by Donna Young
With the tip of his finger, he traced the silver chain, fascinated as the goose bumps tripped over her skin. He let out a grunt of satisfaction that spanned a hundred years of his Scottish heritage.
“Cain.” The raw plea came from deep within her, drawing his attention to the erratic rise and fall of her chest.
“No silk lingerie?”
With a jerk of her head, her eyes found his. “That was Diana.”
Reverently, Cain rubbed the fabric of her bra between his finger and thumb. His hand hovered over the front, his knuckles deliberately brushing the swell of her breast, enjoying the contrast of the soft cotton and silky skin. “You make simple white cotton sexy, Gypsy.”
Celeste’s nipples tightened. A moan escaped her lips. “Wait!” The request came out more than a little frantically as she slipped off the counter. Cain deliberately allowed her body to slide against his until she touched the floor, causing another series of tremors. His or hers, he couldn’t be sure. “My decision.”
Riveted in place, Cain watched as she walked to the middle of the living room, dressed only in her bra and worn sweats. She pulled the drawstring loose, letting the waistband hang low on her hips, dipping slightly to reveal a hint of the shadow between the soft curves of her bottom. When she stood straight, her muscles flexed with a natural grace that made him taut with desire.
“My seduction,” she whispered.
The serenity was there but still undermined by lines of tension as she slipped off her shoes and knelt on the sheepskin rug in front of the fire.
She closed her eyes against the heat of his gaze. Even from a few feet away, he caught how her fingers shook then fumbled slightly before releasing the catch. Slowly, she gripped the bra and pulled it away, freeing herself.
The silence was deafening, except for his own uneven breath. He stayed, mesmerized. Her breasts glowed like peach-tinted cream, the nipples dark, dusty-rose buds. She inhaled until her breath caught in her chest, exposing the delicate lines of her rib cage. The memory of her arching beneath him made his loins ache.
On a soft cry, her hands flew up in embarrassment, her eyes blinked open.
“Don’t.” His order was low, raspy—a man in pain. “I want to look.”
His steady gaze, edged with passion, bore into her. With a shaky breath, he watched her drop her arms, leaving herself fully exposed.
The warm, burnished blush of the fire cast golden shadows, catching Celeste in a muted halo. The radiance made her skin appear delicate—almost translucent.
Graceful, strong.
He slipped the first button of his shirt free before he realized what he’d done.
Still, desire gnawed at him as his fingers hovered over the next button. He wanted to resist the pull, the urge to be with her. Hell, he might as well resist the urge to breathe.
Restlessly, Celeste ran her hand through the rug, caressing the supple surface. Cain’s body grew heavy, aroused, spellbound by the sensual innocence that flowed from her. The second button slid undone.
“Cain?” Her request, though whispered, was simple.
With one tug, he freed his shirt from his jeans. A few seconds later, his shoes and socks lay on the floor.
He grasped the shirt fabric and yanked. The last three shirt buttons popped off. They hit the hardwood with a bounce and a rattle, causing her to freeze.
Before she could react, however, Cain was behind her, curling his body close to hers. When she relaxed, a surge of satisfaction rushed through him. He slid the bra off her shoulders and down her arms, letting his fingers trail over the silk of her skin. Only then did he reach for her, skimming the outside of her breasts before stroking the tips with his thumbs. He’d been the last to see her this way—burning with desire, aching with need. No other man had touched her since him. Like a double-edged sword, the thought brought satisfaction and with it, finely honed pain.
“You cast a spell over me, Gypsy. A curse, maybe.”
Celeste’s senses heightened with each word—forcing her to take a long, deep breath. A spell? Over Cain? A different form of excitement tripped down her spine.
She felt the brush of his shirttails against her sides, the warmth of his naked chest against her back. Hair, rough and sensual, tantalized the points of her shoulder blades, causing them to flex in greed, wanting more.
She slid her knees together to bring him closer, allowing his thighs to tighten against her in a ritualistic dance. No words were needed. Not here, not now.
He guided her hands to her belly, splaying them under his. Gently, he drew her back into him as he dipped then cradled her with his hips. As the hard length of him prodded her bottom, she shivered and gave in to the urge to rub.
She felt his hiss of pleasure on her neck, and layers of goose bumps spread. Then, deliberate fingers eased her sweats down, trailing in its path until they caught on the thin material of her panties. The deep, throaty entreaty triggered small tremors along her nerve endings, giving her a sense of power she’d never experienced before. Slowly, almost as though he was waiting for her to protest, he maneuvered her hand down the flat planes of her stomach, under her waistband, to the apex of her legs where her underwear was already moist with anticipation.
“White cotton?” He whispered, with a hopeful note underlying the question.
Her heart pounded, jumping from her chest into her throat, leaving her unable to manage more than a short, jerky nod. With gentle fingers, he guided her until they both massaged the ache building beneath the sable curls.
Flames of desire scorched her skin as they licked their way up and down her limbs. Automatically, she started to part her thighs, allowing more access.
“That’s right, open for me, sweetheart.” Her head fell back against his chest, as his fingers dipped and stroked. “I’ll take care of you.”
Take care of her?
“No!” She gasped, trying to harness some control even as she sagged farther into him. She tugged her hand free and turned into his arms. She fisted her hand to keep from stroking his fevered skin. “I want—”
“Me, too,” he growled wickedly. “So let me.” He took advantage of her hesitation to slip his hand under her sweats, his fingers traced the valley between her buttocks. Celeste’s eyes closed, her head rolled to the side with a whimper. Wave after wave of longing swelled over her at the unexpected caress.
Cain captured her mouth, his tongue thrusting, plundering—savage in its intensity. For a moment she gave in to the rawness of the possession, the turbulence of his passion as it swirled around them.
He tried drawing her to him again. Immediately her other hand joined the first and pushed, breaking off the kiss.
“No,” she panted, more than a little desperate. “I want more—”
His lips covered her nipple with a primitive posses siveness that left her weak. Long, liquid lines of desire traveled from her breast to her belly, only to settle like warm honey between her thighs. Heavens, she loved that feeling. She let her fingertips slide over his nipple hoping to create the same sensation for him and was rewarded when a groan rumbled deep within his throat.
“I want control,” she said, surprised at the rawness of her voice. She realized that more than anything in her life, she wanted to seduce Cain, the way he’d seduced her at his cabin—making her mindless with passion, making her fall in love. “All this time, you told me I needed to trust myself. But you were wrong, Cain. I needed to discover myself.” She took a deep breath. There was still a chance for her to grow whole again. Something she’d never had as Diana.
He drew in a long, ragged breath then lowered them both back—catching her against him as they settled onto the sheepskin rug.
“I’m an equal. Yours. Quamar’s. The people here in Shadow Point.” The admission came from the darkest pit in her being. “I’m someone who matters.” I’m someone worth loving.
Cain tilted her chin up until their eyes met. He kissed her lightly, tenderly, before laying his head back onto the rug.
“Good.” She blew the word out on a long breath. Before her courage caved, she bent forward until their bodies touched. Slowly, she slid upward, hearing the hitch, the hiss just before her lips touched his ear. “Let me know what you like,” she murmured, then she nipped his ear.
“That’s a good start.” Cain’s face remained rock-hard, his features giving nothing away. He stroked her neck, tracing its delicate curve with his thumb.
Her pulse leapt under his caress. “Don’t,” she said, jerking back. “It’s my turn.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” He shrugged, but Celeste wasn’t fooled. When he locked his hands behind his head, the veins popped, the muscles bulged. She smiled with wicked delight, more than up for the challenge he’d just presented her.
Pleasure purred through her at the thought of taking Cain to his breaking point. “I think…” She deliberated a moment as she sat up, wiggling just a little across his groin. “I want to kiss you.”
She trailed a delicate finger over his stomach, satisfied when it clenched beneath her touch. “Here.” She stopped at his waistband and unsnapped his jeans. She tugged on the loose end of his shirt. “Comfortable?”
When his gaze fastened on her bare breasts, her heart nearly stopped but her nipples tightened. “Gypsy—”
“My turn,” she said a little bit shaky, before standing. She didn’t risk a glance in his direction. Nonetheless, she felt his eyes burn her as she slowly slipped out of her pants and underwear. It had been easier years before. Cain had always taken control.
Her courage had come from the heat of the moment. But now…
For a second she just stood there, lingering—not to tease, but because her legs wouldn’t move. When her gaze finally caught his, there was an untamed, almost ruthless, flare of passion in the gray depths. She was sur prised she was able to stand under the blast of heat, but in a blink it was gone, replaced by a hooded, almost sleepy gaze. Which somehow, Celeste decided, was just as dangerous, if not more so. “Man, Cain, you’re sexy.”
Her tone was like raw silk whispering over his skin.
Hell, Cain groaned silently, she’d barely touched him. But the words…desire thrummed in his veins, thick and hot.
Once again she straddled his waist, this time with her back to him, giving him an unhindered view of her beautiful derrière. His fingers flexed with the urge to cup the round curves, stroke the sensitive skin again. With one slow scoot she moved down onto his stomach. He could feel the brush of her minklike curls against his navel, smell the scent of her arousal. Cain locked his fingers together in a fierce battle for control.
When she unzipped his pants, he arched his hips, more in reaction to the butterfly touch of her fingers than to help her along. With one gentle shove, she pushed down the pants and briefs to his thighs.
He heard her gasp as his erection broke free of its restrictions. When she hesitated, leaving his jeans still halfway down, he knew those same fingers were going to flutter over his arousal.
Her breath hitched, her body tightened.
“Gypsy,” he warned, his voice raw, his body desperate for a few seconds of reprieve. If she touched him now, there was a good chance he would embarrass himself. “It would be easier for me, sweetheart, if my jeans were completely off.”
She looked over her shoulder, her expression sultry and determined. Somehow, Cain sensed, her nervousness had disappeared, drowning under a waterfall of self-confidence. That in itself made this sweet torture worth it.
A moment later, she tossed his clothes aside, leaving them both naked. She faced him then. “Ready?” she asked, desire smoking her words. She crept forward, brushing, sliding until she was astride his chest.
His body throbbed, his heart pounded. Still he didn’t touch her, but the effort cost him, as small drops of sweat beaded at his temples.
Taking a lesson from Cain, Celeste traced a small pattern on his biceps before moving to the inside of his elbow. When his muscles flexed then bunched in response, she couldn’t stop the female satisfaction that rolled through her.
Riding that wave, she leaned down and parted her lips a mere inch away from his mouth until their breath mingled, hot and moist.
He was tight and aroused beneath her. She’d never felt more powerful in her life, more sensual.
Or more fragile.
“Cain.” She chewed his bottom lip just a bit. A growl rumbled deep within his chest and triggered soft vibrations against her thighs. Celeste moaned and sank against him. He smelled of sex now, hot and sinful. “Kiss me.”
Cain’s mouth covered hers, his tongue thrusting, his hands still locked behind him, his arms straining with the effort to keep his shoulders in the air. Celeste gripped his hair, holding on, devouring the spicy male taste that was him.
Sheer willpower saved her. She pushed against his chest, not willing to give up her advantage. Still, when he eased back onto the rug, she slid her tongue over her lips for one last taste. Pleasing her, pleasing them both.
“My turn?”
The rawness in the question made her body hum. He’d asked—not told—and hadn’t realized it. Secretly thrilled, she shook her head.
“No,” she said, her eyes brilliant.
But Cain was on fire. Their kiss surged his body into an exquisitely painful arousal. He tried to concentrate on something else, to undermine the need. When her lips brushed his neck, all thoughts spontaneously combusted.
“I like the taste of you,” she whispered against his collarbone before trailing smaller, more delicate kisses across his chest. “Spicy, dangerous.” Her tongue swirled around his nipple, and desire clawed at him, causing him to arch slightly from the floor. Where in the hell had she learned that?
Cain felt, rather than saw, Celeste shift down onto his thighs, her hands trailing behind her hot, little mouth as she moved. When she stopped, he could hear her breath grow heavier as she studied his arousal.
“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, reverently.
Cain ground his back teeth, willing his body to obey his mind. Willing his mind to ignore what his sweet Gypsy was about to do.
Neither worked.
Her lips brushed the very tip of his arousal.
“Gypsy,” Cain moaned, just short of demanding—for her to stop or continue he wasn’t sure. Didn’t care.
She’d heard him, he knew, but had ignored the plea, intent only on her exploration. She shifted her weight until she lay lengthwise on his legs, her hips automatically gyrating against him as she moved.
Cain closed his eyes against the desperation rising in him.
Her fingers, cool and slender, cupped him, her thumb stroking the soft skin underneath. He felt the ring’s cool metal as it drifted over his heated skin. His body shook, grasping at the slippery edges of control, discipline—anything.
“They feel like velvet. Soft, thick velvet.” Her breath hitched. Then her lips touched them.
Cain shot up with the force of a missile, his hands still locked in place. That was his mistake. Because just then he watched her mouth, still swollen from his kisses, close over the length of him—moist, warm, sweet.
A moan rose from the very depths of his being, only to explode from his lips in a burst of longing.
Celeste looked up, her throat constricting at the almost feral look in Cain’s eyes. A whimper escaped her lips, low and harsh—helpless as her core contracted in painful need.
“Cain?”
His eyes burned, he gripped her hips. With one fluid motion he hoisted her in midair, waiting for her to look at him. When she did, she gasped at the primal heat, the fierce possession and reveled in it. Roaring her name, he impaled her. She cried out with pure animal pleasure.
He surged forward, touching the very tip of her womb, touching the very tip of her heart. Emotions overwhelmed her. His, hers, both. Fever-pitched, she raked her fingers along his stomach, demanding he appease her monstrous yearning. He pulled out then plunged back in. Flesh inside flesh. Tight, hard. With
one final cry, her body clenched, shuddered then exploded, her climax consuming her.
Only then did Cain give into his need. With another deep, almost savage, thrust, he came, shouting her name once more—the passion eradicating all but one last coherent thought.
Mine.
Chapter Thirteen
Quamar Bazan cursed silently at the damp weather that stole the heat from his blood. He adjusted his dark knit cap, pulling its edges over his ears. During his life, he’d spent many evenings in the cold, for the Sahara without the sun was like a bitter woman—frigid and steadfast in its vengeance against man. But when that same man gazed upon stars that blanketed the desert sky, well…
One glance told him no stars would appear anytime soon over Shadow Point. Allah was allowing nature a darker path tonight. So be it, he thought. The time would come when he could once again return home to the desert and his people.
In the distance, the dull roar of the wind rushing through the trees caught his attention. It is the way, Quamar mused. Life sometimes hastens on its path, stirring up man and nature along its way.
He slipped over the eight-foot stone wall surrounding the Cambridge estate. Pulling a cigarette-size tracking stick from his backpack, he hit a button to extend the prongs and stuck it into the ground under some bushes. On the tip, a small satellite dish beeped its activation, ready to feed perimeter readings back to Cain and headquarters.
Quamar grunted as he grabbed another. Concealing the sticks along the property boundaries would make it unnecessary for him to breach Olivia Cambridge’s mansion. Quamar preferred it that way. He had no desire to disturb an old woman from her sleep.
Slowly he made his way across the area, his pattern a simple, direct line, his senses alert for patrolling guards.
He smiled in the darkness, a secret smile, as he swept through the brush soundlessly, measuring the distance, watching the reading feed into the small computer in his palm. Even though Quamar acknowledged the necessary equipment, he found more pleasure in the simple nomadic life of his tribe.