Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,91

her fingers straying of their own accord higher and higher along the inside of his thigh.

She felt a quickening low in her belly as he moaned with pleasure. Boldly, she let her fingers knead the hard muscular plane of his chest and belly, the width of his shoulders, pleased by the little sounds of delight her touch elicited.

She let her hands slide over his strong, sturdy neck, and then over his shoulders again, marveling at his hard-muscled flesh. His skin was smooth and warm.

Impulsively, she began to press feather-light kisses to his neck, his shoulder, his navel.

With a groan, he caught her around the waist and pulled her onto the bed until she was sprawled across him.

“Lady,” he murmured, and his voice was low and husky with desire.

“My lord?”

He cupped the back of her head with one hand and drew her toward him. Eyes still closed, he kissed her, a long, slow kiss that gradually grew in heat and intensity until she was clinging to him, everything forgotten but the power of his touch, and her need for him.

Without taking his mouth from hers, he somehow managed to ease her out of her dress and undergarments. When she would have pulled away to remove her boots and stockings, he shook his head, unwilling to let her go for even a moment.

He caressed her, his hands gentle, entreating. As if she would refuse him, she thought, overcome with a rush of love for this man who had risked his life for her, who knew her, and loved her, body and soul.

She basked in the adoration she read in his eyes, thrilled to his touch. He was a big man, hard-muscled and strong, yet he made love to her with infinite care, mindful of the new life she carried beneath her heart. His hands worshiped her; his kisses fanned the fire between them.

“Lady,” he murmured, raining kisses along the side of her neck. “Ah, lady, you’re like fire and silk in my hands.”

“Am I?”

“Aye, lady.” He groaned deep in his throat as her fingertips skimmed over his chest, trailing fire.

Kylene drew back. “Are you in pain, my lord wolf?” she asked, afraid she had accidentally jarred his injured thigh.

Hardane gazed up at her, a wry grin on his lips. “I’m in pain,” he muttered, “but not where you think.”

Kylene frowned at him, and then grinned, her cheeks growing warm as she took his meaning.

“Think it’s funny, do you?” he growled. “To torment me with your nearness and then pull away?”

Before she could answer, he rolled them over and tucked her beneath him.

Careful not to crush her, he kissed her again, groaning softly as she arched against him. Her skin was smooth and soft, unblemished and beautiful. Her scent rose all around him, warm and musky. She moved restlessly beneath him, the friction of her skin against his inflaming his desire until he was trembling with need.

“Now, my lord wolf,” she crooned softly, her hands gliding restlessly up and down his broad back, her nails lightly raking his flesh.

“Now,” he agreed, and buried himself deep within her welcoming warmth.

Chapter 41

Sharilyn paced the floor of her prison hour after hour, her mind in turmoil. Kray was unconscious and his mind was closed to her, but at least he was still alive.

She cursed herself for refusing to bed the Interrogator. What did it matter if he had his way with her body? She could have sent her tashada to Kray while the Interrogator defiled her. Instead, she had angered him, and she knew Kray would pay the ultimate price for what she’d done.

She paused as she heard footsteps in the corridor. It was the guard who brought her meals. Instantly, she took on the shape of the Interrogator and began pounding on the door.

“Let me out of here!” she hollered, hammering on the door again. “Hurry, you fools!”

There was the rasp of a key turning in the lock, and then the door swung open. Two guards stood in the passageway. One held a covered tray in his hands; the other held a sword.

“What is it, my lord?” asked the man bearing the tray.

“The woman! She’s escaped!”

Sharilyn marched boldly out of the room, knocking the tray from the hands of the near guard.

“You!” she shouted, gesturing to the armed guard. “Follow me!”

Without waiting for a reply, she hurried down the corridor, her inner sense leading her to the dungeons, and to Kray.

He waited in the shadows, not daring to breathe, as he watched the man move