The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,115

stifled a yawn, closed her book, and laid it aside. “I’m for bed.” She rose.

He came to his feet as if pulled by strings. “I’ll come up, too.”

She arched a brow, a slow, sirenlike smile curving her lips. “I’d hoped you would. If you don’t mind, in the circumstances I’d rather share your bed than slide into mine.”

Quelling a shiver, he waved her to the door. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Side by side they walked up the stairs and around to their rooms; he let her lead the way into the sitting room, then straight on into his room.

Following her in, he closed the door, then reached out, caught her hand, and drew her to him, into his arms as he stepped deeper into the room.

A quick glance confirmed that two lamps had been lit, the curtains drawn against the deepening night. The bed had been turned down, and even though he hadn’t ordered it, he felt confident the room and the bed itself had been thoroughly searched. His staff had been deeply shocked and, indeed, affronted; they wouldn’t allow a repetition of what, in their hearts, they saw as an attack on him and them, on the House of Cavanaugh that they served, and Mary was now, in their eyes as well as his, a vital and valued part of the family.

Fastening his hands about her waist, he looked down at her face, studied the mystery of her violet-blue eyes. He took a moment to savor the lithe strength of her, the supple steel beneath his hands, before saying, “Thank you for understanding and forgiving my atrocious behavior today.” He faintly arched a brow. “You do forgive me, don’t you?”

Mary smiled up at him. “Of course.”

When he didn’t seem convinced, she laughed. “I’m a Cynster—I know how men like you behave.”

And why. She omitted those two words, but that why was what most interested her, what commanded her attention. It might very well be everything she sought, the bedrock on which they might build their future life.

Far from being disheartened by today, she now had solid hope.

And, as always, she wanted to press on. Smiling, unable to hide her expectation, she raised her hands to his nape. “Let’s put today behind us and go on from here. From where we are now, in this room, in this moment.”

She could see the wariness that crept into his eyes, that of a wild predator who scents not a trap but a hidden binding. But if she was right, the binding lay within him, and was one that, ultimately, he would willingly bear.

Now, however, she suspected he wouldn’t see it—or if he did, would do his best to ignore it.

Sure enough, after that momentary hesitation, he nodded.

Agreed and bent his head as she stretched up.

Their lips met, touched, brushed, then fused. She had no idea why it was so different every time, yet thus it seemed. And this time was all about reassurance.

About exploring anew, connecting anew. Revisiting past experiences, but with a more acute understanding, one born of the day, of the emotions provoked and unleashed, then reined back.

Until now. Now, when they could be unchained and allowed to run, when they could be given free rein to infuse and direct, to seek expression through the physical act he and she both sought to harness, to bend to their wills.

As before, neither succeeded. That force that came to be when they joined, that together they seemed to create and bring to life, inevitably overcame them.

Overwhelmed them.

This time it transformed into a firestorm of passion, of heated touches, possessive caresses, his and hers, and a burning need to satisfy the hunger that had taken root and grown within them both, ravenous and demanding.

Commanding.

At the last they bent, bowed, and surrendered, and let the flames take them and fuse them, consume and reforge them, before flinging them, limp and ragged, into the cooling sea of satiation to drift to the distant shore . . . where bliss waited, heavy and soothing, and rolled over them.

Echoes of ecstasy still tingled through their flesh as, wrecked and helpless, they disengaged only to draw the covers up before slumping back into each other’s arms.

Together, where they needed to be.

Chapter Thirteen

Life was good. Over the following days, Mary felt increasingly pleased, as she found the position of Ryder’s marchioness not just to her liking but fitting her like a glove.

The incident of the adder remained unresolved, yet as several days passed and nothing further occurred