Master of Passion

by Jacqueline Baird

  'Yes, oh, yes,' she moaned as he covered her face with hot, tiny kisses—her eyes, her cheek. But, avoiding her mouth, he pulled back. Her huge blue eyes fixed on his, a question in their depths.

  Luc, in one lithe move, pressed her to the back of the wide sofa, and lay down beside her. His hand slid lower on her chest, his finger following the gentle curve of her breast against the bodice of her dress. His dark eyes glittered black with an intensity of desire, his face taut with the effort to control some emotion.

  'Parisa... so athletic, and yet you are the most utterly feminine woman I have ever met,' he declared, his breathing laboured. 'Your skin is smoother than the softest silk and as pale as the moonlight. You are my moon goddess. I'm almost afraid to touch you, in case you vanish and I find it is all a dream.'

  'If this is a dream I never want to wake up,' Parisa whispered, sliding her small hand underneath the open front of his shirt. She felt him shudder, and then his mouth found hers. His lips, warm and mobile, surprisingly tender, played softly against her mouth, his tongue teasing and then plunging between her parted lips.

  Excitement surged through her, making her move against him with a soft murmur of want, her fingers tangling in the curling body hair around a hard male nipple, so that in response his kiss became more demanding, his tongue plunging the darkest recesses of her mouth with insistent increasing passion.

  His passion fuelled hers. God; how she wanted him! She reeled with the speed of it all. She was defenceless. His taste was on her lips; he was muscle, heat and urgent need. She strained against him, her free hand curling around the nape of his neck, holding him to her. He growled a low, throaty sound as he pulled his mouth from hers, his lips trailing a line of kisses down her throat and chest.

  His fingers found the side zip of her dress, and tugged it down, his mouth hot on her soft flesh. He rasped, 'I have ached to do that all night.' Leaning up, he gently pulled the bodice of her dress down, exposing her naked breast to his view. He stared down at her, and for a second Parisa wanted to cover herself, but then he laid his hands on her swelling breasts and gently squeezed the soft flesh.

  Her back arched in involuntary response, and the exquisite sensation made her blood flow heavily through her veins.

  'You are perfect,' Luc rasped. 'Firm and slender, but surprisingly voluptuous.' He slid his hands around the soft curves, his thumbs raking across the deep-rose tips, again and again, bringing them to hard, taut peaks of longing.

  'Luc,' she breathed, reaching for him, and he lowered his head, his mouth closing over one hard tip, suckling and tasting, until she cried out with the pleasure he aroused.

  'I want you, Parisa, I want you...' he grated, his mouth once more finding hers. She trembled, shaking beneath the force of his kiss. He was no longer tender, but urgent with passion. With one hand he swept the dress from her body, his fingers lingering on her naked thigh, and all the time his mouth caused havoc, sweeping from her lips to her breast, nibbling her slender throat. He dragged her hard beneath him, and the force of his arousal shocked her; the rigid heat of it burnt into her belly.

  Parisa had never known such emotion. Her body, with a wantonness she had never thought herself capable of, reacted to his every touch. The enticing male scent of him teased and tempted her, and her hands quickly unfastened the remaining buttons of his shirt. She curved her arms around his broad back. Rejoicing in the satin- smooth feel of his hard flesh, with eager fingers she traced the muscle and sinew. He was so male, so much a man, and she ached for him to possess her completely.

  'Parisa, Parisa.' He mouthed her name against her throat, and, forcing his head back, he stared down into her passion-hazed eyes.

  'If you want to stop, it will have to be, he groaned

  as she moved her shapely legs against him '—now.'

  She looked into his dark face: the black eyes, their pupils dilated, the sensuous mouth, lips parted, only inches from her own. 'No,' she breathed and, lifting her head, she licked the strong column of his throat.

  She felt his muscles lock with tension, then in a moment he had left her. She reached a hand up to him. Surely he could not stop? But as she watched he shrugged off his clothes. She gasped as he stood completely naked, the moonlight bathing his magnificent body in a silver glow. She had never seen a completely naked aroused man in her life, and just for a second she felt a flash of virginal fear, but it vanished, as her fascinated gaze drank in the sight of him. His massive chest rose and fell unevenly, the curling black mat of hair arrowing down over his belly then bushing out between his thighs. She closed her eyes for an instant. He was such a big man towering over her.

  But Luc was doing his own survey. 'Parisa, what are you trying to do to me?' he growled. 'Red panties and a garter belt. Are you determined to drive me mad?' Luc slipped his hands in the top of her panties, and slowly removed them, along with the belt and stockings. He tossed them to one side, and slowly stroked his hands back up her legs, her hips, following the indentation of her waist, and once more over her proudly jutting breasts, before he lowered himself over her.

  His dark eyes burned down into hers. The touch of his naked body from toe to shoulder was like being struck by lightning: hot, hard, and sizzling. With a little cry she flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him, as he kissed and caressed her smooth flesh in a frenzy of passion. She gasped as his long fingers delved between her thighs, but her legs parted, welcoming his touch at the most sensitive hot, damp core of her.

  Her finger-nails dug into his broad shoulders, but she responded helplessly to his groaned demand. 'Touch me, Parisa. I need to know you want me.'

  She traced the length of him, her small hand stroking across his thigh, his hard, flat stomach, to the root of his manhood, while all the time the tension built in her loins at his intimate, probing caress.

  'Basta.' His hand pulled hers away from him, and, sliding between her open thighs, he paused for a moment, supporting himself on his elbows, one either side of her, as her body shook in a paroxysm of pleasure.

  'I don't want to hurt you, Parisa, but I might a little.' The skin was pulled taut across his high cheekbones, his lips tight in an effort to retain control. 'I don't think I could bear not to have you now. I have wanted you from the minute I saw you dressed as my own cat burglar.

  Beautiful, passionate, strong. God, Parisa!' he groaned. 'What you do to me.' He fumbled with a small packet, but Parisa barely noticed, her eyes fixed on his sensuous mouth.

  She was beyond reason; all she knew was that she had to have this man.

  'Please, oh please.' Her legs parted wider, trembling, and, as if her plea was the breaking point, Luc slid his hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her up to him.

  She cried out as with one swift thrust he broke through the veil of innocence, sheathing himself inside her. She felt an instant of pain as her body stretched to accommodate him. But before she could register the pain Luc was moving again. Slow and deep, he moved against her. She wrapped her legs around him. Her body arched off the couch, her hands clinging to his wide shoulders.

  'Dio, I can't,' he cried.

  She felt him in every fibre of her being as he plunged deeper, hard and fast, surging out of control, and her body instinctively matched his pounding rhythm.

  The world tipped on its axis. Parisa's eyes flew open, the night sky a whirling, spinning kaleidoscope of stars- real or imagined, she could not know—as she trembled, her slender body convulsing in mind-shattering turmoil. Luc cried a harsh, deep sound as his huge body was racked with a ferocious response, and, collapsing down on her, he lay, his head resting on her shoulder, the only sound the deep, rasping sound of their breathing.

  Their bodies' sweat slick clung together like two halves of a whole. Parisa had never imagined anything could be so perfect, but, being inexperienced, she was not so sure how Luc felt.

  'I'm sorry, Parisa. I lost it. Are you OK?' His rasping voice sounded in her ear. 'I never meant to hurt you.'

  'Perfect,' sh
e breathed, stretching her limbs along his. 'But what about you?' she murmured shyly.

  Luc propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at her in astonishment.“Dio.” Don't you know? You are everything a man could want.' He kissed her forehead tenderly, brushing a strand of pale hair from her damp brow. 'I knew it would be good between us, but I didn't realise it was possible to be that good. I have never felt that way before, never lost control, only with you, cara,' he husked, his breathing slowly returning to normal. 'But I hope to again.'

  Her blue eyes glistened as her hand moved to stroke his now rough jaw. 'I never realised '

  'What you were missing.' He chuckled softly.

  Closing her eyes, Parisa marvelled at the languorous contentment that had invaded her body. She felt so fulfilled. It seemed so right, lying naked beneath Luc, her legs still entwined with his. So drowsy.

  'No regrets, my love?' he demanded throatily.

  She couldn't speak. Instead she moved her hands to his broad shoulders, down his sides to the firm buttocks, tracing the magnificent shape of him, so hard, and moist with their loving. Giving him his answer by touch...

  His husky laugh echoed in the silence. 'What have I liberated?' he murmured, feathering kisses over her heavy eyelids.

  'Hmm,' she sighed, as his lips found hers in the most exquisitely gentle kiss. She felt his great body stirring against her and parted her lips to tease him with her tongue.

  'What you do to me,' Luc groaned against her mouth, his hands caressing once more over her breast.

  Parisa had not thought anything could be better than the first time, but she was wrong. With the first fiery burst of passion spent, Luc made long, slow love to her, placing small kisses on every inch of her, shaping with his strong hands every curve and plane of her body. Lovingly he stroked and coaxed, leading her deeper into the world of sensory delight until she gave herself completely over to his mastery.

  Time was suspended. His dark velvet voice murmured throaty Latin words she did not understand, while, like a connoisseur of fine wine, Luc savoured her every reaction, but withheld the consummation she was aching for. Until, finally, she cried out his name, her nails digging into his broad back, and he came into her again. Once more he swept her over the edge of ecstasy, and she was only dimly aware that Luc had followed her into the same convulsive climax.

  Exhausted, she lay under him, still part of him, held by his hot, damp body. He moved and she had not the energy to ask why. Then he was lying by her side, pulling a soft wool rug over them.

  'I should let you go, but I can't, not yet,' he groaned. 'My Parisa.' She looked at his handsome face, so close, not quite realising the enormity of what had happened and too tired to try. She smiled and nestled against him, and in seconds was asleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The ringing of a bell echoing in her head made Parisa blink and reluctantly open her eyes. It was light, and she was staring at the sky. For an instant she did not know where she was, then she felt the hard warmth of a male body as Luc stirred beside her.

  'Sorry, Parisa,' he said softly, gently stroking her cheek with the back of his hand before sliding off the couch. 'I have to answer the telephone—it must be urgent. No one would dare disturb me otherwise.' He tucked the rug around her and, unconscious of his nudity, stood up and, scooping up his trousers from where they lay on the floor, he walked across to the desk and picked up the noisy instrument. 'Pronto.'

  She felt bereft, alone on the wide sofa. His casual arrogant comment that no one would dare disturb him somehow made her aware of the ignominy of her position, and the dream she had lived for the past twenty- four hours began to waver. A wary light clouded her blue eyes as she watched him. With the telephone tucked under his black-bristled chin he deftly pulled on his trousers, while listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the line. He was a powerful, dynamic man; even half naked, his presence was awesome. She saw his jaw tighten, a deep frown marking his broad brow. She could not understand what he was saying, but it was obvious that as far as she was concerned he had switched off...

  She slowly pulled herself up, leaning against the back of the sofa. She briefly closed her eyes, her face a fiery red as the full enormity of what she had done finally hit her. Keeping the blanket firmly around her, she searched feverishly for her clothes. She didn't bother with her stockings, but slipped her panties on and pulled the evening dress haphazardly over her head. She didn't dare look at Luc. She must have been drunk, mad, bewitched, or all three, she thought helplessly, zipping the side of her dress with a shaking hand.

  'Spoil-sport.'

  Her head shot up and she winced at the laughing mockery in Luc's dark eyes. Noting her reaction and her burning cheeks, his expression instantly sobered. He snapped out a few curt words, then dropped the telephone and crossed to Parisa. Sweeping her into his strong arms, he held her tight, against his chest.

  'No, Parisa, whatever you are thinking it isn't true. Last night we shared something wonderful, and I will not have you ashamed.' He lifted her chin and saw the uncertainty in her huge blue eyes.

  'I wanted to make this morning special, Parisa, but unfortunately there is an emergency at the factory in Naples. Apparently there was a fire last night and three men were hurt; I have to leave. But first I have to kiss you.' And, lowering his dark head, he kissed her long and hard. Only when he felt her willing response did he break the kiss and, holding her slightly away, he added masterfully, 'No regrets; I won't allow it.'

  A rueful smile pulled at her love-swollen lips. Luc could read her mind so easily that it was scary. 'No, no regrets,' she assured him, and she knew it was true. Whatever happened in the future, Luc had made her a woman in the most wonderful way possible, with care, tenderness and passion, and she could not imagine ever feeling for another man, responding to another man the way she did to Luc. She tried to tell herself it was too quick, it could not be love, but in her heart she knew she loved him...

  Stunned at what she had discovered, she looked up into his handsome face. Now was not the time to tell him she loved him. She wasn't sure there would ever be a time. But still she smiled—a wide, truly beatific smile, all her new-found love reflected in her brilliant sapphire eyes, clear for him to see.

  'Parisa, don't look at me like that,' he groaned. 'I have to leave in half an hour, but you must stay here till I return. We have to talk.'

  'When will you be back?' she asked softly.

  'A day or two at most.'

  She stiffened in his arms. 'But I have to get home. There is Moya...' she said, almost to herself. 'The photographs!' she exclaimed. How could she have forgotten her real reason for being here? Her lover was a blackmailer, perhaps worse! And the light dimmed in her lovely eyes. There was no way she could wait around in Italy for Luc, and her better judgment told her she should complete her task and leave.

  'I haven't time to explain so I will let you win this once. I'll get the photographs and arrange for your flight home today, but remember you're mine and wait for my telephone call tonight. Give me your telephone number,' he demanded swiftly.

  Some lingering sense of caution made her quote Moya's London number, as Luc took her back to her room.

  Dressed once more in navy trousers and a soft wool shirt, Parisa found herself standing at the back of the villa, the incriminating photographs clasped in her hand, and Luc's arm around her shoulders—a very different Luc from the one she had shared the night with. Immaculate in a navy pin-striped three-piece suit, he was the image of the mature, successful male. The helicopter parked on the grass, blades whirring, underscored the image.

  'I hate leaving you like this, Parisa, but I must.' Luc stared down at her, his black eyes worried. 'I'll be in London as soon as possible.'

  'It's all right, honestly,' she reassured him. 'I understand.' But she didn't. She didn't know the woman she had become. One part of her wanted to cling to Luc, and her saner mind told her to run and never look back. He was a crook, albeit a well-dressed one.<
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  'Good girl. That is what I first loved about you—your loyalty to your friend, and now, I hope, to me,' he said, oddly serious. 'I know I am a lot older than you and I should have had more control, but you came to me so sweetly, I couldn't hold back. I wanted you as I've never wanted a woman before. Wear my ring and wait for me, hmm?'

  'I will,' she vowed, mesmerized by the tender light in his black eyes. His words might not have been an outright declaration of love, but they were close enough to make her heart sing.

  He kissed her once again, a brief touch as light as thistledown on her full lips. 'I will make it up to you. I promise.' And, hugging her to his hard body one last time, he ran across the lawn and ducked under the speeding blades and into the helicopter.

  Parisa stood as though turned to stone, a sense of deja vu so strong that she couldn't move, and then she remembered. She had heard the words before. 'I will make it up to you, I promise.' And in her mind's eye she saw Luc saying the same words to Margot Mey. She had forgotten all about the singer...

  On leaden feet she walked back to her bedroom. The fire was lit and the bedcovers smooth. She wondered if the maid had noted her bed had not been used. Did it matter? She shrugged her shoulders, and, crossing to the fireplace, quite deliberately dropped the packet of photographs into the flames. Parisa watched them burn. Mission accomplished, but at what cost to herself...? She walked into the ornate bathroom, the one that connected to Luc's room. He had quickly showered earlier and the subtle scent of his cologne still lingered in the air, achingly familiar.

  She moved to the huge bath that only yesterday she had found decadent, and deliberately turned on the gold taps. After her behaviour last night, decadence was no longer a problem, she thought wryly, stripping off her clothes. Her naked body was reflected over and over again in the mirrored walls. She stood and stared, as though studying a stranger. She noted the slight bruises on her skin, the softer blush marks around her high, full breasts, where Luc's rough jaw had grazed her tender flesh, and a great tide of longing surged through her.