desire and guilt and fury at the depth of his own need warred within him. He’d always enjoyed women but this…this was uncharted territory.
‘Turn around.’ The words emerged brusquely through gritted teeth. She stared up, her lips bruised to plumpness and eyes glazed, then she turned, her head bowed.
He stared at that expanse of naked back, the vulnerable line of her nape, and almost surrendered to temptation again. But a burst of green fire outside the window brought him back to the real world. To duty.
It took him a full minute to do up her dress, his hands were so uncoordinated. When it was done he moved away, wincing at each stiff-legged step as he paced to the window. He needed time before he made a public appearance. He needed to keep away from her before his resolve shattered.
‘I’ll have to go. I’m expected and my absence will cause speculation.’
He raised his hand to smooth his hair and caught the heady scent of her essence on his fingers. He dropped his hand, summoning every vestige of strength not to go to her when his body screamed out for completion. For Tamsin.
‘Of course. I understand.’ Her voice sounded flat, but then he couldn’t hear clearly over his throbbing pulse and the crack of fireworks.
‘Will you be all right?’ Still he didn’t turn around but stood silhouetted at the arched window, his back to her.
Why wouldn’t he look at her?
She was the one embarrassed. He was the playboy with a reputation for loving then leaving each new mistress.
He’d known exactly what he was doing.
‘I’m fine,’ she murmured, wondering if the lie sounded believable. She was bereft, desperate for a look, a touch, something.
Tamsin shivered and slumped against the wall, hands splaying for support as she recalled how expert he’d been.
Her pulse raced out of control as she remembered his knowing, half-lidded look, watching her as he’d sucked at her breast. She squeezed her thighs together at the liquid heat between her legs. Who’d have guessed that every time he drew on her breast a taut line of fire would run down to her belly and lower, till she felt the empty ache inside?
Who’d have known she’d be so wanton as to rub herself needily against his hand? To delight in the sensation of his long fingers arrowing to her most private core?
Heat fired her cheeks at what she’d done, what she still wanted to do.
It was as if some alien woman had taken over her body. Some daring sensualist she’d never known, who acted on instincts Tamsin hadn’t been aware of.
Was it remotely possible this was the real Tamsin, freed of the restraints that had ruled her life so long?
Or was this the result of a life without love or physical demonstrativeness? There’d been few cuddles growing up and no teenage kisses. With Patrick she hadn’t ventured far into passion. Perhaps Alaric’s caresses had unleashed a pent up longing for physical affection.
She released a shuddering breath. She’d determined to make a new start tonight, be a new woman, free of the crutches she’d used to distance herself from others. But she hadn’t meant to go this far!
She hadn’t thought…that was the problem.
Tamsin eyed Alaric’s po
werful frame, lit by a scintillating flash of red. She hadn’t thought at all after he’d admitted to being jealous, to wanting her.
Had that been real? Or had it been an excuse to keep his distance because he genuinely hadn’t wanted to be with her during the ball? The old Tamsin would have accepted the latter without a second’s hesitation. Now she didn’t know.
And this hot, heavy seduction scene? Could he have engineered it to provoke the kind of speculation he wanted? To create the illusion they were in a relationship?
But why go so far?
Yet if his desire had been genuine, and it had felt magnificently real when he’d ground himself against her, why the cold shoulder now? He’d reacted violently when she’d tried to touch him and his voice just now had been harsh.
Her lips twisted. If only she had more experience with men, with sex, she might understand!
Had he gone so far simply because she was so obviously, pantingly eager? For Alaric, was one warm female body in the dark as good as another?
The notion sickened her.
It was unfair to think it of him. Yet she remembered that first kiss and how he’d pulled up short when he’d knocked her glasses and remembered who he was kissing.
Tamsin bit her lip. All she knew was she wanted him to hold her and take her back to the place she’d been before he’d pulled away. She wanted him to smile and make her feel better.
Listen to her! She was a grown woman, not a child.
A knock sounded on the door and Tamsin started. Yet Alaric turned smoothly as if he’d expected it. Had this been a set-up?
He sent her a long, assessing look and her cheeks burned. Hurriedly she lifted her hands to secure her hair as best she could, then shook out her long skirts. But for the life of her she couldn’t move away from the wall at her back. Her knees trembled too much.
‘Enter.’ Neither his voice nor his appearance gave any hint of what they’d been doing minutes before. She’d been the one half naked and wanting. Suddenly the fact that he’d remained fully clothed seemed suspiciously important.
Her throat closed on a knot of distress as she met his unblinking stare.