A Dangerous Love

by Brenda Joyce

  Sanity began to return and she felt his hot, hard body, throbbing restlessly against hers. But she was still aching, too. “Oh,” she whispered.

  His eyes blazed and he lifted her into his arms. “That is only the beginning,” he said thickly, but as if in warning. He started away from the encampment, toward the house. His strides were long, hard and rapid; Ariella’s grasp tightened. “It’s too late now to change your mind,” he said swiftly, glancing down at her.

  He had misunderstood her gesture. “I am not changing my mind,” she said. Something flickered in his eyes. It might have been relief—and it might have been dismay. She ignored her thoughts. “Where are we going?”

  He gave her a burning look. “I am going to make love to you in a bed.”

  Her heart somersaulted at his choice of words, even as some small alarm began. “We can’t just go inside and claim a room,” she said.

  He now sent her the most promising smile any woman could ever receive. “Why not? The master of Woodland is gone for the evening.”

  She was becoming light-headed again, while her body was heavy and hot. He knew his effect—he smiled with satisfaction, his strides increasing. She turned her face so she could kiss his chest. She felt him tense in surprise.

  The skin there was salty, too. She kissed the underside of one hard chest muscle. She let her lips linger there and play. Then she rubbed her face there. She wanted to rub her face over every possible inch of him before the night was through.

  He was breathing harshly now. He walked up a set of stairs and onto a terrace. “Are you certain you are not without some experience?”

  Ariella kissed his nipple, which was hard and tight. “I don’t want to talk.” She tasted it with her tongue.

  More tension filled his body, as he shoved open a door with his shoulder. “I can walk,” she said softly, whispering so no one would discover them.

  “I like you exactly where you are,” he said firmly, not bothering to lower his voice. His grasp on her tightened.

  He didn’t seem to care about being caught. Ariella managed to think about the fact that he knew the house quite well, but she didn’t dare ask him how. She was afraid to speak again in case they were overheard. She saw the shadowy form of a bookcase and realized they were crossing the library.

  They stepped into a well-lit hall. He did not hesitate, but turned right. A moment later he was using his knee to push open a door. “Now you may stand—but briefly,” he murmured, and he slid her to the floor.

  Ariella found herself standing in a well-appointed bedroom. She glanced at the big, four-poster bed. His mouth curved as he reached behind her, locking the door.

  “Shall I make a fire?” he asked, staring boldly at her.

  She slowly shook her head. “No. I’m already warm.”

  His nostrils flared. She was surprised when he pulled her damp silk bodice from her sticky skin, the proof to her words. His red shirt was sticking to his torso, too.

  She trembled, aware of his chest rising and falling beneath the red shirt. In the light cast from the single lamp, his skin was the color of copper. Her gaze drifted lower. She inhaled at the sight. The black trousers contained such a terrific bulge that the fabric caught the light. “I have never seen a man naked,” she whispered, aware of her cheeks heating. “But I’ve seen statues.”

  His beautiful smile appeared. “You will not be regarding a statue tonight, or touching a statue….”

  All the air vanished from her lungs. “I want to touch you, Emilian, very much.”

  “I know you do.” His face hardened.

  “Emilian, no more games.” She almost added, hurry.

  “But this isn’t a game,” he whispered, slowly reaching around her for the buttons on the back of her dress. “It is foreplay, darling.” His mouth drifted across her nape.

  Anticipation made her light-headed. He was deftly unbuttoning the dress, so expertly that she knew he’d done so for dozens of lovers. She hated the thought. Had he called his other lovers darling and princess, too? But it didn’t matter, not with his fingers skimming her spine.

  As if a mind reader, he said thickly, “You don’t want a green boy in your bed.” The bodice of her dress collapsed to her waist.

  He studied her breasts, thrust out over the boned corset, clearly visible through her thin silk chemise. His fingers lay still on her bare shoulders. Not looking up, he grasped her shoulders, and his mouth covered hers. His lips were firm, urging her to respond but with surprising restraint. Instantly she opened and let him in. There was no other choice; she didn’t want another choice. She wanted him.

  His tongue thrust deep, slowly. He threaded his fingers into her hair and moved her against the wall. She moaned with pleasure and then the fires conflagrated as she felt his arousal through her skirts. He began a rhythmic movement there.

  She became dizzy; every inch of her body became hollow. She wanted more than kisses now.

  His mouth left hers. “So much passion, gadji,” he whispered.

  Ariella glanced up and tensed. His tone was soft and seductive, but his eyes were so fierce they were almost maniacal. She knew another frisson of sudden confusion.

  Was she being ruthlessly seduced?

  But before she could consider that unpleasant notion, his mouth brushed hers with urgency. “No,” he said softly, kissing her, and suddenly her skirts fell between them, pooling at their feet. “There will be no escape.” His mouth stroked along the pounding pulse there, down to her collarbone.

  So much pleasure ignited. She forgot the sudden doubt and ran her hands over his muscular arms, realizing he had tossed his shirt aside while kissing her. Before she could explore the hard, rippling planes of his back, he feathered each nipple with his mouth, then moved lower, dropping to his knees while anchoring her hips to the wall.

  Ariella went still, realizing what he intended, her heart rioting. And then he moved his face closer, and she felt his breath through the torn opening in her drawers, a silky caress that made her shiver with pleasure. He touched his cheek to her pulsing flesh and her mind shut down. She seized his shoulders, hard.

  She felt him smile and then his mouth brushed her. She cried out. As her legs became weak and useless, his lips pressed more firmly to her hot, wet skin. “Come for me,” he said roughly, and his tongue crept against her.

  She whimpered desperately, and could barely stand the exquisite sensation. She had never imagined such an act. He softened, stroking perfectly, exquisitely, over her swollen lips, many times, and rapture blinded her.

  She was falling now, back to reality and the room, as he stood, palming her with his hand. For one moment he held her, whispering to her in his native tongue, words she could not understand but knew were a sensual endearment. And then his mouth covered hers, the kiss deep and hot. His body shuddered while he kissed her.

  He pulled away and swept her into his arms, carrying her to the bed. “You are such a beautiful gadji, the princess of a man’s dreams,” he whispered, their eyes meeting as he laid her down.

  Ariella tensed, uncertain. His stare was cold, his expression hard. “Emilian?”

  He sat beside her, smiling, lashes lowering over his eyes, one hand on each side of her shoulders, kissing her now. “Don’t think…this is what you have come for.”

  She hesitated. She had come for a new beginning—one of friendship and passion, of love. A nagging doubt raised itself, but he slid her undergarments off her, his mouth moving sensually in the path of his hands. She embraced him, still uncertain. He stood, reaching for his sash.

  Ariella realized she was naked, while he was still partially dressed. He pulled the sash off and tossed it aside, but his eyes were on her nude body. Instead of reaching for a cover, Ariella went still. “Make love to me, Emilian,” she whispered.

  He seemed to flinch. He glanced away and shed his boots and trousers. “I never hurry in bed.”

  She couldn’t speak; all she could do was ogle his hard, perfect body. He was
too beautiful, too magnificent, for words. “I don’t mind.”

  His smile seemed amused. “You may stare until your heart’s desire is met,” he said, “although I do have other plans.”

  His tone was so calm and his eyes were so ruthless again. For one moment, he had the look of a man going into battle, not the look of a lover going to bed. Where was that seductive smile, one filled with sensual promise? Why wasn’t he shaking with the same terrible urgency consuming her?

  I will not give you love when I take your innocence.

  Ariella felt a moment of panic.

  His hands settled on her. His expression changed, hot and soft at once. His smile faltered, vanished. “Don’t doubt that I need you,” he said suddenly.

  That bewildering look was gone. His regard was raw, hungry. She touched his cheek. “I need you, too,” she whispered, relieved by his confession.

  His stare intensified impossibly. “I am trying to control myself. I want to ravage you,” he whispered. “I meant it when I said you are the princess of a man’s dreams.”

  More relief came. He wasn’t ruthlessly using her.

  “You may change your mind—but you must do so now.”

  She was so surprised, it took a moment to realize he was offering her a way out. Ariella’s heart exploded. She somehow smiled, touched his cheek, then ran her hand down his hard, heaving chest to his belly, which tensed. Ariella brushed his huge, throbbing length with her fingertips.

  His eyes blazed silver. Making a hard sound, he put his arms tightly around her, pushing her down into the soft mattress and pillows. Fluidly, his body followed hers, and before she even realized it he was mounted above her. Ariella heard herself whimper.

  For one instant their eyes met before his lashes lowered. Braced above her, he began stroking the huge tip of his erection over her. He was wet and slick and terribly hot. The friction was shocking, exhilarating. So much wet heat pooled. She felt very faint. She didn’t know how much longer she could stand this.

  He kissed her, but this time, he was frenzied. Ariella threw her arms around him and held on hard. She arched for him and whimpered his name. She thought she begged. He seized her hips so she couldn’t move them and murmured to her in his Roma tongue.

  She didn’t know what he was saying, but he was cajoling her now. It didn’t matter.

  His mouth covered hers frantically. The heat between them was explosive. She started to sob, choking on the urgency coming from her loins and his huge manhood pressed into her. Ariella instinctively tensed.

  “No,” he said hoarsely, lifting his head. “Let me inside, Ariella.”

  Wildly she looked at him. His eyes were searching, intent. He was asking for permission. She nodded, aware of tears falling. She would never deny him.

  He made a harsh sound and then he moved abruptly, deep.

  He groaned. The pleasure was so intense she barely felt the pain as he sank into her. She spun, her body clenching at his.

  He was watching her; she did not care. The pressure was incredible, impossible, escalating. She gave over to it and she was flung into the universe, shattering apart. She was aware of him moving fast and hard now, his groans filling the room. He cried out. She glimpsed his face. The passion…somehow savage, somehow gentle…the triumph….the need…. He was so beautiful…it was so beautiful. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing his cheek and holding him tightly.

  He held her, his tremors easing, his face buried against her cheek. If he heard her, he gave no sign. Ariella stroked his long, brownish gold hair, floating in happiness.

  He moved to his side.

  She turned to look at and enjoy his beautiful smile, but she met only his profile as he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t look happy—not at all.

  Alarm began.

  Instantly he rolled over to face her. “Did I hurt you?” he asked harshly.

  How could he not be ecstatic? Did she see guilt reflected in his eyes? “No. It was wonderful.” A smile formed, coming from her heart. She reached out to stroke his cheek and, for one instant, thought he would flinch and pull away. Instead, his lashes lowered, hiding his eyes.

  “Emilian, I am fine. I am too happy for words,” she whispered.

  She wished she knew what he was thinking. At first, she thought he might not respond, but he caught her hand and brought it to his mouth. He lifted his lashes and smiled at her.

  A spark ignited, even though his smile seemed strained. She was about to ask him what was wrong, when he laid her hand on his massive chest, rubbed it there, and moved it a bit lower. Then he finally looked at her.

  It was hard to think when his hot, tight skin was beneath her palm, but no message could be clearer. Her eyes widened. “We aren’t finished?”

  He smiled that beautiful seductive smile she would always love. “We have only just begun. Or have I tired you already?” His eyes gleamed.

  She dared to move her hand down his abdomen, and as she did so, his body tensed and his manhood strained for her. She forgot her worry, her question. She forgot her alarm.

  “Some Englishwomen are very passionate, too, just as passionate as the Rom.”

  He moved onto his back and lay very still. “Then this is a test,” he said softly, sending her a long look. “A test of your passion—and mine.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ARIELLA AWOKE cocooned in heat. She blinked, feeling as if she had been drugged, her body sluggish and somewhat sore, and then she was wide awake.

  She lay naked in Emilian’s arms, in a guest room at Woodland. Their bodies were entwined, one of her legs caught between his. His arms were around her, her face pressed to the hard upper ribs just below his chest. Instantly she recalled his making love to her slowly, deliberately and exquisitely.

  She had never been so happy, she thought, a thrill beginning. She noticed the pale gray dawn was filtering into the bedroom. Although delicious sensation was building, real alarm began. But before she could sit, his grasp tightened. She turned and realized he was awake and watching her closely.

  She smiled, but he did not smile back. Instead, his gray, watchful eyes moved over her face, her hair, her breasts. “I have to go,” she whispered, realizing that he was ready to make love to her another time.

  A smile finally flickered. “Do you?” He pulled her closer, moving over her.

  Oh, she did not want to ever leave! “Emilian,” she began, images flashing. The sun would soon come up and she had to be at Rose Hill, in her own bed, as if she had spent the night there. She could see the staff beginning their day’s chores. Her parents were early risers. So was Alexi. “I have to get home.”

  He kneed her thighs apart, while nuzzling her throat. “How can you leave me now, like this?” he murmured in a most seductive tone.

  He hadn’t even finished speaking when she felt him entering her.

  Her body responded instantly, urgently—he had taught her so well. She felt him smile against her neck as he stroked deeply into her swelling flesh. She had to go…but the warm waves of sensation held her back, threatening to become unbearable. She looped her hands around his neck. “Make love to me,” she whispered fiercely.

  His silver eyes hot, his mouth claimed hers.

  BRIGHT SUNLIGHT AWOKE HER.

  She was so tired. She didn’t want to awaken, and she groaned, covering her eyes with her hand. The movement hurt her arm. She began to awaken anyway, and she became aware of how utterly exhausted she was. She felt swollen and sore in unmentionable places and she suddenly recalled the evening before. She opened her eyes, but the other side of the bed was empty.

  The sunlight flooding the room indicated that it was midmorning, at least. She sat up, dismayed. Why hadn’t Emilian awakened her?

  Memories of the night before began, flooding her. No wonder she was sore. Emilian was a superb and insatiable lover—but she had been rather insatiable, herself. She blushed.

  She sat very still, her heart racing, her tired body trembling, thinking of all that they
had done. They were lovers now. This was the beginning of the rest of their lives. Wasn’t it? She wanted to smile. Her heart was trying to sing its way out of her breast, she was so deeply in love.

  Where was he? Why had he let her sleep so late?

  Ariella now saw her torn underclothes on the floor. Her dress lay there, too, in such a wrinkled state that she inhaled. How could she go home in that? What if someone saw her?

  She looked up. A large Baroque mirror was above the bureau on the adjacent wall and she saw a stranger in the glass.

  She could not look like that. She was naked in the rumpled bed. Her body was lush and flushed. Her disheveled hair streamed past her shoulders and over her breasts. Her blue eyes were far too bright, her mouth swollen and red.

  She looked like a woman who had spent the night in her lover’s arms.

  A chair creaked.

  Ariella looked past the bureau. Her eyes widened. Emilian sat in a green velvet chair in the shadows by the closet, staring silently at her.

  She smiled, about to greet him, but he did not smile back. His expression was distant, hard and watchful.

  Unease made her heart lurch. She felt her smile fade. She summoned it back. Reflexively, she reached for a sheet and pulled it over her chest. “Good morning. Emilian?”

  “Good morning.” He rose from the chair. His impassive expression, impossible to decipher, never changed. He was fully dressed, but not in the clothes he’d worn the night before. He wore a plain white shirt and his breeches and riding boots.

  Her heart clenched, beginning to hurt in her chest. Why wasn’t he smiling at her? “What are you doing?”

  He simply stared. “I was watching you.”

  “Watching me? Why did you let me sleep? I have to get home! What time is it?”

  He folded his arms, stepping to the foot of the bed. His focus moved from her eyes to her mouth, then to her hair. “It is half-past ten,” he said flatly.