What Wild Moonlight

by Lynne, Victoria

  Much to her relief, however, she read stark approval in his eyes, combined with profound, unmistakable desire. She had thought him a lone, predatory animal when they first met. That same sense struck her now. Something in the way his ebony gaze moved slowly over her body told her that he was branding her as his own. She had always considered herself a thoroughly modern and rational woman. But the notion of belonging to Nicholas Duvall sent through her a primitive thrill that was undeniable.

  “Look at you,” he murmured huskily. “You’re so beautiful, Katya. So beautiful.” Kneeling, he lifted his hands and traced them lightly over her body, as though fixing her every curve to memory.

  The thrill of feminine conquest coursed through her as she experienced a pride she had never before known. But his words jarred something deep within her. She was not content simply to have him see her. She wanted—needed—to feel and explore his body in the way that he was touching hers. She reached up and tugged at his shirt, popping the buttons off the smooth, crisp linen. Immediately reading her intent, he shrugged off the garment. They fumbled together with the rest of his clothing, lost in their urgency and clumsy with desire.

  Once Nicholas was naked he knelt before her in the moonlit garden, his skin glowing like ancient bronze. His body was a mass of hard, sinewy muscle and lean, powerfully sculpted flesh, so perfect that it was almost intimidating. She lifted her hand and placed it tentatively on his chest, as though she wasn’t quite certain of her right to touch him. His skin felt hot and curiously smooth; his muscles quivered and leapt to life beneath her hand. Emboldened by his reaction to her touch, filled with both wonder and awe, she lightly skimmed her hands over his body. His dark hair was silkier than she had imagined, his shoulders broader, his muscles firmer. She indulged her wanton curiosity, touching him everywhere—until she reached his manhood.

  Then she pulled back her hand as though it had been bitten by a snake.

  Katya was not so naive that she lacked a rudimentary knowledge of lovemaking. Once she had even dared to read an anatomy book. But the dry, clinical explanation she had read bore no resemblance to what she was currently experiencing. What about the anxious trembling that seized her limbs, the sensual fog that muddled her thoughts, or the tight knot that filled her belly and radiated warmth through her veins? Why hadn’t these been mentioned?

  Her gaze returned skittishly to Nicholas’s throbbing manhood. His firm erection jutted proudly to life against the flatness of his stomach. She swallowed hard as wary skepticism gripped her. He would bury that intimate part of himself deep within her? Impossible.

  As though sensing her fear, he gathered her in his arms once again, refusing to allow her time to focus on her worries. His lips over hers, he cupped her breasts in his hands. He brushed his fingers lightly over her nipples, teasing them until they rose to firm, stiff peaks. Just when Katya thought she could stand the pleasure of his touch no longer, he brought his mouth to her nipple, gently licking and sucking. She gave a cry of shock and stiffened in surprise, then melted with pleasure. His lips traveled over her body in erotic exploration, kissing her ribs, the hollow curve of her belly, the soft swell of her hip. He lavished her with kisses and caresses, stroking her body until it felt inflamed.

  Then he moved his hand, bringing it to rest between her thighs. She instinctively clamped her legs shut in wild panic.

  “Easy, Katya,” he murmured against her ear. “Open your legs for me, little gypsy.”

  Gathering her courage, she cautiously inched her thighs apart. As she did, she experienced a momentary, fleeting sense of shame at her response to him. She felt a damp heat between her legs and a pulsating warmth that seemed to radiate from her thighs and spread outward. No doubt someone like Corrina Jeffreys would be cool, dry, and slightly remote. Katya sensed that her own response was entirely unseemly, but she had no idea how to control it.

  Fortunately Nicholas gave no indication of displeasure. In fact, just the opposite was true. As his fingers explored the soft folds of her innermost places, he gave a low growl that sounded distinctly approving. He rhythmically stroked the tight pearl of flesh fronting the delicate opening between her legs, causing a shiver of heated excitement to course up her spine.

  Katya’s restraint vanished as she surrendered completely to her base instincts. Her need for him was overpowering, almost a living, breathing thing, so great was the hunger that engulfed her. Her nails clawed at his back as she writhed beneath him. She heard a strange, faraway noise, something between a moan and a purr, and she was startled to realize that it was she who was making it.

  She felt a tremor run through Nicholas as he gave a soft moan of his own. “Katya,” he said, her name a breathless sigh that had been torn from deep within him.

  He shifted slightly, bracing himself on his elbows above her. His eyes locked onto hers as the tip of his silky shaft touched the folds of her innermost lips. Moving with deliberate, infinite care, he thrust his hips forward and slowly entered her.

  Katya’s eyes widened with wonder. She felt her body stretch to allow him entrance, then hold his manhood in a tight, firm grip deep inside. Awe and tenderness flooded through her. Their union was so simple and at the same time so intimate and earthshaking. Unable to put her emotions into words, she placed her hands on Nicholas’s shoulders, drawing him closer into her embrace.

  He slid his hips forward, inching further inside her, then abruptly he stopped. A look of shocked surprise marked his features. His gaze shot to hers. He was clearly holding back, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself still. She realized in that instant that he was waiting for something from her, for some sort of acknowledgment or acquiescence. She lifted her hand and ran it lightly over his jaw, instinctively attempting to soothe the tension she saw there.

  “Don’t stop,” she said. She had nothing but a hazy idea of what she was saying, but that didn’t matter. She knew only that stopping now would be more painful than anything yet to come.

  A look of naked relief crossed his features, followed almost immediately by an expression of harsh regret. He drew back, then plunged himself deep within her. Sharp, stabbing pain intruded into the warm, melting sensation she had experienced only moments earlier.

  Katya stiffened in shock and opened her lips to cry out. Nicholas captured her mouth with his, swallowing her cry as though attempting to transfer her pain to himself. And the sharp ache slowly eased. She let out a sigh of relief as the tension drained out of her.

  Feeling her relax beneath him, Nicholas began to move once again. He pulled his hips back, then thrust slowly forward. He moved cautiously at first, as though she were supremely fragile. As the sensual pressure built within her once again, she lifted her hips to meet his. Her hands gently caressed his back, silently urging him on. Taking his cue from her, he began to move faster, stroking her deep inside, moving in an endless, teasing dance of withdrawal and advance that left her yearning, aching for more.

  Katya grasped his shoulders and arched her back to meet his steady, rhythmic thrusts. Her breath came in short, hot gasps and a fine sheen of perspiration coated her skin. She was wet and hot, yet her body trembled as though it were the dead of winter. She couldn’t stop touching Nicholas; she needed him too badly. Her hands skimmed the bunched muscles of his back, his firm buttocks, his rocklike thighs, moving over his body with almost frantic determination.

  She felt as though she were melting and flying at the same time, building toward some unknown goal. A tight knot of liquid fire coiled within her belly, threatening to explode at any moment. She was soaring, climbing ever higher, striving to reach some faraway plateau. Her fingers clenched reflexively as a sudden rush of heat surged through her body. Passion swelled within her. Her limbs tensed, then abruptly relaxed as a thousand stars shattered deep within her, sending waves of shimmering pleasure coursing through her veins.

  As she arched her back and cried out her pleasure Nicholas drove into her harder and harder, faster and deeper. He threw back
his head, his body shuddering as he gave a hoarse cry of his own. The wet warmth of his seed poured into her, filling her with its rich male essence. Then he collapsed weakly on top of her, as drained of strength as she was.

  They lay together atop the burgundy velvet, their slick bodies still intimately joined, locked together in breathless triumph. Katya felt Nicholas’s chest rise and fall against her own, heard his heart pound against her ear. Her senses working overtime, she concentrated intently, fixing the moment forever in her mind. She wanted to remember it all: the stars twinkling in the sky above them, the sound of their mingled breathing, the salty taste of his skin, the thick fragrance of the roses mingled with the heady odor of their union, the sticky warmth between her thighs. She suspected she would be sore tomorrow—perhaps she would even experience regret—but at that moment it didn’t matter.

  After a minute he rolled to the side, taking his weight off her. As he pulled away she tensed, suddenly feeing very vulnerable. She was gripped by an irrational certainty that he would stand and move away, leaving her alone. Instead he drew her to him, her back snuggled up against his chest. He brushed the damp hair from her forehead with a gentle, ministering touch, and he softly kissed her temple. Then he drew his hand lightly over her belly, her ribs and breasts in a meandering, indolent caress. Katya closed her eyes and let out a low purr, a sound that was almost a whimper, of luxuriant relief and satisfied pleasure.

  “Did I hurt you very badly?” he asked. Although she couldn’t see his face, a gruff note of regret and apology was clear in his voice.

  She caught his hand and lifted it to her mouth, brushing his knuckles with a light kiss. “No.”

  Heavy silence hung between them. Finally he broke it by saying, “I wasn’t prepared—I assumed you and William—”

  “No.” Katya was suddenly glad he couldn’t see her face, for she could feel the heat suffuse her cheeks. “No,” she repeated, then, at his continued silence, “I disappointed you.”

  As though sensing her intent to move away from him, he tightened his grip on her waist. “Just the opposite,” he answered quietly. “Everything about you pleases me. It sometimes frightens me how much.”

  The warm breeze they had enjoyed earlier grew progressively chilly, until at last they resigned themselves to abandoning the garden and returning to the villa. They gathered their clothing from where it had been strewn and quietly dressed. Katya took one last, lingering look at the place where their bodies had joined, then turned toward Nicholas. Seeing that her gaze had turned toward him, he sent her a soft smile and silently reached for her.

  His ancient gold-and-onyx ring glistened in the moonlight as she placed her hand in his.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Katya sat alone in her bedchamber with the curtains pulled wide, flooding the room with glorious Mediterranean sunshine. The early morning song of a warbler nesting in the olive tree outside her window drifted in to greet her. Her spirits buoyed by the beauty of the day, she hummed a light tune as she fastened the last of the tiny pearl buttons lining the front of her blouse. Then she moved to stand before the looking glass, checking her appearance one last time before going downstairs to join Nicholas.

  Her attire was modest: an indigo riding skirt and matching cropped jacket with a crisp white blouse beneath. Wearing her hair in a thick ponytail, she wore a classic straw boater that was softened by the addition of navy and lavender ribbons around the hat’s wide brim. The ensemble was completed by sensible brown riding boots and wrist-length leather gloves. All in all, she decided, her clothing was eminently suited for a leisurely afternoon spent riding.

  But as she gazed into the looking glass, she knew that she was searching for more than the mere suitability of her attire. Two weeks had passed since she and Nicholas had become lovers. Although she had embarked on the affair burdened by a nearly overwhelming sense of trepidation, her worries had all but vanished.

  As she searched her reflection, she wondered if the heady thrill of her burgeoning romance was visible to everyone who saw her. Did her eyes glow with inner excitement? Were her cheeks rosier? Was her smile more mysterious? She half expected to see physical evidence of their relationship on her skin; surely Nicholas had left his mark somewhere. How was it possible that he could affect her so profoundly heart and soul, yet leave no trace of his touch for others to see?

  Even though she was alone in her bedchamber, it felt as though he were beside her. She could still smell the spicy, masculine scent of his skin on her bedsheets. She could almost hear the low murmur of his voice as he whispered in her ear, or the steady sound of his boots echoing down the hall as he came to her room late at night. She saw herself, eager and breathless, trembling with desire, waiting for him in her bed. If she closed her eyes and imagined it, she could almost feel him standing behind her, reaching around to hold her breasts in his hands as he kissed the nape of her neck. She could almost feel the gentle brush of his lips over her skin, the tight knot of warmth radiating from the juncture of her thighs as he slowly entered her, and the way her nipples tingled in glorious anticipation of his touch.

  Their lovemaking embraced her like an invisible ghost, holding her nightly in its thrall. It was an odd sort of possession, but one to which she willingly submitted. His presence surrounded her; the very air seemed to pulsate with his being. His touch captured her completely, setting her flesh on fire and making her shudder with so much pleasure that she nearly felt weak. In the two weeks that they had been lovers, they had settled into an exquisite, sensual routine. Or perhaps, Katya reflected, routine wasn’t the right word for it, as each night was spectacularly different from the others.

  The news of their liaison was likely of interest to no one else—particularly since she had been posing as his mistress since her arrival in Monaco—but to her it was a source of unending astonishment. She felt as though she were a different person. Surely it was apparent to anyone who looked at her that the rational, prudent Miss Katya Alexander no longer existed. Every move she had ever made was always meticulously planned—until now. For the first time in her life she had willingly thrown caution to the wind, allowing the giddy bliss of passion to replace the more tempered path of reason. She gave herself freely, without worrying about the consequences. Most remarkable of all, she enjoyed a stunning lack of shame.

  Her only troubling moments came when she thought of the fleeting nature of her arrangement with Nicholas. Where would it lead? Their relationship had been temporary at best, unscrupulous at worst. Her original plan, so brash and daring, now seemed unimaginable. Could she possibly steal the scroll out from under him and leave without a word?

  Putting that weighty issue aside for the moment, she turned away from the looking glass and moved across the room to her bedside table. She had taken to poring over Sacha’s diary every chance she had; the ancient documents covered the small mahogany nightstand. Katya had become fascinated with the diary, finding parallels to her own life on every page. It seemed as though the destiny she and Nicholas shared was mysteriously entwined with that of her ill-fated ancestor centuries ago.

  Katya was driven by the irrational notion that if she could find an explanation for what had gone wrong between Sacha and Marco, she might be able to foresee how her relationship with Nicholas would end. But the excerpts she had read thus far suggested nothing but rapidly escalating affection and intimacy between the medieval lovers—exactly what she was experiencing with Nicholas. Frowning as she pondered that fact, she opened the diary and removed the ancient parchment page she had discovered that morning. Although she had read it so many times it was nearly committed to memory, she scanned the document once again, looking for something in Sacha’s words or tone that she may have missed.

  Marco came to me again last night. I thought at first it was only a dream, for none but a sorcerer can move through the castle so unguarded, or slip into my room with the silent grace of a shimmering moonbeam. Then his lips touched mine. He is no phantom, but a man of flesh and blo
od. Only Marco can awaken the fire within me, only he can spark the quivering heat that spreads through my body. Even the rough linen of my bedsheets turns to woven silk with his touch. I know it is a sin to be with him without the sacrament of marriage, but how can I turn him away? Soon we will be together for eternity. Is it so wicked that I should let him claim my body, when he has already laid claim to my soul?

  Katya folded the page and tapped it against her lips, vaguely uneasy. Was Sacha’s loyalty to Marco commendable or foolish? If the worst-case scenario were true and Marco had set out to destroy her from the very beginning, Sacha had been an unknowing innocent, her faith rewarded with cruelty and treachery. But Katya could plead no such defense. She had entered into her liaison with Nicholas knowing exactly what she was doing. Like a willful child playing with matches, she had completely disregarded the danger contained in the lure of the dancing flames.

  The kiss of fate. Her mother had told her that it had been bestowed upon her at birth, but she had neglected to mention whether it was a blessing or a curse. Katya let out a sigh. Perhaps only time would tell. She swept up the ancient documents and tucked them neatly away in the hidden compartment at the base of her trunk. Then she picked up her reticule, looped it through the waistband of her skirt, and left the room, heading downstairs to join Nicholas.

  She found him in the parlor that overlooked the terrace, enjoying tea with the Comtesse. He rose to his feet the instant she entered the room. The Lord of Scandal, she thought, watching him move toward her with passion in his ebony eyes. How apt the title. Once he had been intimidating. Now he was intoxicating.

  Katya fleetingly wondered if her eyes mirrored his. If he saw within her gaze the same longing, the same approval, the same eager rush of desire that flooded through her every time they were reunited, no matter how short the absence. Even if her emotions were as blatantly visible as she feared, she doubted she could hide them.