Lucy Lane and the Lieutenant by Helen Dickson

response. Something in his expression made the breath catch in her throat and the warmly intimate look in his eyes was vibrantly, alarmingly alive. Not for the first time since he had come back into her life she found herself at a loss to understand him. Suddenly his presence was vaguely threatening. As they continued to face one another, she naked except for the flimsy shirt that hung down to her thighs, she craved his lips against hers, her body within his arms.
    ‘I—I think you should leave, Nathan. I’ll be all right now.’
    As if he had read her thoughts, bending his head, without thought to the consequences, he pressed his lips to hers. His arms slipped with infinite care about her. His embrace enfolded her, bringing her in close contact with his lean frame. Lucy felt the hard, manly boldness of him and she closed her eyes as his searing lips slowly traced along her throat and shoulder. His hands caressed her, leisurely arousing her, stroking her breasts and moving downward over her belly.
    Lucy’s whole body began to tremble as his lips descended to hers and she sought to forestall what her heart knew was inevitable by reasoning with him.
    ‘This isn’t what we planned,’ she whispered, shuddering as his lips trailed a hot path across her cheek to seek the inner crevice of her ear. ‘You promised...’
    He smothered what she had been about to say with his mouth, kissing her long and deep until Lucy shivered with the waves of tension shooting through her. The instant he felt her trembling response, his arm tightened, supporting her.
    ‘Don’t worry, Lucy,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I’ll stop whenever you tell me to.’
    Imprisoned by his protective embrace, reassured by his promise and seduced by his mouth and caressing hands, which had found their way under her shirt to bare flesh, Lucy clung to him, sliding slowly into a dark abyss of desire. Heedless of what he was doing, Nathan forced her to give him back the sensual urgency he was offering her, driving his tongue into her mouth until Lucy began to match the pagan kiss. Lost in the heated magic, she touched her tongue to his lips and felt the gasp of his breath against her mouth.
    Nathan kissed her again and again until her nails were digging into his back and she was gasping for breath. Lost in the exciting beauty of her, the same uncontrollable compulsion to have her that had seized him four years ago had overtaken him again and he kissed her until she was moaning and writhing in his arms and desire was pouring through him in hot tidal waves. Out of sheer preservation he forced his hands to stop the pleasurable torture of caressing her breasts, but his mouth still sought hers, sliding back and forth against her parted lips, but softer now.
    An eternity later he raised his head, the blood pounding in his ears. Lucy stayed in his arms, her cheek against his chest, her body pressed to his, trembling in the aftermath of the most explosive, inexplicable passion Nathan had felt in a long time.
    Gradually Lucy’s breathing became even and the sounds from the inn below began penetrating her drugged senses. Drawing a shattered breath, she gently disengaged herself from his arms, struggling valiantly to make the transition from heated passion to some semblance of normality.
    ‘That should not have happened,’ she whispered, combing her trembling fingers through her tousled hair. ‘You agreed we would not do this—
we
agreed. We are just two days into our journey and already you go back on your word.’ She spoke steadily, without reproach, for she could not deny that half the blame was attached to her.
    Nathan shook his head and his face became gentle. His eyes were steady and honest, and he did not avoid her gaze as he spoke. ‘Lucy, I will not lie to you and deny that I do not want you. There is something special, something fine about you, an indescribable magnetism which draws me to you. It always did, so nothing is changed. I saw the challenge in your