Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(36)

“F-for what?”

He urged her through a private door and into a softly lit room. Sara’s wide eyes took in the sight of silk damask walls and the play of violet shadow on intricate plasterwork. A few pieces of furniture were placed around the room; a tiny round table and two gilt chairs, a pretty bronze screen with painted panels, and a chaise longue. Sara reared back in panic, but the door was already closed, and Craven’s arms were around her. His hand clasped the back of her neck, and his voice puffed warmly into her hair.

“Easy. All I want to do is hold you.”

“But I can’t—”

“Let me hold you.” He kissed her neck and crowded her more closely against him.

Slowly Sara relaxed. A pleasant languor spread from her head to her toes, and somehow she forgot there was a world outside the circle of his arms. There was only the warmth of his skin, banked within the layers of his clothes. And the movement of his hands as he worked the soft muscles of her neck and back. Even in her innocence, she was aware of the sinful knowledge in his touch. He knew how to hold a woman, how to seduce her away from inhibition. Blindly she lifted her face, and he kissed her. His lips seemed to wring her very soul from her body.

Sara clung to him, wrapping herself closer until her aching br**sts were wedged against his chest. He took hold of her waist, pressing her to his groin. As she felt the hard, insistent protrusion of his body, she broke away awkwardly. “I-I’ve had too much to drink. I must go, I must…”

Derek gave a muffled laugh and stripped off his mask. Greedily he kissed her vulnerable throat, biting into the tender flesh. She gasped, trying to move back, but he caught the slippery waves of her hair in his fist. Murmuring reassurances, he nudged her off-balance and eased her down to the cushioned chaise. Objections wavered on her lips, all too quickly hushed by his mouth. He pulled the velvet bodice down until her na**d br**sts gleamed in the golden light…magnificent br**sts with silken points. Fastening his mouth on a rosy nipple, he sucked and licked gently until she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his dark hair. He cupped her br**sts high in his hands and used his lips, his teeth, and his tongue on them, as if he would devour the sweetness of her flesh.

Sara groaned and arched upward, pushing her nipple further into the depths of his mouth. She felt him pulling up her skirts, his powerful thighs clamping on either side of her hips. He crouched over her, kissing, cupping, stroking, until she was left with barely a shred of sanity. It was only that tiny scrap of consciousness that made her realize he had reached for her mask.

She twisted her head away with a gasping cry. “No!”

His hand curved underneath her breast, his thumb stroking the moist patches left by his mouth. “All right, then,” he said softly. “Keep your disguise. I don’t care who you are.”

“I can’t do this. You don’t understand—”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He dragged his lips through the deep vale between her br**sts, each word he spoke a hot brand against her skin. “No one will know. No one but you and me.” His hand searched the layers of her silk undergarments. One of his knees delved between hers. The weight of his body over hers was delicious. She wanted more, wanted him to press harder, deeper, until she was crushed beneath him. She had to stop him before the pleasure became disaster. But her trembling arms encircled him tighter, and the only sounds that escaped her lips were broken gasps.

Recognizing the signs of surrender, Derek kissed her with a mixture of triumph and relief. Tonight, at least, there would be no empty hours, no tormenting frustration. He would ease his needs within her, and use her to forget…he would give her all the pleasure he could never give Sara Fielding…Sara…Damn her for intruding on his thoughts even now. But perhaps that was only to be expected. In some ways this woman resembled Sara. She had the same flawless skin, and beneath her heady perfume there was the same delicate scent…She was the same size…shape…

He went still. The shock of it was like a hard blow to the chest. Roughly he pulled his mouth from hers and lifted himself up on his elbows. He hung over her, panting hard. The wracking breaths weren’t enough to sustain him. Nothing was.

“It’s not you,” he said, the words torn from his throat. “Oh, damn you, it’s not…”

Sara tried to turn away as his shaking hand descended to her face and removed her mask. Her dazed blue eyes stared up into his appalled ones. He was pale underneath his tan, the scar showing in harsh relief.

Derek would have thought his body could be no more aroused than it already was, but as he stared down at her, he became painfully hard. The frantic, exquisite throbbing of his blood made him flinch.

Sara moistened her lips. “Mr. Craven—”

“Look at you. Oh, God…” Derek’s gaze burned over the gleaming rise of her br**sts, her kiss-swollen lips. “I told you not to come here.” His fingers sifted through the russet tumble of her hair. “I told you…Why?”

“R-research?” She offered the one stammering word as if it would explain everything.

“Christ.” A frightening expression came over his face, dark and cruel and passionate. He looked ready to kill her.

Although it seemed to be a lost cause, Sara tried to defend herself. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” she babbled. “I’m sorry. It happened so quickly. I was drinking. It didn’t seem real. And you were so…I…I really don’t know how this all happened. I’m so sorry, so very—” She stopped, aware of how woefully inadequate the explanation was.