Free Lady Love by Diana Palmer Page A

could and it was embarrassing. She shifted quickly, smoothly, and wouldn’t look at him. “Delle is watching,” she threatened, although she couldn’t see the woman. There was pure panic in her voice, and he recognized it.
    “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he whispered deeply, his voice as dark as his hair, as sensuous as his muscular body close to hers. “Don’t start looking for exits.”
    His fingers moved slowly along her spine, exciting, enticing, and she reached around her to try to stop them. It was just the opening he wanted. He caught her wrist and, using it as a lever, arched her body into the contours of his.
    Her eyes met his searching gaze, and the people around them vanished. The world narrowed to his dark, broad face and the intense hunger she read in his eyes.
    “Your heart is beating like a wild thing,” he whispered huskily. His chest rose and fell heavily.
    “Let me go, Cameron,” she whispered back, shaking.
    “You make my name sound like a moan,” he breathed, turning suddenly so that she was intimately pressed to him for an instant. “I could make you moan, Merlyn. I know all the tricks, all the ways.”
    That was what she was afraid of. She wanted to pull free and run, but he was like a narcotic. Her eyes melted into his, and she wanted nothing more at that moment than a room where they could be alone. She wanted to know the possession of that hard, chiseled mouth.
    His nostrils flared as he caught her gazing at his lips, and he seemed to take the thought out of her mind. “I want that, too,” he said in a rough whisper. “Your mouth and mine, tasting, hurting…God, let’s get out of here!”
    He stopped dancing with a hard jerk, oblivious to the other couples, and pushed her ahead of him in the general direction of the punch bowl. She felt alive as she never had before in her life. Her mind tried to stop her, but her body wanted him. She went where he guided her, past the punch bowl, through the milling guests and into the hall toward the study. But there were people there, too. He held her hand tightly in his, his eyes flashing wildly, his body looking as taut as her own felt. Finally, his eyes turned to the big hall closet and he tugged her hand.
    He opened the door while the hall was temporarily clear and put her inside, turning on the light as he closed the door firmly behind them.
    “Now,” he murmured gruffly, reaching for her. He pulled her against him, unfastening his jacket and vest with an impatient hand before he pushed her arms under them, and around his broad chest. “Now, Merlyn,” he whispered. “I’ve gone hungry for you long enough.”
    Her lips parted even as his mouth touched them. It was just as she’d imagined it would be. He tasted of brandy and smoke, and his mouth was every bit as hard as it looked. It did wildly sensuous things to hers, teasing and lifting, teasing and brushing, until she ached for completion. His hands smoothed over the bareness of her back above the dress, his fingers caressing.
    “Harder,” she whispered huskily, her voice faintly pleading.
    His breath drew in sharply. “How hard?” he breathed back, biting her mouth. “Like that?”
    “No,” she moaned, stretching on her tiptoes. “No, like this…!”
    Her mouth opened, coaxing his, inciting it, and her tongue traced the broad, hard line of his lips in ways she’d never liked with other men. But with him it was sweeter than wine, hotter than fire. Her kiss dragged a moan from his throat, and caused his hands to move low on her hips and grind them into his.
    “Oh!” she burst out.
    He lifted his head to look down at her. His eyes were blazing, and his jaw was taut and rigid. The eyes he looked into were softer than the velvet of her dress, half-closed, lazy with ardor. “Enough?” he asked mockingly.
    She made a soft little movement with her head, and her hands slid around him, to his chest, to the buttons of his shirt. Her eyes opened as they searched