Seven Years to Sin(85)
Although he knew from the dancing in progress that the music continued, Alistair couldn’t hear a single note over the roaring of blood in his ears. Nearly every eye was riveted to Jessica, who walked along the edge of the dance floor unimpeded, her stride slow and sensual. Erotic. Beckoning.
He sucked in a deep breath when his lungs burned. His chest was constricted with yearning, his gaze devouring every detail in a vain effort to appease the hunger that had grown ravenous over the many days without her.
A simple red satin mask was tied around her eyes and as she approached, she reached up and untied it. Letting it dangle from her fingers by the ribbons. Letting everyone get a good, long look at her while she looked at him. Letting them—the peers whose censure he’d feared she could not bear—see the deeply intimate manner in which she regarded him. Her gray eyes were luminous, lit from within by the surfeit of emotion she made no effort to hide. There wasn’t a person who saw her who could doubt what he meant to her.
By God, she was brave. She’d been beaten to deafness and disfigured into conforming to the dictates of the people milling around them, yet she came to him without any hesitation or reservation. Without fear.
There was no one else in the room. Not for him. Not with her looking at him in that way of hers that spoke more clearly than words—she loved him with all that she was. Completely, unequivocally, unconditionally.
“Do you see, Mother?” he asked softly, riveted. “Amid all of these lies, there is no finer truth than what is bared before you now.”
He was moving toward Jessica before he realized it, drawn inexorably. When he drew close enough to scent her, he stopped. There were mere inches between them, and the urge to reach for her, to pull her close, was a writhing thing inside him.
“Jess.” His fingers clenched and released against the need to touch her soft, smooth skin.
Dancers cleared the floor around them, gawking, but he paid them no mind.
Her dress was a statement, and he would never fully be capable of putting his gratitude for it into words. She was not the same woman who had stepped aboard his ship. She no longer saw him as being “too much” for her, or herself as inadequate for him. And he loved her more now than he had then. He would certainly love her more tomorrow than he did today, and the day after that would find him only loving her all the more.
“My lord,” she breathed, her gaze sweeping over his face as if she had been as starved for the sight of him as he’d been for even a glimpse of her. “The way you’re looking at me …”
He nodded curtly, knowing he was wearing his heart on his face. It had to be obvious to all and sundry that he was mad for her. “I miss you abominably,” he said gruffly. “The greatest torment ever devised is the withholding of you from me.”
A few opening notes of a waltz played. He seized the moment, catching Jessica by the waist and carrying her onto the dance floor.
Alistair was the most lavish creature in the packed room.
Jess was left breathless by the sight of him, awed by his masculine beauty in formal attire. He wore black trousers and coat, the severity of his appearance only emphasizing his perfection of form and feature. His was a glittering, riveting presence with his glossy coal-black hair and brilliant aquamarine eyes. He needed no adornments to enhance him. His piercing gaze and slight smile were enough to lure women closer. Even men drifted near, drawn to the air of confidence and command Alistair carried so well.
The knowledge that this stunning, undeniably sexual creature was hers made her breathless. And the way he looked at her, with such aching tenderness and heated longing …
Dear God. She’d been mad to entertain—for even one instant—the possibility of letting him go.
“Are you asking me to dance?” she purred as he set her down in the middle of the dance floor.
“You are the only partner I will have; you must indulge me.”
His hand gripped her waist, the other lifted her arm. He stepped closer. Too close. Scandalously close. She loved it. They’d yet to dance together, but she had imagined it many times. There was a graceful elegance to the way he moved. Paired with the innate sensuality of his nature, it made him mesmerizing to watch in motion, and she knew how he felt when his body was moving against hers. It would be the sweetest form of torture to be held so close to his powerful flexing body while restrained by decorum and too many layers of clothes.
“I love you,” she said, tilting her head back to look at him. “I won’t let you go. I’m too selfish, and I need you too much.”
“I am going to remove that dress from your body with my teeth.”
“And here I had hopes you would like it.”
His eyes gleamed wickedly. “If I liked it any more, it would be hiked around your waist.”
Her grip tightened on his. He smelled delicious. Of virile male and sandalwood, with the faintest hint of citrus. She hated the gloves between them and the hundreds of people around them. She could live alone with him for the rest of her days. Working in companionable silence, listening to him coax haunting notes from the violin, talking with him about her thoughts and feelings until nothing separated them …
The music began in earnest. His mouth curved in a lazy smile, then he spun her about in a vigorous turn. She laughed breathlessly, awed by how she fit in his arms as if they’d been made to hold her. He danced the way he made love—intimately, powerfully, with exquisite control and aggressive moves. His thighs brushed against hers with every step, his hold tightening until there was scarcely any space between them. He flowed with the music, embraced it, claimed it as his own. Just as he claimed her with his gaze, his look fraught with such intensity and focus, his eyes so soft and warm.