cheerful bears. He swept them aside and pulled back the comforter and sheet. Then he headed back down the stairs.
She hadn't moved. He took a deep breath, then concentrated his kinetic energy and carefully lifted her from the sofa. Holding her several inches off the cushions, he gently pulled off her shoes, then her jeans and panties. The sweater he left. He had too many fantasies about caressing her in that sweater to take it off right now. She muttered something as the cold air caressed her skin and turned around, pulling at his kinetic hold. Pain tore at the edges of his mind, and a bead of sweat trickled to his chin. He'd lifted people before with telekinesis, people far heavier than she was. But each of those times he hadn't wanted to keep his touch whisper soft. Gentleness wasn't easy.
He tucked his hands under her body, then released his kinetic hold and hugged her close. She snuggled into his chest, her skin so cool compared to his, then sighed softly. It was then he smelled the alcohol on her breath. Given how little she'd eaten this evening, it was probably that, more than anything, that had made her fall asleep. And would certainly explain why she hadn't woken spitting fire when he'd stripped her.
He carried her up the stairs and placed her in her bed. For a moment, he simply stood there, his gaze lingering hungrily on the fullness of her breasts under the cashmere sweater before moving on, past the flat plane of her stomach to the golden triangle of soft curls, remembering the way her long legs had wrapped around his waist as he thrust so very deep. He almost came just thinking about it. He quickly stripped and climbed in beside her. She wouldn't be happy to find him there. This was her sanctuary, the one place no woman wanted to find a man unless he was invited.
But he had no intention of leaving or letting her leave, until he'd finished what he'd started this afternoon in the diner.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close and waited f or her to wake.
The dream was one of pleasure.
Neva lay wrapped in the darkness, part of her covered, par t of her exposed and so ready for invasion.
And she was invaded. By hands. By tongue. By body. She writhed and moaned, her skin on fire, every muscle screaming for release. The stroking continued. Outside. Inside. It took her higher and higher, until the need was so strong she couldn't even breathe. Then she came with such powerful force she screamed to the moon. It was a sound echoed by her dream lover.
She woke.
To discover it was no dream.
To discover the gentle invasion had not yet stopped. 'That was but a beginning,' Duncan whispered in her ear. His tongue gently explored her lobe, and she shuddered under the assault.
She opened her eyes and realized she was home. In bed. Her bed.
Anger surged. He had to no right to be here. 'What the hell are you doing?'
He shifted his weight off her, then moved his hand down her stomach and gently pressed past her damp curls. She shifted, trying to escape his touch, yet unable to deny the sweet pleasure of it.
'What does it feel like I'm doing?' His voice was lazy, amused.
Her gaze flew to his. His dark eyes were filled with enough heat to start a forest fire. And that was certainly the impact it had on her. 'Seducing me in my own bed.'
'That's exactly right.'
'You have no right.' She hesitated, eyes widening as his mouth drew close.
'I have every right,' he murmured, breath warm across her lips. 'And every intention.'
His kiss was a honeyed affirmation of his words. A gentle possession she could not escape. Didn't really want to escape. The moon was high, and given this afternoon's and last night's frustrations, she so very desperately needed his touch. Needed him. Though she would never have admitted as much.
His mouth moved on, trailing fiery kisses down her neck to her breasts. She still wore her sweater, but he didn't seem to care. His teeth encased one aching nipple, biting lightly. She squirmed, trying to deny pleasure as he sucked and nipped one aching nub, then the other. As the gentle assault continued, she gave in to the urge to touch him, and she ran her hands down the muscled plain of his stomach to stroke the still hard length of him. He shuddered, thrusting into her touch. An oddly primitive sense of power ran through her. Whatever else he might think or feel about her, he couldn't deny his need for her right now.
A small comfort that was better than nothing, she supposed.
She continued to explore as he explored--by taste, by touch. Heat rose, shimmering between them, warming the night. Warming them.
His touch pushed her into a place where only sensation existed. The air was hot and thick and almost impossible to breathe. Every inch of her quivered under the relentless assault of his fingers and tongue.
Then the convulsions began, the power of them curling through her body like a tidal wave.
It was a wave that became even more glorious as he thrust inside her again. She groaned and wrapped her legs around him, forcing him deeper still, until it felt as if the rigid heat of him was claiming every inch of her. Her climax hit, stealing her breath, stealing her sanity, sweeping her into a world that was sheer, unadulterated bliss. A heartbeat later he went rigid against her, the power of his release tearing a groan from his throat. He held her for one last thrust, then his lips sought hers, his kiss a lingering taste of passion.
In that one moment, all the fears that had plagued her the first time they'd made love returned in a rush.
Because this time he hadn't only let her glimpse the stars, he'd well and truly taken her past them.
Worse still, there was something in the way he touched her that she'd never felt before, and it scared her.
Because no matter how powerful the dance, it would never mean anything to a man like Duncan
Sinclair. He was a lone wolf, a man who lived for momentary pleasure, who searched for nothing beyond it. He'd certainly proven time and again over the last twenty-four hours that he cared nothing for her.
And the mere fact that she was even thinking something like that, after the abominable way he'd treated her, showed just how dangerous the next four days were going to be.
He rolled off her onto his back, one arm flung across his forehead as he stared up at the ceiling. He might have been alone for all the notice he seemed to take of her. The night air caressed her rapidly cooling skin, but it had little to do with the shiver that ran down her spine. 'You'd better be getting dressed,' he said. 'We have to be back to the mansion by twelve.'
His voice was flat, unemotional. She certainly wouldn't have thought they'd shared a mind-blowing dance only moments before.
'Right,' she said, keeping her voice as flat as his. 'I'll just go take a shower.'
'Don't.'
She stared at him. He didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge her, just continued to gaze at the ceiling.
And it was beginning to grate. 'Why not?'
'Because I want everyone to smell my scent on you. I want them to know you're mine, and mine alone.'
Relief slithered through her. At least he was keeping one promise. 'I can't see how having a shower will affect that.'
'It's the dance and the moon rides high. They must know I have claimed you tonight, or there will be challenges.'
Her stomach began to churn. What in the hell type of dance was he taking her to? 'What do you mean?'
He shrugged. 'What I said. Tonight is my pack's get- together. Some bring mates. Others bring dancers to be shared. If you don't have my scent on you, you'll be considered the latter rather than the former.'
The implications of that swirled through her and settled like a weight in her stomach. 'So it's an orgy?'
He finally glanced at her. Amusement sparked briefly in his eyes before it was lost to the shutters. 'The whole moon dance is an orgy.'
She supposed it was--at least where the Sinclairs were concerned. 'Can I at least clean up a little?'
'If you hurry.' He hesitated, and a mirthless smile touched his full lips. 'Wouldn't want to miss any of the fun, now, would we?'
