Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(77)

“Hush.” He touched her lips with fingers that carried her own intimate scent.

Madeline bit her lip and lay still, her lungs rising and falling rapidly. She jerked as she felt Logan's warm mouth just below her br**sts, drifting to her stomach Unsteadily she touched his head, her fingers curling in his rich dark locks. Logan pushed her hand away and continued his path across her body, investigating with lips, teeth, and tongue…finding the sensitive hollow of her navel…the rise of her hip…the tender crease of her inner thigh.

“No,” she gasped as he reached that sensitive area, and she twisted away with a shudder. She had never imagined that he would do such a thing. “No—”

But Logan caught her and pinned her in place, his grip tight on her wrists. “Don't ever say that word to me again,” he said, his voice steely. “Not in bed, or out of it.”

The statement shocked her. She understood that she had hurt him, and that this was the form of his revenge, to inflict his will on her. “You mustn't,” she managed to say, her wrists straining in his grasp. “I don't want that.”

Logan laughed, the sound mocking her as he bent his head once more. Madeline's eyes pricked with tears of fury and shame, and she felt his mouth on her, there where she had never imagined it, never thought it possible. Although she tried to close her thighs, her traitorous body disobeyed, spreading wide to receive him. His lips were hot, burning her, his tongue a sleek invasion that made her groan and cry out in mortifying pleasure. She ceased to be herself, reduced to a wanton creature who clung and arched with frantic need until a great rolling wave of cl**ax came over her, leaving her limp and weak in its aftermath.

Before the glow of sensation had faded, Logan moved his body over hers. She felt him enter her, and she tried to protest the massive intrusion, pushing feebly at his chest. He forced himself inside her swollen depths until she groaned in surrender and opened to him. The rhythm began, a slow, steady thrusting that sent her beleaguered senses whirling out of control once again.

Madeline turned her face into the hard curve of his neck and shoulder, feeling somehow that this act had made her his in a way that their other time had not. Then, Logan had been a partner, a teacher, a beloved friend. This time he was her master, dominating her body and soul.

The pleasure overtook her once again, like fire dissolving inside her, and she gasped against his taut throat. Logan drove inside her one final time, burying himself deeply, his large body shuddering in release. The perspiration from his skin sealed them together, arms and legs wrapped in a tight embrace. Somehow it reassured Madeline to feel Logan tremble slightly, to feel his breath strike her skin and his heart pound in his chest. No matter how he tried, he wasn't able to stay indifferent to her. He relaxed over her, and she welcomed his heavy weight until he rolled away with a sigh.

She wished that he would kiss her, caress her, even hold her hand for a moment, but he refrained from touching her. Abruptly the room was chilly again. Madeline reached for the sheet and covers, pulling them up to her shoulders. Perplexed, she wondered if he wanted her to leave.

“Shall I go now?” she asked.

Logan took a long time to answer. “No. I may have need of you again tonight.”

Her mouth compressed at the arrogant command, but she rested back against the pillows. Be patient with him, Julia had advised…well, it was certainly worth the effort. She would try to atone for the past—she owed that to him. She turned on her side to watch his profile in the firelight. Logan's eyes were closed, but she sensed that it took a long time for him to fall asleep, and she could only guess at the thoughts that occupied him.

In the decade since Logan had started the Capital Theatre, lovingly reconstructing and refurbishing the old set of buildings; assembled a company of actors, musicians, painters, carpenters, costumiers, sceneshifters, property men, stage managers, and the like; and trained the lot of them to his satisfaction…he had never been late to rehearsal. Until this morning.

He usually awoke easily, but this morning he had been drowsy and dream-fogged…and when he had seen Madeline sleeping beside him, he hadn't been able to stop himself from reaching for her. He had made love to her while she had yawned and purred like a sleepy kitten. Only afterward had he realized how late it was.

Cursing and scowling, Logan had dressed with lightning speed and raced in his carriage to reach the theater as quickly as possible. However, he arrived a full forty-five minutes after the designated hour, and he winced as he strode through the back entrance and headed to the greenroom. The company would doubtless mutter and grumble about his lateness. They were entitled to complain. He had never hesitated to fine any of them for the same offense.

The greenroom was empty save for Jeff, the shopboy. “Mr. Scott!” he exclaimed. “We all wondered if you were coming today—”

“Where is everyone?” Logan interrupted, a scowl pulling at his face.

“Onstage, sir. The duchess took it on herself to rehearse 'em, seeing as how you weren't here.”

Logan nodded shortly and went through the door leading to the backstage area. He was aware of a ripple of hasty mutters, and a bit of scuffling as he approached the stage. Squaring his shoulders, he came out of the wing—and stopped short as he saw the entire company waiting in a semicircle with glasses and cups in their hands. There was the sound of corks popping, and the crew grinned like idiots as they confronted him. “Congratulations!” someone shouted, while at the same time another voice laughingly accused, “You're late!”