Lessons of Desire Page 9

  He could hear her dismissing the servant, then muttering. “What hell. Never again. Women are mad to dress thus.”

  Vague sounds of her moving in the chamber seeped out. He walked a few paces down the balcony and resumed his pose right outside her door.

  “Did you survive, Miss Blair? Or were you permanently deformed?”

  She stuck her head out, looking for him. She startled when she saw him so close. “You find this amusing, don’t you?”

  “Not at all.” His laugh made a liar of him.

  She frowned furiously. “Stay there. I want to talk to you about something.” Her head ducked inside.

  A few minutes later she emerged, swathed in black. Her hair had not been taken down yet so she was not completely back to the Phaedra of old.

  “How much longer do you intend to keep me here?” she asked.

  Her words alluded to everything that had occurred since the day he entered that garden in Naples. They contained all of her resentments.

  “A few days. Longer if you like. You must admit it is restful here.”

  “I did not sail from England in order to rest.”

  “We can leave in three days, if you want. However, I thought that you appreciated the company of those who knew your mother.”

  She moved to the balustrade and looked out on the black sea. He watched her back and saw the naked body despite the drapery hiding it.

  “I confess that I am enjoying this visit more than I expected, except for la signora’s impositions today. This detour, while inconvenient, has proven fortuitous. I should have considered that it would be useful to—that meeting people from my mother’s circle was not only possible but more probable if I accompanied you.”

  Why she might find it useful would be intriguing if the night were not so quiet and cool, and the moonlight did not make her so lovely.

  “Has Mr. Greenwood lived here long?” she asked.

  “He bought the property perhaps six, seven years ago. He only took permanent residence four years ago. The last time I visited, the building was quite rustic still.”

  “I expect that he knows all the experts on antiquity, from Milan to Sicily.”

  “Most likely. It is not so large a group and they naturally seek each other out.”

  “So he was a university don who bought this villa, made improvements, and moved his life here. He must come from a wealthy family.”

  His hunger was impatient with her small talk but he would indulge her for a while. He pushed away from the wall and joined her at the balustrade.

  “He lived frugally when at Cambridge. A relative bequeathed some money, however. This villa probably cost less than a small house in London. Property does not have the same value here.” He admired the intricate workings of her hairstyle. It would take a long time to release this part of the night’s finery. Too long. He would leave it be.

  Aside from one glance she did not react to his proximity. “He spoke as if he visits the excavations often and knows the archaeologists there.”

  “I expect so. Why are you so curious about him?” Matthias was old enough to be her father, and Whitmarsh almost so, but their admiration of her beauty tonight had provoked a few jealous suspicions that probably were not warranted. They pricked now again, irrational but sharp, spiking his desire with the thorns of possessiveness.

  “In my father’s memoirs there are some pages that created questions for me about my mother’s last years. I asked Matthias about them, and am wondering how much weight to give his answers.”

  Is that what she dwelled on when she grew serious and her vision turned inward? She had ventured out here despite last night’s warning, but not to tease and challenge. She sought information that would be useful.

  Christian had suggested those memoirs might contain revelations the daughter would not like to read. Her admission of that was probably significant, but right now he did not care. He wanted her and here she was with him in the glorious night, a woman who believed in free love and who was not fettered by stupid social rules.

  The moonlight made her white skin almost translucent. The black robe rose to her neck, but he saw the top swells of her breasts in his head. “Sometimes it is wise to allow the questions to go unanswered.”

  She faced him, oblivious to how close she was to being ravished. “I do not think you believe that. Or, rather, I do not think you can follow your own advice. I saw your face when we spoke of the references to your father in the memoirs. You do not want them published, but you want to know if they are true.”

  Her stance and words threw down another gauntlet. He would not pick it up tonight, but deal with the others already on the ground between them. There would be time enough for this one later.

  “I already know that they are not true. But you speak of such serious matters, Miss Blair. You will have to forgive me if I defer the argument you seek for another time. One when the moonlight and night and your beauty do not turn my thoughts to other things.”

  Her face fell in surprise. She did not move while she gazed at him hard. Whatever she saw caused sparks of alarm in her eyes.

  She pivoted toward her door. “Then I will leave you with those thoughts, whatever they may be.”

  He caught her arm. “Not this time, Phaedra.”

  He turned her into his embrace. He cupped her face with his hand and kissed the mouth that had been taunting him for days.

  What was he—how dare he just—

  His kiss obliterated her shocked reaction to the way he swept her back to him. A different shock took over, at the way her heart leapt when he took control of her.

  The kiss alone did that. Firm and hard and determined, his kiss contained his warnings from last night. I want you begging. The danger excites you.

  It did excite her. The way his hold dominated her sent treacherous thrills down her body. Parts of her began begging at once, wanting more, hoping he would not stop.

  Her mind raced. Thoughts formed and disappeared in rapid succession.

  He had not even asked. Did he think—

  Kisses down her neck blotted out the words. A dizzy, sensual fog obscured the rest.

  This was a mistake. But, oh—

  The warmth of his mouth entered her blood until she tingled wherever it flowed. Her breasts grew heavy and firm and could feel him through the fabric of her dress. The contact excited her more and she instinctively pressed harder for more stimulation.

  He kissed her mouth again. Not so hard this time. Luring and leading instead, but just as demanding, just as confident that she would grant whatever he wanted.

  The way he took thrilled her even though she should rebel. She saw the danger but she could not stop because it was exciting. Her body hurdled toward abandon and her mind escaped her grasp.

  A caress. Not seeking, not searching, not requesting at all. Firm and sure, his hands moved down her back and hips and bottom, claiming her body as if she wore nothing, making her ache with anticipation of more.

  His tongue entered, swept. Erotic shivers trembled in her vulva. His hands moved over her more boldly. She did not care that she capitulated to an enemy and gave ground she might never regain. Titillations itched and buzzed and throbbed, making sensible thought impossible.

  I want you begging. Oh, yes, very possibly. Already her breasts were so sensitive that she thought she would go mad.

  As if he heard her silent pleas, his caress smoothed up her hip and stomach and stroked beneath her breasts. Anticipation had her reeling, kissing him back, urging with her mouth and tongue and embrace.

  His palm slowly swept up over her breast. An intense thrill of pleasure shook through her. His other hand pressed her back firmly, steadying her wobbly stance, moving down slowly as he released the hooks of her dress.

  She should not—this should not—

  A devastating kiss split apart the objection forming in her head. Deliberate strokes on her nipple scattered the pieces into the night air.

  He stepped back a pace,
separating their entwined bodies. The moon’s glow washed them both and the golden light from her chamber limned his edges. He did not give her time to compose herself, to collect the broken threads of her rationality. He reached for the edge of her dress and began sliding the black gauze down her body.

  No man had undressed her before. Never. She did not permit it. Now the gesture entranced her. Immobilized her. The slow descent of the fabric seemed the most erotic caress of the night. She could only stare at his face in the cool light, sensing more than seeing the leashed desire that charged the air with male power.

  The sleeves slid down her arms and the bodice sagged at her hips. He reached for the shoulders of her chemise. Her breath caught. Her breasts tightened even more in expectation of another slow and delicious unveiling.

  Instead he stunned her anew, throwing her off the fragile grasp on sense that was forming. He did not unveil carefully. He yanked the chemise down her arms. It was not an impatient or even passionate move, but one that asserted the rights of the conqueror.

  Rebellion stirred in her soul but it could find no anchor in the rushing tide of pleasure submerging her. The way he gazed at her nakedness absorbed her attention so much she did not move to free her arms from the chemise that still restrained them.

  It is just a game, this dance of dominance and submission. It will mean nothing. I will cede nothing in truth.

  But—

  Fingertips stroked. Palms glossed. She looked down as his fine male hands moved over her breasts, teasing and arousing so perfectly. Sweet madness filled her head and she drifted in luscious, building pleasure. Her last hold on control frayed quickly. She wanted it to break. She wanted him to vanquish the tiny last bit of resistance trying to ruin her bliss.

  His arm embraced her again, arching her back. He kissed down her neck and chest in a hot trail that left her gasping. His teeth and mouth played at her nipple, torturing her with sensations that trickled low and deep and had her body begging and low moans sighing.

  She tried to release one arm, to embrace him and hold him to her, to steady herself and feel him.

  “No,” he muttered. “Stay like that.”

  The sensual storm in her head wanted to obey. The pleasure was too exquisite to stop. Her body hungered for more, for completion, for the relieving fullness. Stopping now was impossible, unnatural.

  And yet—

  She peered through her oblivion with one eye of rational sense. Despite a pleasure so intense that it almost pained her, she noted her subtle bondage, and his assumptions since that first kiss.

  Somehow the slave shed her chains. Already aching with regret and frustration, she found her voice.

  “You must stop now. I want you to stop.”

  He stilled. For a few horrible moments he did not move. Then he straightened and looked down at her.

  His arm pulled her closer, tighter. His other hand cupped her face as he had for the first kiss. His fingertips pressed, not hurting but not gently either.

  “And if I do not stop?”

  Since most of her wished he would not, it was not truly a threat. But his assumption that she would capitulate if he continued, that she was weak to his power, gave her back some spine.

  “You will,” she said.

  “You trust my honor so much?”

  “I trust your pride. A woman importuned will never beg.”

  He released her and stepped away. Everything in his aura and face said he might grab her again still.

  She quickly pulled up her dress to cover herself. She strode to her door. Her heart pounded and her body still responded to the danger with shocking excitement.

  “I will not stop the next time, Phaedra.”

  She stepped over her threshold before she replied. “I do not think there will be a next time.”

  “There will be.”

  She grasped the edge of the doors and began to close them. “If so, it will not be a seduction. I will choose to let it happen before the first kiss, or there will be no kiss at all.”

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  He was still out there. She wanted to open her door to the cool night air, but she dared not. He would misunderstand.

  Would he be so bold as to enter anyway? She sat on her bed, her arms wrapping her knees, half-dreading and half-hoping the door would swing wide and he would be there.

  She did not feel as composed as she had acted when she closed the doors. Her arousal would not die. Her body remained sensitive to the air.

  She did not know when she made the choice to stop him. It had been instinctive. Intuition had interfered.

  I want you begging.

  There could be no friendship with this man. He wanted her weak and besotted so he could influence her. He had sought her out in Naples for a reason, after all. One of her friends could not, would not, demand she excise those passages from the memoirs. But a man who vanquished and ravished, a lover who seduced, would not hesitate to use the power that passion gave him.

  All of which was a damned pity, because she really wanted him.

  She had never desired a man quite this way before. There was nothing comfortable about it. Nothing safe. This was not the attraction she had experienced with her friends, no meeting of the minds that happened to allow for other intimacies as well.

  Instead his sensual sorcery provoked chaos and mystery and breath-choking awe. He knew it too. He knew his mere presence cast a spell.

  Her arousal slowly calmed to a low inner hum, the same physical buzz that she had endured for days now. Silence finally settled on the balcony and in the chamber next door. She unwound her body and lay down, curled up on her side, still watching the doors.

  Is this what had happened to Artemis? After years of comfortable friendship with Richard Drury had some man come along who did not play by Artemis’s rules?

  It had been such a shock to learn that her mother had been unfaithful to her father. Believing in free love did not mean one had to reject belief in lifelong, perfect love too. As a girl she had concluded that the two eventually went together, that free love made it easier to recognize one’s soul mate when he arrived.

  She pictured her mother. Beautiful, vivacious, self-confident. More trusting than her daughter would grow to be, however. Less practical too. Over the years Artemis had surrounded herself with a moat of people who accepted the way she lived her life. Her circle understood about Richard and his place in her world.

  Maybe late in the fascinating drama that was Artemis Blair’s life, a man had come along determined to cross the moat and assail her walls. She might have been defenseless through sheer lack of practice in dealing with such old-fashioned men.

  Like her daughter had just been out on the balcony.

  Phaedra hugged a pillow. She was beginning to understand now what had occurred with that late love affair that had undone her mother.

  A seducer had arrived who had lured the primitive female that survives in every woman’s soul. He had taken and conquered. He had influenced and weakened and eventually he had betrayed.

  If he had initially pretended he was of like mind to the other men who surrounded her, Artemis would not have stood a chance.

  The bitch.

  Elliot’s frustration heaped other insults on Phaedra while he finished his breakfast in the loggia the next morning. Considering the hell his body had given him all night he was beyond being a gentleman in his thoughts.

  He wanted to take satisfaction in the discomfort she had experienced in that hot, closed room while he let the balcony’s breeze cool him. Only every time he had glanced to her door a part of him had prayed it would open and she would fly into his arms.

  The door had never budged, of course. The self-contained, independent, thorn-in-his-side Phaedra Blair would never hand him such a victory.

  Eventually the door became a repudiation. An accusation. An infuriating declaration of self-control. You dared seduce instead of petition? You foolishly sought to master me, of all women?


  He poured some coffee. Her erotic moans still sang in his head. He still felt her embrace and aggressive, deep kisses. The memories began making him hard again.

  It had been good. Incredible. Where the hell had she found the sense to speak at all, let alone the strength to stop the torrent sweeping them away?

  The faintest rustle and footstep disturbed the peace of the loggia. He did not need to look to the doorway to know who had arrived.

  In the few moments it took Phaedra to walk to the table, he leashed the worst anger from the night’s hot vigil. The last vestige spoke in his head as he greeted her, though. You will not refuse me the next time, because you do not really want to.

  His calm welcome put her at ease. Her careful posture relaxed. She sat at the table and he poured her coffee. She sipped.

  “Thank you for being so civilized,” she said.

  He could not believe that she was actually broaching the subject. He set his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. Some very uncivilized, sexual images formed in his head.

  “Are you referring to allowing you to retreat last night, or to pouring your coffee this morning?”

  A servant intruded, carrying a platter of eggs and rashers. Matthias may have adopted Positano as home but he still offered a proper English breakfast to his guests.

  Phaedra slowly spooned little bits of eggs onto her plate. Her actions absorbed most of her attention. “I suppose I was referring to both.”

  “Well, Marsilio or Pietro might have created a spectacle last night, arguing and accusing until the household was woken. English gentlemen, however, are taught just to suffer.”

  Her lips pursed. She kept her eyes on her plate while she broke a roll. “I apologize for any suffering. It was not my intention. Perhaps, since you are being an English gentleman, I should not speak of it beyond saying that.”

  “That might be wise.”

  She slowly ate her breakfast.