Читать книгу Claiming His Mistress - Emma Darcy, Emma Darcy - Страница 7

KATIE was swamped by his aggressive maleness. Hard muscular thighs were pushing hers into matching his every step and her feet were instinctively moving to his will. His body heat was seeping into her, arousing a highly sensitive awareness of her own sexuality, and the physical friction of dancing in such intimate proximity stirred feelings she hadn’t had in years.

Occasionally a very handsome man with a well-built physique had inspired a fleeting moment of lustful speculation, but that had only ever been a mental try-on… What would he be like as a lover? She hadn’t experienced any noticeable physical reaction. Her stomach certainly hadn’t gone all tremulous. Her breasts hadn’t started prickling with excitement. Her pulse rate had not zoomed into a wild gallop.

The pirate was doing all this to her within seconds of her being in his clutches, and Katie was so mesmerised by his effect on her, she was following him willy-nilly, taking no control whatsoever over what was happening. Deciding she probably needed a good dose of oxygen in her brain, she took a deep breath. The result was her nostrils tingled with the sharp, tangy scent of whatever cologne he’d splashed onto his jaw after shaving.

It seemed that all her senses had moved up several intensity levels and were being flooded with some wanton need to pick up everything there was to know about this man. She couldn’t get a grip on herself. She didn’t even want to get a grip on herself. Her body was alive with all the feelings of being a woman who craved the primitive pleasure a man could give her…this man, who might be dressed as a fantasy but was most certainly flesh and blood reality.

“Gold rings on your ears, on your arms, but not on your hands,” he commented.

“None on yours, either,” she answered, very aware of the strong bare fingers wrapped around hers.

“I walk alone.”

“So do I.”

“No one owns Carmen?”

“I don’t believe anyone can ever own another person.”

“True. We’re only ever given the pieces they choose to give us. Like this dance…”

“You’re not counting on anything else from me?”

“Are you…from me?”

“You claimed the role of leader.”

“So I did. Which begs the question…how far will you follow?”

“As far as I still want to.”

“Then I must keep you wanting.”

He executed a masterful series of turns that made wicked use of the front slit of her skirt, their thighs intertwining with every twirl, and the hand pressing into the pit of her back ensuring she remained pinned to him. The deliberately tantalising manoeuvre left her breathless, the surge of excitement so intense she had to struggle to think.

But this wasn’t about thinking, she fiercely reasoned.

It was about feeling.

And the desire to indulge herself with what he was promising was too strong to question.

All the long empty years since Carver…nothing. There was a huge hole in her life and this might not be the answer to it but it was something!

Free and clear, Carver thought, and the sooner he turned this burning desire to ashes, the better. She was on heat for him. He could feel it. No need for any more talking. The provocative little witch wanted action. He’d give her action in spades.

It had been months since he’d been with a woman, preferring to remain celibate than enter into another affair that didn’t satisfy him. But the need for sex didn’t go away and the delectable Carmen had it roaring to the fore right now.

Her musky scent was a heady come-on, infiltrating his brain and closing out any reservations about taking what she was offering. The doors were open to the balcony that commanded the multimillion-dollar view over Sydney Harbour. Since it was a fine night, there could be no objection to going outside. She could pretend it was romantic if she wanted to.

He steered her through the dance crowd, revelling in the lush curvaceousness of the body so very pliantly moulded to his. She was ready to give all right. Ready to give and take. He whirled her out onto the balcony. The broad semicircular apron that extended from the ballroom held several groups of smokers but that didn’t bother him. It was too public a place anyway.

He danced her down the left flank of the balcony that ran to the end of the massive mansion. The music was loud enough to float after them and there was no word of protest from her, not the slightest stiffening to indicate any concern. She wanted privacy as much as he did.

The light grew dimmer. Huge pots with perfectly trimmed ornamental trees provided pools of darkness. But he didn’t want to take obvious advantage of them. Not yet. He took her right to the far balustrade, leaned her against it, and kissed her with all the pent-up need she’d stirred.

No hesitation in her response. Her mouth opened willingly, eagerly, and her hunger matched his, exploding into a passionate drive for every sensual satisfaction a man and woman could give each other. Her arms wound around his neck, pressing for the kissing to go on and on, a wild ravaging of every pleasure possible, a tempest of excitement demanding more.

No artful seduction in this. She was caught up in the same primitive urgency he felt. And that in itself was intensely exhilarating, the direct and open honesty of the craving in her kisses, the hot desire to explore and experience and tangle intimately with him. It reminded him of how it had been with…

No! He wasn’t going down that track!

This was Carmen’s lust, not Katie’s love.

And love was a long-lost cause.

He ran his hands over the body he held. The clinging stretchy fabric of her dress left little to his imagination. He savoured the soft voluptuous curves of Carmen’s buttocks, the very female flare of her hips, the almost hand-span waist. Her breasts felt full and swollen against his chest. He wanted to touch them, hold them.

Reaching up, he grasped her arms and pulled them down to her sides. Still kissing her, feeding the wanting, he slid his hands up to the off-the-shoulder sleeves and yanked them down, taking the top of her bodice with them to bare her breasts. It shocked her. Her head jerked back. He heard her sharply indrawn breath.

“No one can see,” he swiftly assured her, smiling to erase any fear. “The advantage of a cloak.”

He moved his legs to stand astride hers, holding her pinned against the balustrade for firm support while he cupped her breasts, lightly fanning her stiffly protruding nipples with his thumbs. She didn’t speak. She stared at his mask for several seconds, as though wanting to see behind it. Then slowly she looked down at what he was doing, watching, seemingly fascinated at having her breasts fondled like this, out in the open.

She was still with him, still wanting, and her naked flesh was a delight to feel, to stroke, the different textures of her skin intriguing enough to draw his own gaze down. Either his caresses or the cool night air had hardened her nipples to long purple grapes—very mouth-tempting. He gently squeezed the soft mounds upwards, meaning to taste, but was suddenly struck by the size of her dark aureoles, the whole shape of her breasts…so like Katie’s…

His rejection of the memory was so violent, his hands moved instantly to pull up her bodice and lift the off-the-shoulder sleeves back into position. It was the long black curly hair, he savagely reasoned, triggering memories he didn’t want, playing havoc with what should be no more than a slaking of need. His heart shouldn’t be thumping like this. Not for Carmen.

Yet as though she knew it, he saw her gaze fixed on his chest. She slid her hand under his opened shirt, spreading her fingers over the light nest of hair. Her touch on his skin was electric, his arousal almost painful in its intensity.

She was feeling her power over him, Carver thought, and acted again in violent rejection, lifting her off her feet, swinging her over to the shadowed area to the side of one of the ornamental trees, planting her against the stone wall of the house, snatching her hand out of his shirt, and kissing her to reassert his dominance over this encounter.

Again she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back—following his lead. But Carver now wanted done with the game. He plundered her mouth while he took the necessary packet from his trouser pocket, freed himself and deftly applied the condom. The front split of her skirt had to be hitched higher, quickly effected. Much to his relief, his hand found only a G-string covering the apex of her thighs, easily shifted aside.

He hadn’t meant to wait another moment, but the slick warm softness of her drew him into stroking, feeling, claiming this intimate part of her and driving her arousal to the same fever pitch as his own. Where he was rock-hard, she quivered, and he knew precisely when she couldn’t bear any more excitement. She wrenched her mouth from his, gasping, moaning.

“Put your legs around me now,” he commanded, hoisting her up against the wall, one arm under her buttocks as he inserted himself into the hot silky heart of her, thrusting hard, needing to feel engulfed by the female flesh welcoming him.

Her legs linked behind his hips, pressing him in, obviously needing the sensation of being filled by him, every bit as needy as he was for sexual satisfaction. It was more than enough permission for what he was doing. The only thought he had as he continued to revel in the freedom of unbridled lust was…yes…yes…yes…

It felt so good…better with every plunge…the tense excitement building faster…faster…his whole body caught in the thrall of it…and finally, a fierce pulsing of intense pleasure exploding from him…the sweet, shuddering relief of it…

He knew she had climaxed before him. Probably with him, as well. He would have liked the sense of fully feeling the physical mingling with her. Impossible with a condom. But protection was more important than any fleeting and false sense of togetherness.

Her legs were limply sliding down his thighs. Excitement over. Aftermath setting in. He separated himself from her and helped steady her as she stood once more against the wall. The clasp around his head loosened, her hands dropping to his shoulders. He was glad they were both wearing masks. He didn’t want to see the expression on her face. For him, this encounter had run its course, and the sooner they parted, the sooner he could get it out of his head.

He’d wanted her.

She’d wanted him.

They’d satisfied each other and that was that.

The spectre of Katie Beaumont could now be put to rest again.

Katie was stunned out of her mind. It was all she could do to stand on her own two feet. The impression of Carver was so strong—the shape of his head, the texture of his hair, the broad muscular shoulders, the sprinkle of black curls across his chest, the whole feel of him—her head was swimming with it. Her entire body was swimming with the sense of having been…possessed by him.

It had to be sheer fantasy, driven by long unanswered needs, yet…

Who was this pirate king?

She could tear off his mask…but if he looked totally different to Carver, how would she feel then?

Wait, she told herself.

It was safer if she waited.

He might say something to reveal more about himself.

Her heart was still thundering in her ears. Impossible to think of anything to say herself. He was readjusting his clothes, all under cover of the cloak that had sheltered their intimacy. Her skirt had slithered back into place when he’d moved away from her. There was no urgent need to reposition the G-string panties. It made no difference to the line of her dress.

Besides, she didn’t want to touch herself there…where he had been. Not yet. She wanted to savour the lingering pleasure of all he’d made her feel. Like Carver…

He straightened up. It was difficult to tell if he was the same height as the man she’d once loved, given the boots he wore and her own high-heeled sandals. Was the cloak making his shoulders look broader than she remembered? They felt right. She stared at his mouth. The light was dim here, but surely the shape of those firmly delineated lips were…

He compressed them, frustrating her study. He plucked her hands from his shoulders and carried them down, deliberately placing them on her hips as he stepped back.

“The dance is over, Carmen.”

The cold, harsh statement was more chilling than the night air, bringing instant goose bumps to her skin.

Somehow she found her voice. “So what happens now?” It came out in a husky slur.

“I told you I walk alone.”

Another chilling statement, striking ice into her heart.

He lifted a hand and ran light fingertips down her cheek. “This is one man who can take what you give…and leave. But I do thank you…for the pleasure.”

He took another step away from her, his hand gone from her face but still raised in a kind of farewell salute. He paused a moment, as though taking in the image of her—Carmen left against the wall, abandoned by him after he’d taken his pleasure of her…and after he’d given what she’d virtually asked of him.

She didn’t move.

This was the end of it.

He was going.

“The pleasure was mine, too,” she said, driven to match him even now. “Thank you for the dance.”

He inclined his head in what she thought was a nod of respect, then turned and strode away, taking with him the spectre of Carver, the cloak swirling around his swiftly receding figure.

Fantasy…

She stood against the wall for a long time, needing the support as she fought the tremors that shook her. It was better this way, she kept telling herself, better to have the memory and not the disappointment that reality would surely bring.

It might be like an empty memory right now…but it was something.

He’d made her feel like a woman again.