Sunshine and the Shadowmaster by Christine Rimmer Page A

then?”
    â€œI...don’t know.”
    He gently closed her fingers once more. “Go back to bed.”
    â€œOh, please...” she whispered, shameless in her need now. “Try to understand. I...only know how I feel right now. That I want what you said last night. A little comfort. And forgetfulness.”
    He was silent. Her heart sank. But then he asked, “You’re sure?”
    â€œYes.”
    Another silence. She felt her nerve deserting her. He was right. She would feel differently, come morning.
    But then a miracle happened. He whispered to her, the sound as soft as velvet, through the dark.
    â€œAll right. If it’s what you want. Come closer, Heather. Come here.”

Chapter Seven
    L ike a woman in a dream, Heather stepped between his knees and touched his tear-wet face again.
    Lucas remained perfectly still. She let her hand stray, allowing herself the indulgence of tracing his features, all those sharply cut planes and angles. His eyelids felt so thin and delicate beneath her fingertips. They quivered a little. She stroked them, each in turn, very lightly, until they seemed to relax.
    He caught her hand again. His eyes came open, seeking hers. “I don’t have anything...for contraception.”
    â€œIt’s all right,” she heard herself whisper. “It’s my safe time.”
    Holding her gaze, he brought her fingers to his mouth. His tongue came out.
    Heather moaned a little as his tongue touched the pad of her middle finger. He took her finger into his mouth. She moaned again. It was like silk in there. Wet silk. His teeth scraped her knuckle. She felt her knees going wobbly.
    She swayed a little before him. He reached out the hand that wasn’t holding hers and clasped her waist.
    She thought he meant to steady her, but then she understood that he was after something else. He pushed her backward just a little, and brought his knees together. His hand slipped in below the sash of her robe. He traced the inside of her thighs, a quick, brushing, upside-down V. Even through the fabric of her pajamas, it was a stunningly intimate caress. With a small, sharp gasp, she took his meaning and parted her legs.
    He pushed the robe away a little and clasped her waist again, urging her forward now.
    â€œOh,” she said, as she found herself sitting on his knees, facing him, her legs apart and her bare feet dangling just above the floor.
    He smiled, then. She could see his white teeth and the lifted curve of his mouth. He took both of her hands and put them on his shoulders. She returned his smile, tremulously, feeling steadier now that she had his hard, strong shoulders to hold on to.
    And then he put a hand on her throat. “Warm,” he said. “Soft.”
    He began to caress her. He touched each of her earlobes in turn, taking them between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing them and setting off sparks that seemed to trail down into the center of her. He cupped her nape, beneath the fall of her hair, then brought his hand forward again to follow the shape of her jawline. He touched her lips, rubbing them lightly. She smelled her own floral scent on his fingertips.
    And then his hand strayed downward. His fingers slid inside her robe again.
    She shivered.
    He withdrew his hand. “Afraid?” he asked.
    She nodded, since she couldn’t have spoken right then for the life of her.
    He put both hands on her waist for a moment, another steadying gesture. And then he went to work, untying the sash of her robe.
    The knot gave way. He pulled the sash free and dropped it to the floor. The robe fell open. He pushed at it, until she slipped her arms out of the sleeves and it, too, was gone.
    He started on the buttons of her pajama top. They fell open quickly. Too quickly. Her heart was beating painfully against her ribs, a scared rhythm, but a hungry one, too. Heat flared in the center of her and seemed to pulse outward, so that it felt as if ribbons of flame