Free The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) by Diana Douglas Page B

her lazily, savoring the warm pliancy of her lips, touching the corners with his tongue, nipping at her full bottom lip with his teeth. Her lips parted and his tongue swept the cavern of her mouth. It was sweet with brandy and pear. He felt her tremble as a soft sound came from the back of her throat. Without breaking their kiss he reached for her sash hesitating just long enough to allow her to protest or stay his hand. She didn’t. He tugged at it until it fell loose and then pushed the robe off her shoulders and onto the floor. She stood naked, basking in the glow of the fire. She made no attempt to cover herself. Showed no signs of embarrassment. He stepped back, and for a moment all he could do was stare.
    She was exquisite. Her pale skin glowed in the firelight. Her limbs were long and lean; her body perfectly proportioned and as he had thought, her breasts were no more than a handful. But they were round and firm and tipped with dark rosy crowns that were peaked with excitement. He lowered his gaze past her narrow waist and flat belly to the triangle of copper curls between her thighs. Beyond that lay her maidenhead. The knowledge that she was fresh and young and innocent should have made him back away, but it only inflamed him more. The depth of his desire was astonishing; his need to possess her even more so. He raised his eyes. She boldly gazed back at him.
    “You aren’t shy,” he said softly.
    “No.”
    “You’re very beautiful. Turn around. Please.”
    She did. She was possessed of a natural elegance. Her back was straight, her waist narrow and her hips firm and round with two small dimples below the small of her back. Her long legs were well shaped from riding and there was another dimple at the bend of her left knee. He came up behind her and pressed his lips against the soft flesh behind her ear. He felt a catch in her breathing.
    “You only have to say it and I will leave you alone,” he whispered. “I don’t want to, but I can go upstairs and not come down until morning. At this moment all I can think about is coming inside you and if I stay I’m going to make love to you. I won’t be able to stop myself. You must be the one to decide.”
    She laid her hand against his cheek. “I don’t want you to go.”
    “You understand what I’m saying?”
    She nodded. “Yes.”
    He turned her around and gathered her up in his arms. She was supple and smooth, her skin as soft as a child’s. He reveled in the feel of her and his hands roamed freely, his fingertips sliding down the ridge of her spine, tracing the dip of her waist, cupping the roundness of her bottom. He pulled her hips up against him, allowing her to feel the swell of his erection.
    She sighed softly. “Kiss me,” she whispered.
    He did, but it was not a gentle kiss. It was forceful and possessive; far different from anything he had shown her, thus far. He crushed his lips to hers, claimed her mouth with his probing tongue and there was no uncertainty as she responded in turn. She sank against him and kissed him back with a fierce passion that equaled his own. He felt her tongue sweep the roof of his mouth, his teeth; exploring as if she could not get enough of him. He was enthralled with her response for he knew it was genuine.

    Every nerve in her body was taut; her blood heated; her skin tingled. Need and awareness coursed through her. He smelled of horse flesh and leather, whiskey and bay rum, and a heated muskiness that rose from his skin. She tangled her fingers through the thick wavy hair that grew to his collar, drew her hands across the fine lawn of his shirt. It hung loose and she slipped her hands beneath it caressing the damp warmth of his skin, the breadth of his shoulders, the lines of the ridged muscles along his back. She slid her hand inside his waistband felt him shudder. He removed her hand and took a step back. Without his body