Mine Till Midnight (The Hathaways #1)(58)

His lashes lowered over devil-bright eyes. "Do you want this?" he whispered.

She nodded and tried to say yes, but all that came out was a low whimper.

Deeper, a gently inquiring stroke, until she felt the hard ridge of his thumb ring press against the entrance of her body. He made slow circles inside her, the smooth ring teasing and rubbing until she felt faint and hot. Oh, dear heaven, yes, no, please . .. another swirl, another, each one coiling the pleasure tighter until her heart was thundering and her h*ps nudged rhythmically against the heel of his hand. But then the exquisite invasion was withdrawn, and her body clasped desperately around the emptiness. She reached for him, clawing him in her frantic need, and Cam had the effrontery to laugh softly.

"Easy, sweetheart. We're still at the beginning. There's no need to hurry through it."

"The beginning?" Stunned and throbbing, she could hardly speak. If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that she couldn't bear much more of his refined torture. "I would have thought you'd have already finished by now."

She felt him smile as he kissed the inside of her elbow, working his way down to her wrist. "The point is to make it last as long as possible."

"Why?"

"It's better that way. For both of us." He pried her clenched fingers apart and kissed the palm of her hand. After pulling her nightgown back into place, he buttoned the front with meticulous care.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you for a ride." As she sputtered with questions, he touched a gentle forefinger to her lips. "Trust me," he whispered.

Amelia complied in a daze as he pulled her from the bed, wrapped the velvet robe around her, and tucked her feet into soft slippers.

Clasping her hand firmly in his, Cam led her from the room. The house was still and soundless, the walls hung with portraits of aristocrats with disapproving faces.

They went out the back of the house to the great stone terrace, its wide curving steps leading down to the gardens. The moonlight was crossed with shredded clouds that glowed against a sky the color of black plums. Puzzled but willing, Amelia went with Cam to the bottom of the steps.

He stopped and gave a short whistle.

"What? Amelia gasped as she heard the pounding of heavy hooves and saw a huge black form rushing toward them like something from a nightmare. Alarm darted through her, and she burrowed against Cam, her face hidden against his chest. His arm went around her, tucking her close.

When the thundering stopped, Amelia risked a glance at the apparition. It was a horse. A huge black horse, with puffing breaths that rose like wraiths in the raw air.

"Is this really happening?" she asked.

Cam reached in his pocket and fed the horse a sugar lump, and ran his hand over the sleek midnight neck. "Have you ever had a dream like this?"

"Never."

"Then it must be happening."

"You actually have a horse who comes when you whistle?"

"Yes, I trained him."

"What is his name?"

His smile gleamed white in the darkness. "Can't you guess?"

Amelia thought for a moment. "Pooka?" The horse turned his head to look at her as if he understood. "Pooka," she repeated with a faint smile. "Do you have wings, by any chance?"

At Cam's subtle gesture, the horse shook his head in an emphatic no, and Amelia laughed shakily.

Walking to Pooka's side, Cam swung up onto the pack-saddle in a graceful movement. He sidled close to the step on which Amelia was standing and reached down to her. She took his hand, managing to gain a foothold on the stirrup. She was lifted easily onto the saddle in front of him. Momentum carried her a little too far, but Cam's arm locked around her, keeping her in place. , Amelia leaned back into the hard cradle of his chest and arm. Her nostrils were filled with the scents of autumn, damp earth, horse and man and midnight.

"You knew I'd come with you, didn't you?" she asked.

Cam leaned over her, kissing her temple. "I only hoped." His thighs tightened, setting the horse to a gallop, and then a smooth canter. And when Amelia closed her eyes, she could have sworn they were flying.

Chapter Fifteen

Cam rode to the abandoned river encampment where the Gypsy tribe had stayed. The remains of the camp were still there; the ruts left by the wheels of the vardos, circles of grass eaten where the cobs had been tethered, the shallow fire pit filled with ash. And everywhere there was the sound of the sloshing, rushing river, pushing at the banks, soaking the yielding earth.

He dismounted and helped Amelia to the ground. At his direction, she sat on a fallen birch log while he set up a makeshift camp. She waited with her hands folded neatly in her lap, watching his every movement as he pulled a bundle of blankets from the packsaddle. In a few minutes he had made a fire in the stone-circled pit and laid out a pallet beside it.

Amelia hurried to the pile of blankets and burrowed beneath the layers of wool and quilted cotton. "Is it safe out here?" she asked, her voice muffled.

"You're safe from everything but me." Smiling, Cam lowered himself beside her. After removing his boots, he joined her beneath the blankets and pulled her against him. Reminding himself of the rewards to be gained by patience, he cuddled her close and waited.

As one second melted into the next, Amelia's body nestled more tightly against his. It felt so extraordinary just to hold her that he did nothing for a long time. He listened to the flow of her breathing, and felt the cold night air move over them, while the warmth of their bodies collected beneath the blankets. They descended into the heart of a still, quiet pleasure Cam had never known before. His pulse began a hard, rolling drum, the heat thickening between every beat. He felt her h*ps pressing tentatively against his, cradling the rigid shape of his arousal, bundling closer. But still he didn't move, only let her cuddle and brush against him until he was tense and fiercely aroused.