Shadow Game (GhostWalkers, #1)(28)

She wanted him. She had dreams often of the right man, what it should be, what it would be. In every dream she had cast aside her inhibitions. Here he was, the perfect man. Her man. Standing right in front of her and anything she did wouldn't count.

Her hands moved instinctively over his body, claiming him as intimately as he was claiming her. She was bold and sure, unable to control the wildfire burning out of control. There was a roaring in her head, a dizzy kaleidoscope of pure feeling, fire and color. Silks and satins. Candlelight. Everything she'd ever dreamt of and more. She simply gave herself up to him, willing to be in a dream. Willing to feel nothing but obsession and belonging.

Lily stiffened. Jerked back to stare up at Ryland's face. At the passion stamped there, the dark possession. The naked love. She pushed hard at the wall of his chest, shaking her head. "No, this is going too far, change it. Change the dream."

His hands framed her face. "This is our dream together. It isn't just me, Lily."

"I was afraid of that," she murmured. Lily rested her forehead against his chest, trying to breathe air into her lungs and clear her mind. "I've never once in my life been like this around anyone."

Ryland's palm curved around the nape of her neck. His lips brushed the top of her head. "Is that supposed to make me feel bad? I would rather you didn't want every man you saw, Lily." There was a hint of laughter in his voice.

She lifted her head to glare at him. "You know exactly what I meant. I can't keep my hands off you." Even in her dream she blushed a vivid red at the admission.

"Close your eyes." He ordered it softly.

Lily felt his kiss, featherlight on her eyelids. When he lifted his head, she opened her eyes in puzzlement. She was standing in her favorite museum. Her comfort spot. She roamed the museum often, sitting sometimes on the benches to look at the beauty of the paintings. The artwork never failed to bring her peace. For some reason, while she was in the building surrounded by such priceless treasures, she could fend off the emotions of those around her and simply soak up the atmosphere.

"How did you know?"

"That you love it here?" He took her hand, drew her to stand in front of a fantasy depicting dragons and warlords. "You thought of it several times. It mattered to you so it mattered to me."

Lily smiled up at him, her heart in her eyes. She couldn't help it. It touched her that he would trade his outdoor dream for her museum. "I'm not exactly certain what I am wearing under these clothes, Ryland." She laughed softly, invitingly, knowing she shouldn't but unable to stop herself.

Ryland kissed her again because he couldn't help it. She was looking at him with her eyes too big for her face and her tempting mouth and she shook him all the way to his soul. He lifted his head to look at her clothes. The thin silk of her blouse. The long skirt that covered her legs all the way to her ankles. He raised an eyebrow. "Very nice."

"I thought so. But you have to guess what I have on underneath."

Every muscle in his body contracted, tightened. Every cell went on alert. His gaze immediately swept her figure, searching for clues to the mystery. Lily laughed softly and led him around the room, pointing out her favorite paintings.

As they stood in front of a large crystalline sculpture of a winged dragon, Ryland reached out casually and slipped his fingers inside the neckline of her blouse. Loosely. The pad of his fingers feathered over her bare skin. "Are you wearing underwear, Lily? I have to know." And he did have to know. It seemed the most important thing in the world.

She skimmed her hand down his chest, knowing she was being provocative, but no longer caring. She was in a dream and she meant to take full advantage. In a dream she could do anything, have anything, and she wanted Ryland Miller. "And you think I should be talking about such things here in this very public place."

Ryland laughed softly. "Not so public tonight. I had them shut it down for us. A private showing. And I can't stop thinking about the underwear, Lily, whether you're completely naked beneath that outfit, or whether you're covered." His fingers dipped lower, over the swell of her breast. "I have to know."

"What are you doing?" Lily asked breathlessly. His hand skimmed down the front of her blouse, as if brushing crumbs from her silken top, yet lingering on the dark nipples hidden beneath the thin material. He brought her body to instant life, her nipples taut, her breasts full and aching.

His fingers brushed over her breasts a second time. Slow. Unhurried. This time sliding a button open. Her blouse gaped slightly, giving him a better view of her cleavage. She was beautiful, her breasts full and firm, swaying gently beneath the silk as she walked beside him. And she wasn't wearing a bra, just as he had suspected. His body instantly reacted, hard and thick and full with heat.

"I don't know, honey, something about this place just turns me on." He grinned at her, outrageously uninhibited, sinfully wicked. His eyes were hot with desire. His fingers tangled with hers and he tugged her off balance so that she fell against him. Her body molded to his, fit perfectly.

Right there, in the room filled with hundred-year-old paintings, he lowered his mouth to hers. She tasted his desire, a hot, masculine passion that instantly ignited an answering flame in the pit of her stomach. She lost herself in his strength and hunger. His hands slid down her back, shaped her body, feeling his way through the material of her skirt.