A small square of paper on the wall advised them to follow the path of love. Bryce looked at Angela in perplexity.
“That’s easy,” Angela told him. “The Tunnel of Love. Let’s take this one.”
“All right. I’m game.”
They got down on their hands and knees and began to crawl along the tunnel.
So they went on, crawling, standing, even climbing over low barricades, and in each new place there was another “clue” to guide them. Once they could not figure out the riddle and had to retrace their steps when they reached a dead end.
A half hour later they emerged from the “maze,” laughing and talking and flushed with adrenaline. They were on a black-topped area, and there was a table of refreshments in front of them. Behind the table stood two costumed servers, who quickly and efficiently poured them drinks. Several other guests who had emerged from the maze were standing around chatting and partaking of refreshments: saloon girls, Indians, Romans, even a Hester Prynne in a Puritan costume with a large red A fastened on her chest.
Bryce and Angela chatted and sipped at their drinks, eyeing the other entertaining costumes as they made their way around to the side entrance of the house along a marked path and entered the party.
Spread out in front of them was a large room packed with people pulsing to the sound of a rock band. Bryce noticed that the band, set up on a small stage on one side of the enormous room, was also in costume. Then Tim came bustling up to them, dressed in the brown gown of a friar.
“Angela! And you managed to get Bryce to come, too!” Tim greeted Angela with a hug. “Wow, you look stunning.”
“Thank you.” Angela inclined her head with a regal nod. “Are you Friar Tuck this year?”
Tim grimaced. “No, you Philistine. That must be the hundredth time somebody’s said that. Don’t any of you people read? See these vials of herbs on my belt? I’m Brother Cadfael—you know, the Ellis Peters mysteries.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course. I should have known you’d never be anyone as ordinary as Friar Tuck.” She glanced around at the crush of people. “Your usual great party, Tim.”
“Thanks.” Tim’s eyes lit up. “How’d you like the fairies?”
“They were wonderful.”
Tim beamed. “I think this is Phil’s best work yet. He even improved on the flying banshee.”
“Phil is a set designer for one of the local theaters,” Angela explained to Bryce. “Tim always hires him to put his visions into reality.”
“He’s a genius.” He turned toward Bryce. “So—how are you doing? Found anything yet?”
“Well, actually, I have come across a few names that received substantial payments last year, but not the year before. I’d like to have you and Angela look at the names and see if you recognize them.”
A pained expression passed across Tim’s face. “Oh, no, not now. It’s a party. We’ll look at them on Monday.” He looked past them. “New arrivals. I have to go play host. You two dance. Have some food—it’s quite a spread.”
He bustled off with a cheery wave of his hand.
“Not too big on facing reality, is he?”
“Who wants to hear bad news?” Angela countered. “I don’t, either. Come on, let’s dance.”
Bryce looked at the crush on the tiny dance floor, then back at Angela. He rolled his eyes, but gamely took her hand and plunged through the mob to the dance floor.
They had barely started dancing when the song ended. It was followed by a slow dance. Bryce folded Angela in his arms, and they moved to the music. It was hot pressed up against Bryce’s body, but Angela didn’t mind. Even through her stiff, heavy bodice, she could feel Bryce’s hard chest pressing against her. Her breasts tightened in response. One of his hands held hers, and the other was splayed across her back. Angela wondered if it was the heat or his nearness that was making her feel a trifle faint.
When the music ended, she stepped back abruptly, aware that her face was flushed. She hoped he would attribute it to the heat, not the arousal that was creeping through her.
“Why don’t we go outside?” she asked quickly. “It’s horribly hot in here. This brocade is beautiful, but it’s stifling.”
Bryce nodded, and they wound through the other revelers to the open French doors.
Apparently several other people had found the outdoor air appealing, for the flagstone terrace, decorated with soft globes of light, held several other couples.
They got glasses of punch at the refreshment table and sampled a few of the delicious dishes. Then Angela led Bryce across the patio to the terraced flagstone walk that dropped gradually down to the yard below them. Short lights lined the pathway into the yard, and party lights glittered festively in the trees.
They strolled around the pool, mutedly glowing with underwater lights, and onto the twisting graveled pathways at the rear at the yard.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Bryce commented, glancing around.
It was darker, the yard less manicured and the vegetation growing more naturally. Lights glowed here and there, spotlighting the trunks of occasional trees, but the winding gravel paths were unlit.
“Yes. Isn’t it? Tim owns several acres.” She gestured in front of them. “He’s left most of the land out there as is. He and his kids like to go hiking and exploring in it. I like this part—the transition between the formal lawns and the wilderness.”
They reached a rise, where a low stone bench sat beneath a tree, and Angela turned and looked back toward the house. They were above the pool and the lower stretch of green lawn, with the brightly lit terrace and house at some distance across from them. It was almost like watching actors upon a stage to see the partygoers milling around on the terrace, with the two of them cozily alone in the dark. The sound of laughter and the band floated across the lawn toward them.
Bryce turned and looked down at her. The moonlight drifted over her, catching the row of seed pearls that lined her snood and fell across the white expanse of her chest. Her skin was soft and milky, the swell of her breasts inviting. His fingers itched to reach out and slide across her chest, to delve down into the dress. He found himself wondering what her nipples would look like—large warm brown circles or tight little raspberry buds.
Bryce swallowed and looked away. Such thoughts were dangerous, especially out here alone with Angela in the moonlight. This was her world, not his, a place of fantasy and enchantment, where people dressed like someone out of a story and the night was soft and warm and smelled faintly of romantic scents.
“I’m not sure why I came here tonight,” he admitted, studying the path beneath his feet.
“That’s all right. You don’t always have to know exactly what you’re doing. Instincts take over sometimes.”
“I’ve never trusted instincts. They too often lead one astray.”
“Perhaps we ought to go back inside,” Angela suggested.
“No. I like it right here.” Bryce raised his head and looked at her. “Do you?”
Angela gazed back at him. Her eyes were dark in the dim light, pools of mystery and delight. Slowly she reached up and laid her hand against his cheek. His skin flamed hot beneath her touch, and his eyes were bright silver.
“I don’t know why,” she began softly, “but I like to look at you.”
“Neither do I,” he responded. She could feel the movement in his cheek against her hand as he smiled a little. “It can’t be half as pleasurable as looking at you.”
She stroked her thumb across Bryce’s cheek. His flesh was deliciously firm and warm to her touch; his skin sent tingles through her hand and straight into her body, where they pooled in dark ripples in her abdomen.
“You’re not at all my type.” Angela went on as her thumb traced the line of his upper lip.
He stiffened slightly at the touch, and his skin was like fire. Angela slid her thumb slowly along the curve of his lower lip. His mouth opened slightly and he took her thumb gently between his lips. He kissed her thumb,
then trailed his tongue along it. Angela sucked in her breath and her hand fell abruptly away.
“No,” Bryce agreed. “Nor are you mine.”
His hand sank into her hair at her nape, holding her head immobilized, and he leaned toward her until his face was only inches from hers.
“I’ve been thinking about you all week. Wondering why I was stupid enough to walk away from you Monday. Then telling myself I’d have to be crazy to get involved with you, that we’re too different. Thinking that I’d rather be crazy than keep on wanting you…and not having you.”
Angela felt as if she were melting inside. His words were as sensual, as hungry, as any kiss. Her loins felt liquid and full and aching. Her feelings must have shown on her face, for Bryce let out a low groan.
“I’m tired of being sensible,” he growled. “Tonight I don’t want to be practical or rational. I don’t want to be careful.” He bent and took her lips in a hungry kiss.
Bryce could not remember ever wanting any woman with this kind of hungry intensity. His nature seemed to change when he was around her. A hundred times this past week he had told himself how right he had been to pull away from her the other day in her office; a relationship with someone as unpredictable, disorganized and flamboyant as Angela would quickly drive him insane. Yet, no matter how much he told himself he had been right, it had not eased the pain of wanting her. It had not gotten her out of his mind.
“I want to take you to bed,” he said huskily, trailing his lips across her face to her ear. “To feel your body under mine. Your legs around me.”
Angela was mesmerized by the heavy sensuality of his words. She could not think, could scarcely breathe, stunned by the throb of desire within her.
“You don’t have to be the same to match,” he said roughly. “And I think we’ll match just fine.”
Bryce’s lips came back to hers, his tongue delving into the honeyed warmth of her mouth. His tongue stroked along hers like fire, delving and retreating. She could hear his harsh, ragged breath, and the sound stirred her. A hot, sweet ache began to blossom between her legs.
Bryce’s arms were tight around her, pressing her into him until she thought she would not be able to breathe, but the embrace was not enough for him. He wanted to feel her up and down him; he wanted to touch her all over; he wanted to continue kissing her until time stopped and at the same moment he wanted to taste her body in a hundred different spots. Desire coiled and tightened within him.
Bryce lifted Angela in his arms and sat down on the bench, settling her on his lap. Her eyes widened a little with surprise at his sudden movement, but then she curled her arms around his neck and returned her kiss-softened lips to his. Her headgear was in the way, and he impatiently shoved it aside. It fell to the ground, loosening her hair, and the soft red curls tumbled to her shoulders. Bryce groaned and sank his hand into her hair, crushing the springing curls between his fingers.
His mouth consumed her and his arm curled around her back, holding her upright, as his other hand slid up the stiff cloth of her dress until his fingers reached the plush softness of the exposed tops of her breasts. A shudder of desire ran through him as his hand slipped gently over her breasts, following the curve and dip of each lush mound. Angela squeezed her legs tightly together, trying to ease the sudden pulsing eagerness there, and her lips fervently matched his hungry pressure.
Bryce’s hand splayed over the expanse of her chest, then curved back down onto the quivering swell of her breast. Farther and deeper his fingers slipped, delving beneath the stiffened bodice until his fingertips found the tight bud that they sought. He moaned, and his mouth left hers to move hungrily over her face. He seized her earlobe gently between his teeth and worried it while his fingertips rolled and stroked and gently squeezed her taut nipple.
Angela whimpered, and her head lolled back, exposing, her throat to his mouth. His lips trailed down her neck, kissing and nibbling the tender flesh. Then his mouth was upon her breast, sinking hungrily into her. She could feel the hard, throbbing length of his desire beneath her, and she moved against him, evoking a groan from him. He shoved down her bodice, exposing her breasts completely. He cupped one orb and gazed at it, gently rubbing his thumb across the pink-fleshed nipple.
Angela trembled all over as his warm mouth enclosed her nipple. It seemed as if every nerve in her body was alive and throbbing. Nothing had ever felt as wondrous, as right, as his mouth on her breast. His tongue rubbed slowly, sensuously over her nipple, and the taut bud prickled. Dampness pooled between her legs, and she wanted suddenly, wantonly, to feel his hand there.
She clenched her hands in Bryce’s hair, moaning his name. His response was to suckle more deeply, sending a shudder of desire through her. His hand sought out her other breast, pushing down the cloth that covered it, and he squeezed it gently, rolling the nipple between his forefinger and thumb.
“Sweet mercy,” he said in a choked voice, raising his head and gazing into her eyes. “I want to take you right here.”
Angela shivered. His hand was still unconsciously caressing her breast, evoking tremors of desire in her. “What if I said yes?”
His nostrils widened fractionally, and something wild and hungry flared in his eyes. In answer, his hand went to the zipper in the back of her costume and began to pull it down. Angela stared into his eyes in fascination; this was an entirely different man from the one she had always known. This was no creature of reason, no cautious, practical, sober man. No, this was a man of passion now, impatient and unthinking, drunk on the wine of his own desire.
“Bryce,” she whispered, a wealth of yearning in her voice.
Her loosened gown slid down off her shoulders, but Angela caught it, holding it up with one hand, a final remnant of sanity stopping her. “No, wait. Not here.”
She glanced back toward the house, and Bryce followed her gaze. He groaned, but nodded. She was right. There were too many people not far away, too great a chance of discovery. Besides, the hard ground was hardly a fit place to make love with Angela for the first time.
“Then where?” he rasped, thinking with dismay of the long drive back to her condominium.
Angela stood up, her mind racing through the possibilities. She turned her back to him to rezip her dress. Instead he slipped his hands beneath the cloth, caressing her, and began to kiss his way up the line of her backbone.
She jumped at the first searing touch of his lips, uttering a startled little, “Oh!”
He murmured a soothing response against her skin, his hands busily at work.
“Bryce! Stop it! I’m trying to think!”
“I’m not stopping you.” His tongue trailed up several vertebrae.
Angela made a choked noise. Her mind whirled. She thought that no one was likely to come up here for the next few minutes.
One of his hands slipped down, delving beneath her petticoats, and found the moist center of her desire. Bryce groaned, and his teeth nipped lightly at her back.
“I can’t wait,” he rasped. “I have to have you now.”
He pulled his hands away, and Angela protested weakly, shocked at the loss. But then his hands went beneath her skirts, sliding caressingly up her legs and over her hips. He grasped her panties and pulled them down and off. With his hands on her hips, he turned her around to face him, and Angela moved docilely, too flooded with desire and excitement to do anything else. Bryce’s face was slack with desire, his silvery eyes glittering in the moonlight. The fierce hunger on his face completed her undoing. Angela moved her hand away from her dress, letting the bodice fall. Her nipples puckered even more as the night breeze touched them. Bryce’s eyes moved avidly over her, then he pulled her closer. His tongue circled each nipple teasingly, until they were engorged and throbbing and Angela’s breath was almost a sob. Then he took one nipple fully into his mouth, sucking deeply.
A deep throb of desire surged through her abdomen, and Angela moved her legs restlessly. As if in answer to her unspoken wish, Bryce slid
his hands up beneath her heavy skirt. He caressed her legs and buttocks, and all the while his mouth worked wonders upon her breasts. Angela was reeling with sensations, the pulse between her legs growing more and more insistent. Then his hand was there, sliding up the inside of her thigh until it came to rest upon the heated center of her being.
She moaned and twined her hands through Bryce’s hair, clenching them as the heat swelled within her. Gently his fingers explored the slick, satiny folds, stroking her with fire until she was almost wild.
Then his hands were gone, and she gasped, frustrated and aching. “No! Please…”
She looked down at him. His face was flushed with passion, his eyes bright and wild. “Sit,” he told her hoarsely, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her down upon him.
For a dazed instant, Angela gazed at him blankly, but then understanding dawned upon her. Lifting her skirts, she knelt on the bench, her legs on either side of his and sank slowly down onto his lap. His manhood was thick and firm, prodding deliciously at her soft femininity. His hand moved beneath her skirts and then he was sliding into her. Angela arched her head back and gripped Bryce’s shoulders with her hands, easing down slowly, enjoying every frisson of pleasure as he filled her, until finally she was seated flush against him.
He groaned out her name, and his hands moved restlessly over her back. Experimentally Angela wriggled, and he gasped, burying his face in her shoulder. His fingers dug into her hips, urging her to movement. Slowly she began to move up and down, encouraged by the fevered words that fell from his lips. Her hips began to churn faster and faster, driven by the growing urgency within her. A fire coiled and tightened within her, and suddenly it burst gloriously into flames, consuming her. Bryce cried out hoarsely, muffling his cry against her skin, and she felt him buck beneath her, and for a single moment they were lost together in a white-hot explosion of desire.
The Last Groom on Earth Page 10
