Hunter's Moon

by Karen Robards

  It was a duel of masters, she concluded dizzily as he pulled her so tight against him that she rose on tiptoe, her arms curling close around his neck, letting his strong body support most of her weight. He kissed her until she had to free her mouth to catch her breath, and then he kissed her again.

  His hand was between them, moving up her rib cage, finding and flattening over her breast. His palm pressed against her through layers of sweater and dress and bra, caressing her softness with an urgency that caused her already pebble-hard nipples to throb and burn.

  “These have been driving me nuts too.” Will’s hand shifted to her other breast and reworked its rough magic.

  “Have they?” Molly could hear the unsteadiness of her own voice, but she couldn’t help it. Her head was whirling, her body was on fire, and she was finding it difficult to think, much less speak, coherently.

  “Insane.”

  His lips found hers again. Molly arched her back, gasping into his mouth, pressing her breast closer into that knowing hand.

  Will lifted his head. Molly’s lids fluttered up, and she drew in a shuddering gulp of air. She was relieved to see that he was breathing hard too. A dark flush stained his cheekbones. His eyes reflected the golden lamplight, making them look as if there were flames in the blue depths.

  Will glanced down, and Molly followed his gaze. His fingers were long and tan against the brown boucle knit of her sweater. The sight of his hand on her breast was intimate, erotic, fanning to life flames of desire that raced through her blood.

  His hand left her breast, moved to the self-tie belt that was all that held her sweater closed in front. Molly watched as he tugged the bow loose. The sweater fell open, revealing the cream knit dress that had seemed so demure when she had donned it earlier. Now, with her nipples pressing visibly through the cloth, the dress seemed anything but modest.

  It seemed to beg for his touch.

  With the barrier of her sweater removed, Will’s hands found her breasts again. Watching as he covered both full, round globes with his palms, Molly felt a quiver run through her body. His hands tightened, and the quiver turned into a full-fledged quake.

  He was deliberately going slowly, she realized, giving her plenty of time to call a halt if she wished.

  That was Will: ever the gentleman. It was both maddening and reassuring at the same time.

  As well as being sexy as hell.

  Molly looked up to find that his gaze was on her face. Her tongue came out to wet her lower lip, because her mouth was suddenly dry. His eyes darkened. He lowered his head and drew her tongue into his mouth, sucking on it. His mouth was warm, wet, devastating.

  Molly shivered and fought back, stroking the warm skin above his shirt collar at the nape of his neck, running her fingers through the short, crisp hair that covered the back of his skull. But her battle plan backfired, because she loved the textures, loved the feel of him. She loved the fact that he was not rushing her, not insisting, though part of her wished he would just do it, just hurry up and take what he wanted and be done with it.

  Part of her wished she didn’t have time to think. Part of her wished she could just tell herself He made me do it, and thus be absolved of all responsibility.

  His hands caught her elbows, tugging her arms down. He eased the sweater off her shoulders and dropped it on the chair with her purse, all the while kissing her as if he never meant to stop.

  Molly wound her arms around his waist beneath his jacket, pressing herself ever closer as his arms slid up her back. She felt her hair being lifted, and then his fingers were at her nape. She felt a tug, heard the faint sound of a zipper being lowered, felt a drift of air on the bare skin of her back, and realized that she was being undressed.

  The flames in her blood raged hotter. Molly fought against giving in to it, fought for control. She dragged her mouth away from his, drew in a deep breath to try to steady her reeling senses, and reached for his tie. It was cool, heavy silk, elegantly knotted, expensive in look and feel. She tugged at the knot, and then his hands were there helping her, sliding the narrow end free. He left it loose around his neck, dangling vivid red stripes against his white shirtfront. Shrugging out of his jacket, he dropped it on the chair and pulled her back into his embrace.

  When Will kissed her, Molly had the uncanny sensation that the room was tilting. Her arms went around his waist and her hands clutched his back through the fine cotton of his shirt as she tried to regain her equilibrium and at the same time kiss him back.

  Finally he lifted his head. Molly opened her eyes, struggled both to breathe and to command her senses, and looked past the lean, sandpapery jaw that was so temptingly close to the hollow of his neck, where his shirt was still buttoned up tight.

  If there was undressing to be done, she meant to do her fair share.

  Sliding her hands up his shirtfront, trying not to be mesmerized by the feel of the hard muscles beneath the smooth cloth, Molly began to unbutton his shirt. He kissed her cheek, her ear, then pulled aside the loosened neck of her dress and started to kiss her throat.

  All her life Molly had heard tales of long-ago southern maidens who swooned at a gentleman’s kiss. Now she knew just how they must have felt.

  Only about a third of his shirt was unbuttoned when she forgot what she was doing and her hands stilled. His mouth was painting a line of fire across her bare skin from her right collarbone down over the swelling slope of her breast. He used his teeth, his lips, his tongue. The effect was devastating.

  Her dress sagged halfway down her arms. Will unfastened her belt and tugged at her dress. The dress slid free of her arms and down her body until it dropped in a pool around her feet. Molly barely retained the presence of mind to step out of the garment, nudging it aside.

  She was left wearing a lacy white bra and matching bikini panties, sheer-to-the-waist panty hose, and high heels.

  Will was very still suddenly, and Molly looked up to find his gaze on her body.

  His face was flushed and his eyes were bright as they rose at last to her face. Molly thought she detected a fine tremor in the hands that settled on either side of her waist.

  “Nice. I like white,” he said in a voice that sounded as if he had to work to keep it steady.

  “I thought you might.” She had to work, too, to produce that cool-sounding response.

  “Did you wear these for me?” Despite the heat in his eyes, a faint smile lifted a corner of his mouth.

  “Who else?” There was a flippancy to her response because she didn’t want to admit the truth—that she had indeed chosen the lacy white scanties because she had guessed they would turn him on. And she wanted, badly, to turn him on. To turn him on like no woman in his life ever had.

  “Nobody else,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”

  Before she could reply to that, his hands slid up her rib cage to gently tug aside one cup of her bra. He looked down at the breast he’d bared, while her gaze rose to his face. His jaw was set, his mouth tight. A dark flush stained his cheekbones. His breathing suspended.

  He cupped her bare breast in his hand.

  That was when Molly realized that the duel was over, and she, master duelist that she was, had just been bested. For the first time in her life, she was conquered. She, who usually reduced men to putty with no more than a glance, was herself putty in the hands of this man.

  She never lost her head over kisses. Never lost her head over lovemaking. Never lost her head over men. But now her senses were swimming, and she was spinning out of control.

  She was losing her head over Will.

  At the realization her heart shook along with her knees.

  30

  Hot and wet, his mouth closed over her nipple. Molly clutched his shoulders, gasping his name as exquisite tremors of pleasure raced along her skin. Will pulled her close with one arm around her waist while his mouth drove her crazy and his hand eased her other breast free.

  Molly fou
nd herself thrust against the hard bulge in his pants. She pressed closer, rubbing herself against him, as undulating waves of heat radiated down her thighs. Her movements set off mind-boggling explosions of desire in her own body. What it did to him she couldn’t have said, because suddenly everything had changed. For once in her life she could think of no one but herself and her needs.

  She needed him to make love to her. There. Then.

  His hand was in the middle of her back. Without any fumbling at all, he found and released the clasp of her bra. The straps slid toward her elbows. Will caught the lacy garment, tugged, and the bra was tossed aside, to land on the floor.

  It was her best, most expensive bra, and she didn’t even care.

  Across the room, Molly caught a glimpse of movement in the full-length mirror she had not until that moment noticed was affixed to a closet door, which stood slightly ajar. She was standing at an angle to the mirror, and to see her reflection properly she had to turn her head. She did, and stared, pulse pounding, at the most carnal image she had ever seen in her life: herself, naked to the waist, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, lips swollen from Will’s kisses, eyes huge and drugged-looking, cheeks flushed with desire. Her sheer panty hose might as well have been nonexistent. They provided no coverage for the tiny white panties that kept her from being completely nude. Her tan high heels blended with the color of her skin, making her legs look impossibly long and slender. Her stomach was flat, her bottom rounded, her waist supple. Her breasts were the size of oranges, and just as firm and ripe-looking. The pale globes were topped with pink nipples still shiny wet from Will’s mouth. One of his tan, long-fingered hands rested on her back. It was dark against her creamy skin, its position intimate, possessive.

  Will was still fully clothed, Molly realized, looking beyond herself at him. His shirt was buttoned at the wrists and two-thirds of the way up his chest, a narrow black belt circled the waist of his still-fastened trousers, and he even wore his socks and shoes.

  While she was naked, or nearly so, in his arms.

  Her gaze met his in the mirror, and held.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  As they both watched, his hand came up to cup and caress a breast. His thumb ran over her already distended nipple. His touch shot through her body like a lightning bolt. Molly caught her breath. Her knees threatened to buckle, and she had to cling to his shoulders for support.

  “I want you.” His voice was suddenly thick. Without warning one arm encircled her back and the other slid beneath her knees. Then the room really did tilt because she was being swung off her feet and carried over to the bed. He put her down, then came down beside her, his weight on the mattress making her roll toward him. Molly went into his arms willingly, her arms locking around his neck, her mouth seeking his. He kissed her with a torrid hunger that turned her brain to oatmeal and her body to fire.

  His hands were scaldingly hot as they slid beneath the waistband of her panty hose, pushing them down over her hips. He delved inside her silky panties, his palm flat against her stomach, his fingers gentle as they found and caressed the triangle of sable curls between her thighs. Then he was pushing her panties down, too, and sliding his fingers between her legs.

  “Oh, yes,” Molly gasped into his mouth as he found the tiny bud that awaited. He touched her there, pressing and stroking until she thought she would die of need. She writhed desperately beneath that knowing hand, then moaned a protest as it was removed. His body followed. Molly was left trembling as he sat up to pull her remaining clothes down her legs. Her shoes were gone, she discovered as he finished stripping her with quick efficiency, though how she had lost them she didn’t quite know.

  Will was taking off his own clothes, his movements jerky. Molly watched for a moment as he yanked at his belt buckle, then sat up to help him with his shirt buttons. But she was soon distracted by the sheer masculine beauty of the chest she uncovered. Wide and muscular, its center covered with a wedge of gold-tipped brown curls, it cried out for her touch. She complied, running her palms over the hard contours with sensuous delight. A pulse throbbed at the base of his brown throat. She moved to kiss it just as he freed his belt at last and stood up to shuck his pants. Arms around his neck, Molly refused to let him go, and thus she wound up kneeling naked at the edge of the bed, pressing a string of kisses from the hollow of his throat down the center of his chest.

  Will shed his shoes and underwear along with his pants. Straightening, he ran a caressing hand over her bottom and up her spine, then turned his attention to the buttons securing his left cuff. Except for his white shirt, which was still buttoned at the wrists, and his black socks, he was as naked as she.

  While he tugged at the uncooperative button with uncharacteristic impatience, Molly’s downward glance found his member: it was swollen, huge, and standing stiffly upright. Molly let go of his neck and slid down, taking the burning hot thing in her mouth.

  For a moment Will went very still. He caught his breath sharply. Then his hands were on either side of her head and he was pulling her off him and tumbling her backward and falling on top of her. No sooner had her back hit the mattress than he plunged violently inside her. Molly cried out at the fierce pleasure of it. His lips came down on hers, stopping her mouth.

  His arms crushed her to him. His mouth and tongue were wet and scaldingly hot as he kissed her with a ferocious need. Molly kissed him back with a burning passion of her own. Her hands burrowed beneath the shirt he still wore, her nails digging into his neck, his back, her hips arching off the bed to meet his frenzied thrusts. He was so hot she felt branded, so big he filled her to bursting. He drove into her with an urgency that made her writhe and buck and strain against him in shattered response. He kissed her mouth, her neck, her breasts. His hand slid down between their bodies to touch her where they joined. Molly buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder and wrapped her legs around his hips and clung, moaning, trembling, while electric arcs of ecstasy danced from her body to his.

  She, who was used to being in control, was instead being controlled. He was dominating her, taking what he wanted from her, and it was the most erotic, soul-shattering experience of her life.

  He was making her his, and she reveled in it.

  “Will, oh, Will! Oh, Will!” Her release, when it came, was mind-blowing. It detonated with the force of an explosion inside her, smashing through her body with wave after wave of licking flames.

  She was whirled away on the firestorm, barely aware of his answering groan as he thrust deep into her trembling body and was still, holding himself throbbing inside her.

  Her arms still clutched his back as he shuddered and collapsed atop her.

  Little things—like the fact that her feet were cold and the bedspread was bunched into an uncomfortable knot in the small of her back and she had to sneeze—roused her. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes since she had walked into the room with him, Molly calculated, but in that brief period of time her whole world had shifted on its axis.

  The thing she had most feared had happened: She had fallen in love with Will.

  31

  The knowledge terrified Molly. She lay very still and stared up at the textured white ceiling and tried to reject it.

  There was a cobweb in one corner.

  Will was lying sprawled on top of her, and he weighed a ton.

  The smoke alarm near the ceiling had a light like a tiny blinking red eye.

  Her hands rested on Will’s strong back beneath the shirt he still wore. His skin was warm and damp with sweat.

  A crack bisected the ceiling across one corner.

  Will’s head turned, and his sandpapery jaw brushed her cheek. One hand tightened on her waist. He pressed his mouth against the soft skin just below her ear.

  Molly went rigid, and pushed at his shoulder.

  He raised his head and smiled at her. It was a sweet smile, heart-stoppingly tender, just like the look in his eyes.

&n
bsp; Molly withdrew her hands from beneath his shirt, trying not to feel the satiny texture of his skin, the hard resilience of his muscles. She wanted to know no more of him than she already knew.

  Which was already far too much.

  “Let me up, please.”

  “Now?” He frowned a little, appeared to consider that she might have an urgent reason for her request, and rolled off her. Molly slid off the bed and stood up, looking around for her clothes, trying not to notice that he now lay on his back with his hands folded beneath his head, watching her. Except for the open shirt that covered no more than his arms and the sides of his rib cage, and his socks, he was naked. And clearly unconcerned about it.

  She was naked too. Her first instinct was to reach for something, anything, with which to cover herself. His gaze on her body was attentive, appreciative, and it embarrassed her. But to cover herself would reveal that embarrassment, and to reveal embarrassment was to make herself vulnerable. She dared not appear weak at all where Will was concerned.

  So Molly stood naked near the foot of the bed and pretended not to care. She held her head up proudly and shook her hair back away from her face and let him look where he would, and told herself that being on display didn’t bother her at all, though it did.

  She was a past master at presenting an invulnerable face to the world, and it had served her well. The core of her, the soft underbelly of her personality, she kept carefully concealed beneath a harder outer surface, like a crab in its shell.

  It was, she had found, the only way to survive.