Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(25)

He let go of her wrists to pull her closer, slipping a supportive hand underneath her head. Her lips soft-ened and clung to his, seeking the warmth and the taste of him. His tongue feathered against hers, and she shivered, answering him timidly as desire overtook her in a dizzying rush and coursed through her veins in a heavy torrent. She wrapped her arms around his neck, unconsciously pulling his head down closer. She had never imagined that such a powerful craving could exist, more biting, more urgent than hunger or thirst. Lifting his mouth from hers, Alec looked down at her, his drowsy gray eyes filled with smoky promise.

“I’ve always been able to resist temptation,” he whispered, kissing one corner of her mouth and then the other, “before you. Before you…” He muffled her small sigh as he kissed her again, his large hand sliding over her body possessively, cupping over the material that covered her breast, stroking until he felt her nipple contract underneath the soft velvet. Mira groaned, pressing up against that knowing touch, her body on fire. The shadows of the room seemed to collect around her, and she was sinking deeper into their darkness… and it wasn’t a cold darkness, it was hot and vibrant with piercing sensations. Her eyes fluttered open and she saw the deep golden gleam of his skin, her own slender fingers tangled in his black hair… her head tilted back as his mouth moved to her throat, and the only thought that remained clear in her mind was that she would die if he stopped. “Alec…” she whispered, her hands caressing the breadth of his shoulders, and she felt his muscles flex involuntarily.

“God, what am I doing?” he muttered. Abruptly he tore his mouth away from the fluttering pulse in her throat and took a deep breath, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Not now,” he said, seeming to find it difficult to speak. “There’s no time… dammit, I won’t let the first time be rushed.”

Blinking in bewilderment, Mira loosened her arms from around his neck, quivering with a kind of frustra-tion she had never felt before. Slowly she came to her senses, realizing what she had let him do—encouraged him to do. She could hardly believe that she had responded to him so wantonly. What kind of dangerous magic did he possess?

“Not ever,” she said, her voice shaking. “Bon Dieu, qu’est-ce que j’ai fait?... How could I have… ah, let me go!” She rolled away from him and jumped off the bed in a fluid movement, her hands going up to her chest to still her violent gasps. Alec turned onto his side to stare at her, propping himself up on one elbow. His long body stretched out in a sprawl, like a black panther sunning himself.

“You look horrified,” he observed calmly. Though his mouth was touched with a satisfied smile, his eyes were still warm with a passionate gleam. “Hasn’t it ever been this way for you with Sackville?”

“I am not horrified,” she said, a pronounced French accent coloring her words heavily. Alec grinned at the sound of it. “I am… I’m disgusted,” she continued vehemently, “and I want nothing more than to never have to face you again!” She headed for the door, but the sound of his voice stopped her just as she turned the knob.

“Mira.”

“What?” she asked stiffly.

“Thank you for your kind ministrations to me in my hour of need. I feel so much better now.”

Throwing him a venomous glare, she flounced out of the room in a speechless rage, wanting to slam the door but unwilling to attract the attention of others.

The morning sun made a valiant effort to warm the air and the ground, but all the same a distinct chill caused Mira to pull the edges of her long-sleeved, short-waisted jacket together. The day was cool and dry, puffs of wind stirring up tiny clouds of dust from the ground. For her walk to the village she had dressedin muted colors that would attract little attention and did not show dirt easily. Her gown was pale blue edged with navy ribbons and sprightly sash, her low-heeled boots made of sturdy leather. Since it was an unusually slow morning and there were few people to see her, Mira took her hated poke bonnet off and stuffed it in the sack she carried.

The road was well-kept and smooth, the ruts filled with wood and the holes with large stones. Cattle were driven frequently along this road, nibbling at patches of green along the way, their milk occasionally tainted by the garlic-flavored buckrams that sprang up here and there. Humming a soft tune to herself, Mira was absorbed in her thoughts until she noticed the sound of hooves approaching from behind her. Turning to observe the rider, she lifted a hand to shade her eyes. As the brilliant white horse and its rider came nearer, Mira nearly stumbled, her jaw slackening in surprise. Alec slowed the pace of the white stallion to a slow, prancing gait, his coal-black hair ruffled attractively by the wind as he threw her a lazy smile.

“I don’t believe you’re… What are you doing here?” Mira asked, continuing to walk while looking up at him in a stupefied manner. Clothed in gray pantaloons, a dark blue coat, a soft ruffled shirt, and a low-cut brocaded waistcoat, he looked vital and dashing enough to send the most implacable female into a swoon. She moved her gaze away from him and quickened her pace, determined to remain indifferent to him.

“There is a conspiracy afoot in Sackville Manor,” he said, staring down at her with warm gray eyes.

“Indeed?” she questioned coolly.

“To keep me informed of your various plans and whereabouts. This morning two maids stood by my door while conversing just a little too loudly about your schedule for the day, and it was obvious that they—““Oh! C’est un attentatl” she exclaimed, flushing in irritation. “Lizzie and Tessie—I will make them regret this! They imagine that… well, never mind what they imagine! It is wrong!”