Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,68

her breasts moist against his chest, her aching center meeting his hardness. At last she understood the ecstasy of this position; it gave her the freedom to move against him.

Groaning out her name, he caught her hips and in a wild upward surge entered her. Water sloshed around them. Their lips met in an urgent kiss, their bodies straining, reaching for the pinnacle of pleasure.

When it was over, she lay spent and weak in his arms. His mouth drifted along her brow, leaving a trail of languid kisses. After a few long moments, he lifted her from the pool, holding her upright while he wrapped her in a soft towel. He bent his head to her hair and breathed deeply. “You’ve driven me half mad with wanting,” he said in a rough undertone. “I can’t get enough of you. You’ll sleep with me tonight.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice husky, her throat tight.

He took her up into his arms and walked to his bed, laying her down. The linens felt cool against her deliciously flushed skin. He blew out the bedside candle and settled himself beside her, bringing her close to the hearth fire of his body.

Drowsy and contented, she cuddled to him in the darkness, her head tucked onto his broad shoulder. His arm lay heavy and possessive over her stomach. As if in a dream, she felt his mouth against her brow, his lips gradually searing a downward path until he parted her legs for the most intimate kiss of all. His lovemaking was slow and sweet and strangely unreal, and she nearly wept from the beauty of it. He wielded a mastery over her body that was almost frightening in its intensity.

And in the quiet aftermath, as she drifted toward sleep, he held her within the strong circle of his arms as if he, too, could not bear for the night to end.

Chapter Sixteen

A streamer of sunlight awakened Alicia. The brightness crept through a narrow crack in the closed shutters.

She sat up, taking in her dim surroundings at a glance. A broad bed with a rumpled blue coverlet. Dark masculine furnishings. She had slept for the first time with her husband. Where had he gone?

The room lay in shadow, and the pillow beside her held a trace of his scent. Hugging it to her breasts, she let the memories of the previous night wash over her. Never had she imagined that she could behave with such unbridled ardor. An inner ache gave testament to the wildness of their couplings. Drake had made love to her three times, his caresses shattering her usual reserve. She blushed to remember how swiftly her defenses had fallen under his sensual assault. In his arms, she had become another woman, a creature of carnality, no longer a lady.

The troubling memory brought her fully awake. She blinked at the softly ticking clock on the marble mantel. Then blinked again. Two o’clock?

She had slept the entire morning away and nearly half the afternoon. And she wore not a stitch of clothing.

Disoriented, she rose from the warm linens, her muscles protesting. Could she steal back into her own chamber without being seen? A maidservant might be there, sewing or cleaning. Or gathering up the garments that lay strewn over the carpet, the evidence of seduction.

She quickly reached for a blanket to cover herself. Then she saw something lying at the foot of the bed. Her white silk robe. And on top of it, a perfect red rose.

A sweet pressure caught at her throat. Drake. He must have left them here before departing for his club. Picking up the flower, she closed her eyes and breathed in its rich scent. The velvet petals brushed her skin like the echo of a caress. His caress. Did he still desire her after their night together? Or now that he’d had her, would he turn to another woman?

Her heart aching, she donned the robe. She mustn’t forget that vows meant little to him. He was a charmer, this man she had married to avert disaster. He was a rake who knew how to please a woman. But he wouldn’t remain true to his wife. He believed this spark between them to be mere sexual obsession.

You’ve driven me half mad with wanting. I can’t get enough of you.

Her doubts wavered beneath a reckless rush of longing. How could lust explain the turmoil inside her, the yearning to fathom all his secrets? She wanted to know his thoughts, his hopes, his feelings.