Caught in the deepening intimacy of the kiss, in the slow tangle of their tongues, the long moments of disguised but insistent plunder, she was nevertheless aware of his arm closing around her, of his other hand spreading over her back, supporting her, trapping her, easing her nearer, tempting her closer yet.
His strength was a palpable force surrounding her; she was tall and slender while he was taller, broader, infinitely stronger. She felt like a reed to his oak, not that he would snap her, but that he could, and would, bend her to his will…
A shiver raced through her, an echo of what must have gone through some other woman, centuries before, when she’d stood, caught, in some long-ago Cynster’s embrace. Just because time had passed didn’t mean anything had changed; he was very much that earlier conqueror, disguised only by a veneer of sophistication. Scratch him, and the roar would be the same.
She knew it, yet the knowledge didn’t stop her from inviting more. Indeed, the implicit challenge only made her bolder. Bold enough to close the distance between them until her bodice brushed his coat, until her skirts tangled with his legs and covered his boots, to rest her forearm on his shoulder and spear her fingers, slowly, experimentally, through his soft hair.
Simon felt his control quake; he locked every muscle against the rampant urge to draw her fully against him. To give his clamoring senses that much ease at least, to feel her lithe body molded to his. Cleaving to his as she would, sometime…
But not yet.
He could feel the compulsion rising within him and fought to suppress it, let it find expression only in his increasingly ravenous plundering of her mouth.
Soft, warm, she offered and he took, flagrantly claiming, guiding her deeper into the intimacy, until her lips, tongue, the succulent recesses of her mouth were his to savor as he wished.
He wanted much more. Wanted the promise of the body in his arms-wanted to claim it, to dictate her surrender, to have her soft body offered up as appeasement to the hardness of his.
A second kiss-that was all she’d asked for. Even though he knew in his conqueror’s soul that she wouldn’t complain if he took their interaction further, he knew her. Far too well to make the mistake of giving her more than she’d haughtily requested. She was foolish to trust him, him or any man, as she was, yet he was too wise in her ways not to abide by the letter and intent of her trust.
He intended to build on it, and so gain a great deal more.
Drawing back to safe ground was an effort, accomplished step by step, degree by reluctant degree. When their lips finally parted, they remained for an instant, heads close, breaths mingling. Then he lifted his head, and she did the same, blinking up at him. Realizing, as did he, as her eyes searched his, that the landscape between them had altered. New vistas had opened up, ones neither had previously imagined might be. She was enthralled… as was he.
She realized his hands were about her waist; dragging in a breath she stepped back. He let her, his fingers releasing, reluctantly sliding from her.
Her eyes were still locked on his, but her mind was racing. She was still short of breath, suddenly uncertain. She looked lost.
He smiled-charmingly. Reaching out, he tucked a stray curl back behind her ear. Raised a brow, faintly teasing. “Satisfied?”
She wasn’t deceived, but recognized his tack-his offer of an easy way back to the world they’d left; he saw her understanding in her eyes. Along with her hesitation.
But then she straightened and inclined her head, haughty as ever. “Indeed.” A smile flitted about her lips; abruptly she turned away, toward the path that would lead them around and back to the others. “That was perfectly… satisfactory.”
He hid a grin as he fell in on her heels. Farther along, he took her hand to help her over a jumble of tumbled stones, and kept it. When they approached the cloisters, he wound her arm in his; they strolled on, outwardly easy, in reality all aware.
By unspoken agreement they would hide that last, but continue to explore it in private.
Reaching the cloisters, they heard the others’ voices; he conducted her in, watching her still but with a new and quite different intent. He needed to ensure she remained comfortable with him, that she felt no qualms about approaching him, being with him, ultimately asking more of him.
He was perfectly prepared to teach her all she wished-all she would ever need to learn. He wanted her to turn to him for her next lesson. And the next.
Holding her in his arms, feeling the strength of the compulsion she evoked, sensing her reaction, had been enough to answer the question in his mind.
His insane, wild, previously inconceivable idea wasn’t such a crazed notion after all.
He wanted her as his wife-in his bed, bearing his children. The scales had shattered and fallen from his eyes with a resounding crash. He wanted her by his side. Wanted her. He didn’t truly understand why-why her-yet he’d never felt so certain of anything in his life.
The next morning, lounging against the frame of the open French doors of the library, Simon kept watch over the terrace doors of the morning room, the downstairs parlor, and the garden hall, the doors through which Portia might emerge to go walking in the gardens.
He’d known her for years, knew her character, her personality, her temper. He knew how to deal with her. If he pushed, overtly steered her in any direction, she’d either dig in her heels or go the opposite way on principle, regardless of whether that was in her best interests.
Given what he wanted of her, what position he wished her to fill, the fastest way to achieve all he desired was to lead her to think it was her idea. That it was her leading and him following, not the other way around.
An added benefit of such a plan was that it made redundant any declaration on his part. There’d be no need for him to admit to his compulsive desire, let alone the feelings that spawned it.
Tactics and carefully guarded strategy would be his most certain route to success.
The morning room doors opened; Portia, in a gown of blue muslin sprigged with deeper blue, stepped through, shutting the doors behind her. Strolling to the edge of the terrace, she looked across the lawn toward the temple, then she turned and went down the steps, heading for the lake.
Pushing away from the doorframe, taking his hands from his pockets, he set out in pursuit.
Reaching the stretch of lawn above the lake, she slowed, then she sensed his approach, glanced back, halted, and waited.
He studied her as he neared; the only signs of consciousness, of her recollection of their last moments together alone, were a slight widening of her eyes, a hint of color beneath her fine skin, and, of course, her rising head and uptilted chin.
“Good morning.” She inclined her head, as ever faintly regal, but her eyes were on his, wondering… “Did you come out for a stroll?”
He halted before her, met her gaze directly. “I came to spend time with you.”
Her eyes widened a fraction more, but she’d never been missish; with her he would stand on firmer ground if he dealt with her openly, honestly, eschewing social subtleties.
He waved toward the lake. “Shall we?”
She glanced that way, hesitated, then inclined her head in acquiescence. He fell in beside her; in silence, they walked to the edge of the lawn, then on down the slope to the path around the lake. By unspoken consent, they turned toward the summerhouse.
Portia strolled on, glancing at the trees and bushes and the still waters of the lake, struggling to appear nonchalant, not at all sure she was succeeding. This was want she wanted-a chance to learn more-yet this was not an arena in which she had any experience, and she didn’t want to founder, to put a foot wrong, to end over her head, out of her depth.
And between them, things had changed.
She now knew what it felt like to have his hands locked about her waist, to sense his strength close, closing around her. To know herself in his physical control… her reaction to that still surprised her. She never would have thought she would like it, let alone crave it more.
Over all the years, in all that lay between them, there never had been any physical connection; now that there was, it was surprisingly tempting, enthralling… and its existence had shifted their interaction to an entirely different
