should.’
‘I thought you might despise me,’ she gasped when she could. ‘And I was ashamed.’
‘Never! Let me show you how much I hold you in esteem.’
Up the stairs to his bedchamber. When Marie-Claude tripped, Zan supported her, an arm around her waist. He locked the door to enclose them and shut out the world.
‘Well, Marie. What now?’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, catching her breath, but her eyes never left his.
Tension hummed between them, spinning out in lively waves. Then as they faced each other, it exploded into outrageous need, with so much energy that the air almost sparkled with it. Jolted by it, Zan simply pounced, gathering her into his arms, her whole body flattened against his in a need to touch every inch of her, to be aware of every curve and angle even through the layers of silk gown and petticoats. Covering her face, her throat with kisses, he could bring no thought into his mind but that she had braved the storm for him, come to him, that she was here, inhis bedchamber, by God, and her mouth was soft under his. Desire rushed through him as fast and overwhelming as a summer flood.
Stripped of all thought, Marie-Claude allowed herself to be swept along with the elemental thrill. This was what she wanted, to be here, with this wild, untamed man who touched her heart and her soul. Marie-Claude did not even try to argue that she should not be here. In his bedchamber in the middle of the day with his hands hard on her back and his mouth hot on hers. It was glorious. She wound her arms round Zan’s neck and curled her fingers into his hair, heart beating furiously as the slide of his teeth along her throat tossed her responses into a mad spin. A whirlpool, the water soft and fluid but utterly relentless, whirling her faster and faster into its vortex. The only thought to surface—that he did not despise her. When he groaned, his tongue sliding along the swell of her breast above the lace edging of her gown, she knew the bond between them was unconditional, without limit.
Zan was out of control, dominated by one driving force. To take, to possess, to own. To ravish and devour. Raising her head, he dragged in a breath. He must be careful of her—but the need to hold, to arouse, had the sharpness of a knife-edge. Every movement she made in his arms, every brush of her body, every slide of breast and thigh, saturated him with need. The taste of her, her perfume, the texture of her skin, all melded together to create a feast for his senses. And he was ravenous. As if he had not eaten for days. For years.
‘Marie…’
Driven by the hunger, his mouth swallowed her gaspof pleasure as he tumbled her to the bed, pushing aside, snatching at clothing as she fed his arousal.
Marie-Claude found herself pinned under him on the bed. ‘Wait!’ she gasped.
‘Too late for that!’
Her breath sobbed. The tendons in his neck were taut as ropes beneath her lips. She felt a need to brace herself, as if she had been cast adrift in a relentless sea and must weather the force of a storm. His hands, such clever skilful hands, skimmed and roamed, a ferocious onslaught of discovery, searching out new responses. Seducing her. One moment softly reassuring, the next swooping, plundering, so that her skin heated and quivered.
She could not get her breath. Her body strained against his.
Zan was stunned. The ultimate combination of sleek muscles overlaid by the most satin-soft of skin. He couldn’t get enough, but wanted to absorb her, every perfumed inch. It was not enough to re-learn with his fingertips the lovely body he had seen in moonlight. He needed to consume and savour. To trace with his lips the sweet under-swell of her breasts, her hard-tipped nipples. The sinuous dip to her waist, the fluid sweep to her hips. The dark secrets of her thighs. Until the taste and texture of her was in his blood.
Marie-Claude shivered when Zan captured her wrists to stretch them above her head. A lovely long
‘I thought you might despise me,’ she gasped when she could. ‘And I was ashamed.’
‘Never! Let me show you how much I hold you in esteem.’
Up the stairs to his bedchamber. When Marie-Claude tripped, Zan supported her, an arm around her waist. He locked the door to enclose them and shut out the world.
‘Well, Marie. What now?’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, catching her breath, but her eyes never left his.
Tension hummed between them, spinning out in lively waves. Then as they faced each other, it exploded into outrageous need, with so much energy that the air almost sparkled with it. Jolted by it, Zan simply pounced, gathering her into his arms, her whole body flattened against his in a need to touch every inch of her, to be aware of every curve and angle even through the layers of silk gown and petticoats. Covering her face, her throat with kisses, he could bring no thought into his mind but that she had braved the storm for him, come to him, that she was here, inhis bedchamber, by God, and her mouth was soft under his. Desire rushed through him as fast and overwhelming as a summer flood.
Stripped of all thought, Marie-Claude allowed herself to be swept along with the elemental thrill. This was what she wanted, to be here, with this wild, untamed man who touched her heart and her soul. Marie-Claude did not even try to argue that she should not be here. In his bedchamber in the middle of the day with his hands hard on her back and his mouth hot on hers. It was glorious. She wound her arms round Zan’s neck and curled her fingers into his hair, heart beating furiously as the slide of his teeth along her throat tossed her responses into a mad spin. A whirlpool, the water soft and fluid but utterly relentless, whirling her faster and faster into its vortex. The only thought to surface—that he did not despise her. When he groaned, his tongue sliding along the swell of her breast above the lace edging of her gown, she knew the bond between them was unconditional, without limit.
Zan was out of control, dominated by one driving force. To take, to possess, to own. To ravish and devour. Raising her head, he dragged in a breath. He must be careful of her—but the need to hold, to arouse, had the sharpness of a knife-edge. Every movement she made in his arms, every brush of her body, every slide of breast and thigh, saturated him with need. The taste of her, her perfume, the texture of her skin, all melded together to create a feast for his senses. And he was ravenous. As if he had not eaten for days. For years.
‘Marie…’
Driven by the hunger, his mouth swallowed her gaspof pleasure as he tumbled her to the bed, pushing aside, snatching at clothing as she fed his arousal.
Marie-Claude found herself pinned under him on the bed. ‘Wait!’ she gasped.
‘Too late for that!’
Her breath sobbed. The tendons in his neck were taut as ropes beneath her lips. She felt a need to brace herself, as if she had been cast adrift in a relentless sea and must weather the force of a storm. His hands, such clever skilful hands, skimmed and roamed, a ferocious onslaught of discovery, searching out new responses. Seducing her. One moment softly reassuring, the next swooping, plundering, so that her skin heated and quivered.
She could not get her breath. Her body strained against his.
Zan was stunned. The ultimate combination of sleek muscles overlaid by the most satin-soft of skin. He couldn’t get enough, but wanted to absorb her, every perfumed inch. It was not enough to re-learn with his fingertips the lovely body he had seen in moonlight. He needed to consume and savour. To trace with his lips the sweet under-swell of her breasts, her hard-tipped nipples. The sinuous dip to her waist, the fluid sweep to her hips. The dark secrets of her thighs. Until the taste and texture of her was in his blood.
Marie-Claude shivered when Zan captured her wrists to stretch them above her head. A lovely long
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