The Millionaire's Rebellious Mistress - By Catherine George Page 0,47
he whispered, and kissed her as though the simple, ravishing pleasure of the kiss itself was all he needed or intended.
It was Sarah, to her surprise, who grew impatient first. She wriggled closer on his lap, and Alex groaned and held her still.
‘I’m only human,’ he whispered against her lips.
‘So am I,’ she whispered back.
As though her words had triggered some switch inside him, his mouth suddenly devoured hers, their hearts thumping so madly in unison as he crushed her close that Sarah longed to tell Alex to forget any scruples and take her to bed. A shiver ran through her as his hands slid up under the stretchy sequinned fabric, and she stopped thinking altogether as his fingertips played such clever, inciting games with her sensitised nipples that she dug her fingers into his back in demand.
Alex raised his head, his eyes dark ‘This,’ he said hoarsely, ‘is the part where I wish I had an ordinary flight of stairs so I could do the Rhett Butler thing and carry you up to bed to ravish you.’ He set her on her feet and stood up, rejoicing as he saw the glittering sequins moving in hurried rhythm with her breathing. ‘Instead,’ he said, holding her eyes, ‘I’m going to take you by the hand and lead you up those stairs to my room—and then ravish you.’
‘In that case,’ said Sarah breathlessly, ‘you’d better blow out these candles.’
Alex pulled her close. ‘You approve my plan?’
She nodded. ‘If you’d said you just wanted to make love to me I might have said no, but ravishing sounds too good to pass up.’
Laughing together, they blew out the candles in the saucers, then took the pair in the glass holders up the winding stair to the master bedroom.
Alex kissed her swiftly. ‘Wait there. I’ll go down and get the torches.’ When he came back with them he put a bottle of wine down alongside the candles, took a glass from each of his pockets and placed them by the wine. ‘Since you’re not driving anywhere tonight, I thought you might like another glass of this.’
She beamed at him. ‘I would. Thank you.’
Alex sat on the edge of the bed and patted the place beside him. ‘Come and sit here and I’ll pour.’
Sarah kicked off her sandals and perched beside him. He gave her a glass of wine, then took her free hand in his and kissed it fleetingly.
‘This is a very good idea,’ she told him, as thunder rumbled in the distance.
‘I get them sometimes,’ he said modestly, and stroked a hand down the sequins. ‘I like this sexy chainmail thing you’re wearing.’
‘It’s a dress,’ she informed him.
‘So why are you wearing jeans with it?’
‘It’s shorter than my usual stuff.’
Alex grinned, his eyes gleaming wickedly in the candlelight. ‘If the dress is short on you, it must be a bit dangerous on taller women.’
Sarah nodded. ‘It’s meant to be. The woman in the shop said it looked perfect, but then, that’s her job.’ She sipped more of her wine. ‘This is delicious—and hopefully a lot less lethal than Mavis Grover’s parsnip wine. When Harry drove me home from Westhope I fell asleep in the pick-up.’
‘If at all possible,’ said Alex, his hand tightening on hers, ‘I’d rather my wine doesn’t have the same effect on you. At least not yet.’
Sarah chuckled. ‘Before you ravish me, you mean?’
‘Exactly!’ He slid an arm round her, and pulled her close with a sigh of pleasure. ‘This is a very good way to spend Saturday night.’
‘Except for the storm.’
‘Because of the storm,’ he contradicted. ‘Otherwise we wouldn’t be here on my bed together, and you would probably be driving home by now.’
‘True.’ Sarah raised her glass in solemn toast. ‘To the storm.’ She drank the rest of her wine and handed him the glass.
Alex laid it on the side-table with his, then piled his pillows at the head of the bed and pulled her up into his arms as he leaned against them, his breath warm and tingling against her ear. ‘To make it even more perfect, would you do something for me?’
Sarah angled her face up to his. ‘Sing, or recite from Shakespeare maybe?’
‘Later for that. Right now I want to see you in the dress without the jeans.’
She slid off the bed and stood up. Aware in every fibre of his gleaming, intent eyes, she unzipped the jeans and took them off. Deliberately taking her time about it, she folded them and placed them on