by Wendy Vella
“Are you ill or injured?”
“No.”
Her voice was not familiar, so that did nothing to help Harry identify her.
“Then is it me you have no wish to dance with?”
She hesitated and Harry knew his words for the truth.
“Now that would be a tragedy, considering you are the most beautiful woman present, and I wish to hold you in my arms.”
She laughed.
“You surely do not expect me to believe that, sir, considering the beauties who are here this evening?”
“I do because it is the truth,” Harry said, wondering who the hell she was. She was not shy, wasn’t playing coy with him, and he found himself even more intrigued as to her identity.
“I think not, but thank you for the kind words just the same.”
He swung her into his arms as the waltz started. Harry felt a need to be close to this woman, and as he rarely had that urge, it was a disturbing thought.
“Are you usually so forceful when a woman tells you she has no wish to dance, sir?”
“Only when I know she is misleading me.”
“Do you read minds then?”
“I can read yours,” Harry said, closing the small gap between them so he could breathe in her scent. Sweet and alluring, he thought it would stay in his head forever.
“And what am I thinking now?”
“You wish an encounter with a dark stranger.”
Christ, he was flirting. When was the last time he had done that? Phillip would be proud of him.
She sighed, and it was a soft sound, her breath brushing his throat, and stirring his body to life. “It seems my earlier belief in your powers of observation was incorrect, sir, as I vastly prefer fair men.”
Her lips curled into a secretive smile.
“I do believe that hurt me, madam.”
“I am sure you have your fair share of adoring females commenting on your raven locks, sir, that you do not need me to also.”
“Tell me your name?”
“I have no wish to do so.”
Harry’s body felt alive, every inch aware of her. He took her hand in his and rested it on his chest; the other he held, engulfed in his fingers.
“My hand is meant to rest on your shoulder, sir.”
“I like it on my chest.”
“Is this costume in keeping with your personality then?” She tilted her head to the side and looked up at him, their eyes mere inches apart.
“Yes,” he said, because to hell with it. He could be who he wanted this night.
“Are you about to steal something from me?”
Her words were soft, but he heard them.
“Yes.”
She laughed again, this one a little unsteady.
“Tell me your name?” Harry asked her once more.
“No.”
“But I must call you something, surely?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know everything about you,” Harry said surprising himself. He wasn’t a man who spoke pretty words or stroked egos. In fact, he was known to be ruthless with no romance in his soul, according to his brother.
“And what of you, sir? What shall I call you?”
They were barely moving, eyes locked, hands holding, and Harry wondered if he could keep her right there, tucked against his chest, for the remainder of his days.
What the hell was the matter with him?
“I shall be your Leander, sweet Hero,” he said.
She laughed, her eyes twinkling through the mask, and he felt himself fall deeper under her spell.
“It is my hope that you do not meet the same watery death, sir.”
“And mine,” he rasped, looking at her mouth. He felt a desperate need to kiss this woman. To hell with it, they were protected by their disguises, and who would be watching them anyway? He had to taste her. Before she could draw breath, he closed the distance and kissed her.
It was just a fleeting touch, a mere brush of his lips over hers, but Harry felt as if he’d been pitched headfirst into a storm.
“I-I do not think that was wise, nor is it proper.”
Her words were a husky little purr.
“Wise no, necessary yes. Are you casting a spell on me, Hero?”
“No, but I fear you may be over me.”
“Excellent, I should hate to be the only one trapped in whatever madness this is.”
She shook her head, and he lost himself in her eyes until the dance ended.
“Surely it is simply that we cannot see each other, Leander, therefore, are anonymous, and with that comes a falling away of inhibitions.”
“No.” He shook his head. “There is more to this than that. The instant I saw you I felt something, and I believe I’m not alone in that.”
Harry wasn’t sure what madness was driving him to speak this way, but he could not stop. It was as if she’d cast a spell over him, and he was now bound to her in some way. “I want to see you,” he said slowly. “I want to see your face and eyes; I want to read your expression.”
“No.” She shook her head. “That is not possible.” She backed away from him. “I cannot do as you ask.”
She turned, and seconds later she’d gone, disappeared into the crowds of people. He followed; the desperation burning inside him told Harry he could not let her get away from him. It wasn’t just her lovely body that he wanted; there was something more between them, and he knew she felt it. She’d run from him because she was scared. He’d never been possessed by such a reckless need for a woman before, and he was not about to ignore it, so he was following.
He saw her hair ahead, and then watched as she slipped through a door; seconds later, he was on her heels. He had spent time here in the past with Lord Cavanagh and knew a great deal about the layout of the house. Nodding as he walked, he thought she could not be too far in front of him, but when he reached the stairs, he was unsure if she’d gone up or down.
“Down,” he decided, moving quickly. Once at the bottom, he headed left and down a long hall, opening each door as he went. At the last he walked inside. The only light in the room was from the fire smoldering in the grate.
“What are you doing, Harry?” he said, slowly turning a full circle. The woman had walked away from him, so what did that tell him? That she was married or betrothed. The thought was not a pleasant one, but neither was the fact that he was pursuing a woman he knew nothing of. It wasn’t like him to behave in such a rash manner.
“Am I that desperate for companionship?” he muttered, suddenly disgusted with himself. “Get yourself back under control, Harry.”
He inhaled two deep breaths and felt steadier. This behavior was so foreign he could hardly believe it was he exhibiting it. She had certainly bewitched him, and perhaps it was for the best he had lost her. Harry had seen besotted men before. They lost the power of rational thought, and he had no wish to be one of those.
Wandering around the room, he looked at books, noting a few he had read, and then poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the tray. Sipping the liquid slowly, he made for the fireplace, where he warmed his backside.
“Momentary madness,” he muttered. Nothing else could explain what had just occurred.
He heard the door handle rattle and then it was opening. Deciding he had no wish to be involved in a lovers’ tryst, and would much rather sit alone in this room a while longer, he moved closer, prepared to tell whoever it was the room was occupied.
Harry stiffened as her head appeared first, but she did not see him as he stood in the shadows. His Grecian Goddess stepped inside and closed the door behind her, and suddenly the control he thought to regain was gone. Christ, he was feeling it again, all that wonderful tension.
“Don’t run from me, Hero.”
Her eyes found him and then she turned toward the door. He reached her in four strides, placing a hand over her head on the wood.
“Please don’t run.” He’d never heard that kind of de
speration in his voice before.
She didn’t look at him, still facing the door, so he stepped closer. Lowering his head, he kissed the side of her neck, pressing his lips to the soft, sweet-smelling skin.
“Stay here with me, Hero.”
She didn’t speak immediately, the breath rushing in and out of her body.
“I am afraid of this.”
“As am I.” Harry moved closer. “But let us be scared together.”
“I can offer nothing but tonight, Leander. Tomorrow my life will take a different direction. D-do you really wish this?”
Chapter Three
“I wish it, Hero. I wish it with every part of me.”
Harry turned her in his arms and kissed her. Her mouth opened to take him, and he was lost. She tasted of sin and purity, love and light. Her lips were sweet and his head was filled with only her as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her hard against his chest. He wasn’t sure where one kiss finished, or another started, only that he had spent his life starving for this woman, and it would take a lifetime to sate the thirst.
They both inhaled deep breaths when he finally released her mouth.
“I want you, sweet Hero.”
She hesitated.
But I don’t want to frighten you.” Harry cupped her cheek.
“I am not frightened. It is just that this, what is between us, is not something I have felt before.”
“You are not alone in that.”
Her smile was sad, and Harry wanted to kiss it from her lovely mouth.
“Men tend to say what they believe a woman wants to hear, and then do the opposite.”
“However, not me.” Harry nipped her bottom lip. “Seeing you was like being struck by lightning, Hero.”
“Surely it is madness?”
“But a wonderful madness,” Harry said.
“I want to feel passion. I want to understand what can be between a man and woman just once.”
“Has there been a man in your life?”
She nodded.
“But no longer?”
This time she shook her head.
“Your husband did not make you feel passion?”
“No.”
“Then he was a fool.” He kissed her again.
She was so young to be a widow, Harry thought, and yet he knew of others who were younger. Had her husband mistreated her? The thought turned the blood in his veins to ice.
“Please, do not speak of pasts or futures again,” she pressed her fingers to his lips. “I wish to speak of only now.”
“Very well, and now I want to kiss all of you,” he rasped. “Every lush slope and glorious inch of skin. Tell me you want that.”
Her eyes searched his face for long seconds, and there he read his answer.
“Yes I want that. Make me feel alive, Leander.”
Thank God she was no innocent. This relieved Harry, as he had no wish to stop now, was not sure he could, but neither would he hurt a woman. He felt his control slip further as she ran a hand up his chest. Blood pumped through his veins as he savored the feel of her body pressed to his.
Taking her mouth again, he devoured her this time. No quarter given, he took, and she gave.
“Christ, you inflame me, sweet Hero.” Harry kissed a line down her neck.
“I-I don’t feel myself,” she whispered, and he barked out a rough laugh.
“I have not felt myself since first laying eyes on you. But I will not hurt you; if you wish it we will simply talk, and kiss,” he added, knowing he would not pressure her if she felt uneasy, no matter that his body was on fire.
Her answer was to step out of his arms, her eyes holding his. She fumbled with the braid of gold around her waist and released it. The white material of her dress floated around her body. Reaching for the shoulder, she then released the ties, and it slid down her to pool at her feet, leaving her in a short white chemise that reached midthigh.
“Such beauty,” his voice was hoarse.
He saw the blush that heated her cheeks. Experienced she may be, but whatever fools shared her life had not complimented her overmuch if that reaction was any indication.
He closed the distance between them again, and touched the line of her neck. Trailing a finger down to her chest, then lower to the tops of her breasts above her short chemise. He could see the outline of her body through the thin fabric. The dark peak of her nipples pressed against the material, and he wanted more, needed more.
“Oh,” she sighed as he slipped a finger beneath the bodice to caress her.
“Oh yes,” Harry rasped, bending to kiss the soft skin.
He felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing his cape aside, she then reached for his buttons, forcing them through the holes until she had his shirt open. It was his turn to moan, low and deep when her fingers traced the planes of his chest.
“Your touch ignites me, Hero.”
“No touch has ever made me feel as yours does, Leander.”
“Then the man in your life was a fool.”
“He was.” She looked sad again and Harry wanted to hunt down whoever had made her feel this way, and teach him a lesson on how to treat a beautiful woman.
“Will you take off your chemise and let me see all of you?”
She stepped out of his arms once again, and then taking a deep breath, she lifted the chemise over her head and let it fall to the floor.
“I had believed perfection a myth,” Harry’s eyes took in every inch of her exquisite form. Her skin glowed in the firelight as he traced each line and curve with his eyes. Long limbs, small waist, round high breasts, his eyes devoured her. Each curve and swell, every expanse of creamy flesh. The thatch of curls between her thighs had him aching to kiss her there, burning to explore the taste and feel of her. “I see now I was mistaken.”
Jemma sighed into his mouth as his hands mapped her body slowly, his palm leaving a trail of fire wherever it traveled. The friction of his chest against her breasts was magical, the rasp of hair teasing the sensitive tips of her nipples.
She was no longer the Jemma she knew, no longer the innocent woman; here, in this room, she was everything this man expected her to be. He led and she followed willingly. This was what she’d wanted when that thought had entered her head. A memory of what could be, something to hold close in the lonely years to come.
He deepened the kiss, his hand now wrapped around her braid, urging her closer. Dear God, she was burning but wanted, no needed more. Climbing to her toes she sank her fingers into his hair.
“More, Leander.”
“Easy, sweetheart, we have all night.”
No, they didn’t, she realized, because somewhere Thomas would be looking for her. Slipping her hands down his body, she dared to touch the band of his trousers. Sliding a finger inside as he had her bodice, she touched his skin. He was hot, much more so than her.
He lifted her finger free, then kissed it. He stepped back and pulled off his shirt in two quick movements, then boots and the rest of his clothing followed. Jemma inhaled as she looked up the long muscled thighs to his arousal. How beautiful he was. Yes, she was nervous, as she had never seen a naked male before, but excited also. She didn’t know how or why, but instinctually she knew this man would never hurt her.
Closing the distance between them, she explored his body. Touched him, letting her fingers run down his chest. The line of muscle at his neck, the curve of his shoulder, and down to the soft hair on his arm. Squeezing his fingers, Jemma then moved to the hair below his waist.
“Your touch is sin, Hero.”
“Your body was made to touch, Leander.”
“Only your touch.”
Jemma tried to ignore the thud of her heart at his words. She had no rights to this man after tonight. Therefore, she must push everything but here and now aside.
Daring to move lower, the breath hissed from his throat, so she touched the heated flesh of his arousal. Be bold, Jemma. She had misled him into believing she’d bee
n married, and a married woman would know about a man’s body.
Leander moaned deep in his throat as she tentatively trailed her fingers down the hard length.
“Ahhh, sweet Hero, your touch is exquisite torture.”
If this was to be her only night of true passion, then she would experience everything it had to offer and partake fully in the pleasure.
“Enough now, my sweet.” His fingers closed over hers and lifted them from his body. He picked her up and lowered her to kneel on the sofa.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “I’m sure we have never met, for I would know you anywhere.”
Shaking her head, Jemma placed her fingers over his mouth.
“No talk of the world out there, please, Leander,” she begged. “We have tonight, only tonight.”
He cupped her face and looked down at her, and Jemma feared he could read every secret in her head.
“If that is your wish, then so be it.”
His fingers moved down her cheek to trace the edge of her jaw then lower, to caress her breasts, where Jemma ached to have him touch her. He teased the aching peak of a nipple and this time it was she who moaned. The feather-soft contact was exquisite, each brush igniting her body.
“In that mask, you look like a pagan sacrifice placed before me for my pleasure alone, Hero. A feast to devour.”
She closed her eyes as he lowered his head and the first lick of his tongue on her breast made her shudder.
The tug of his teeth on her flesh made her tremble, and when he drew her nipple deep into his mouth she gasped.
“Just feel, Hero,” Leander whispered when he’d released her. “Let me pleasure you.” He licked long heated strokes over the swollen flesh. She writhed against him, pushing herself into his mouth, urging him on. Jemma felt the desperation in both their bodies, the urgency and need as the tension built. Her fingers raked against his scalp, and he shuddered; she traced the flesh of his shoulders, and down his back, touching him anywhere she could reach.
“Leander, I feel…” Jemma could not put it in words; never had she felt this way in her life before.
He kept up the torment for several minutes, easing from one nipple to the other and back again until Jemma was sobbing, her fingers pulling at his hair. He held her still while he nipped and suckled the taut peaks, and then he moved lower, kissing each rib, and then the soft planes of her stomach.
