But two hours later, when she'd said her good-byes to the guests departing for home, when she'd settled the people staying overnight in the rooms down the corridor, when she'd finally fallen exhausted into bed…she'd come no closer to finding anyone who could make her forget Tris.
TWENTY-FIVE
ALEXANDRA WAS having the most extraordinary, most incredible, most delicious dream.
Tris was kissing her. Slow, sensuous kisses. Cherishing kisses. Kisses that made her senses spin and heat gather in a molten ball low in her middle.
But that wasn't all.
He also had his hands on her body.
On her breasts.
Even in her dream, she was scandalized, but as it was only a dream, she decided to lie back and enjoy the luscious experience. Just lie back and pretend that in real life he would touch her in such a tender, forbidden way. Just lie back…
Oh, yes, she realized…she was lying on a bed. Her bed. Her eyes were closed, but she knew it was her bed regardless, perhaps because it was her dream. The drawstring ribbon that secured the neckline of her nightgown had been untied, and the garment was pulled down beneath her breasts, and Tris was touching them, tracing feathery circles around their fullness and cupping them in his warm hands, and—oh!
It felt so wonderful, her very breath caught in her throat.
He captured the crests in his fingers, gently squeezing, rolling, pinching. They contracted under his attentions, sending pleasure sprinting along her nerves, throughout her body, centering in a tingling place between her thighs. She'd always known that place was there, of course, but it was as though she hadn't quite known what it was for…and now, in her dream, she did. It was for making her feel languid and achy and altogether decadent.
She squirmed, wanting something, needing something, unsure exactly what but craving it with every fiber of her being.
"Tris," she murmured against his lips. She felt him smile before his mouth left hers, a warm, lingering parting. He bent his head, trailing his lips across her cheek, down her chin, to the hollow of her throat where he dallied, teasing the sensitive skin. And then lower, dusting little kisses all over her upper chest, kisses that made her whole body squirm with pleasure.
And then lower still, until his mouth closed over a breast.
A hot stab of lust lanced through her. She gasped and sighed and arched, offering herself to him like a wanton tart. She could barely conceive of acting so forward in real life, but this was a dream…
And if some small part of her wondered how she could dream of things she didn't know, the rest of her silenced that question, reveling in all the marvelous new sensations.
Warm, damp breath feathered over her skin as he licked and nipped and then lavished her other breast with similar attention. More feelings were building in her, amazing feelings. Sparks skittered along her veins as her heart pumped furiously. She couldn't remember consciously breathing in a dream, but she did now, each ragged inhalation making her head swim.
His mouth returned to hers, kissing her senseless, a mating of lips and teeth and tongues…and he slipped his hand beneath the hem of her nightgown. His fingers inched up her legs, teasingly, excruciatingly slowly, tracing patterns on her calves, behind her knees, across her thighs. His touch felt divine. He seemed to be worshipping her with his fingers, and every inch of her tingled in response.
Oh, this dream was glorious!
Breaking their kiss, he wiggled her nightgown farther up her body. She eased away, lifting herself to help him pull it off over her head, then scooted close again, wrapping her arms around him and nestling her body against his.
He felt large and strong, his muscles contoured beneath taut, hot skin.
Dear God in heaven, he was naked.
And the glorious dream was no dream at all.
She tensed at the realization, her hands stilling on his body. Tris—a naked Tris—was here in her very real bed.
Such sweet scandal, she thought as her heart stuttered and restarted.
Things had already gone far past the point of propriety, but she couldn't bring herself to be sorry. Though this wasn't a dream, the man of her dreams was making her feel as no other man ever had. With all her heart, she was grateful for this unexpected gift. Never had she imagined such exquisite pleasures. And if she was fated to settle for marriage to another man, she couldn't regret experiencing this intimacy just once with the one who owned her heart.
Besides, it wasn't as though he'd taken her virginity. Tris was a gentleman—surely he'd stop as soon as she asked.
No one else would ever know this had happened.
She knew she should ask him to stop now, but she couldn't resist moving yet closer, molding her soft curves to his firmer form. Just a few seconds more to savor these delicious sensations. To commit them to memory.
She concentrated on all the wondrous things she was feeling. Pressed against his chest, her breasts felt heavy and sensitive, their crests still tight from his touch. She felt his lips locked on her mouth, his tongue a sweet, thrilling invasion. Felt her heart race, felt her breath hitch. Felt the hard ridges of his back, the heavy weight of his legs intertwined with hers.
She really should ask him to stop. But as he stroked her inner thighs, his fingers inching ever higher, her breathing grew so shallow and short she didn't think she could ask him anything at all.
Then he maneuvered his hand between her legs and cupped the tingling place where her pleasure was centered, and a jolt of aching desire made her shudder from head to toe.
"Tris!" she cried.
"What?" With a jarring suddenness, he pulled away.
Her lids flew open. In the dim light from the dying fire, his eyes looked wide.
"Don't stop," she whispered desperately, although she knew, without a doubt, that was the exact wrong thing
