Lyon (12 page)

“Oh?”

“The three of you leave a string of broken hearts wherever you go. Particularly you.”

He looked uncomfortable. “Not intentionally.” He took a grape from the bowl of fruit and the blinding white of his teeth gleamed for a moment as he bit into it. “What else have you heard?”

“That you hide secrets on those estates of yours.”

His eyes narrowed. “And who was your informant?”

She shrugged. “Is it true?”

“We all have secrets, I suppose. Even you. And in that vein, it's now my turn again for questions.”

“Ask away,” she replied magnanimously.

“I'm curious regarding your plans for the future.”

Her glass thumped to the table. “My future?! I have little enough say in that, monsieur. What woman does? We find ourselves tossed about like brightly colored autumn leaves on the capricious breezes of lecherous males.” She fluttered a hand to illustrate her words.

“You have a low opinion of my sex, considering we are your primary occupation. Don't you wish to marry one day?”

“Why, Monsieur Satyr, are you proposing?” she enquired.

He reached across the table and took her wrist, his thumb tracing its lacework of blue veins. “What if I am?”

Juliette stiffened at his unexpected response. “Then I accept, by all means.” Craning her neck, she made a pretense of scanning the room. “In fact, if you have a member of the clergy secreted in a closet, perhaps we might proceed immediately with a wedding?”

He leaned closer, earnest. “This is no jest. I wish to take you to wife. On the morrow, or as soon as it can be arranged.”

Sea-green eyes fell to his drink and were turbulent when they rose to meet his again. “I've heard such words before. Usually at night from amorous men with wine in their hands.”

“You've not heard them from me.” The foot of his glass hit the table and he reached for her, all in one easy motion.

Because she was weak, she let him fold her close. His mind was already malleable enough for her spells by now. She should get on with it.

“Most gentlemen wish to marry virgins,” she mumbled into his chest.

Strong fingers tilted her chin up and amber glinted over her face, finding her lips. His mouth brushed hers. “I prefer a more experienced woman.”

“Such as that woman in the park?” she said, suddenly anxious to wedge some distance between them. “You profess a desire to bind yourself to me, yet you were with another only last night. It leads me to wonder if you might have proposed to her as well?”

He hesitated. “Not exactly.”

She raised her brows. “You
don't know
whether or not you asked her to wed you?”

“Do you have any siblings?” he countered, nailing her with his eyes. “A sister perhaps?”

Gasping, she flattened both hands on his chest, holding him away. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Why did you run last night, on the bridge?” he countered.

She shot him a confounded look. “I saw a man fornicating in the park! With a woman who sported a fishtail! Wouldn't you have run from such a sight?”

“I can explain that,” he said, looking discomfited.

“Please do, monsieur,” she offered, folding her arms between them.

“Do you know of the mythological satyrs?”

“Followers of the wine god, Dionysus? Urns and amphorae and all that?”

He nodded. “Or followers of Bacchus, in Italy. My brothers and I are descended from—”

Lyon opened his mouth as if to continue, but then his expression suddenly arrested and his jaw clenched. His hand fumbled behind him to grip the the nearest chair for support. Something frightening flared in his eyes and a peculiar, queasy look passed over his face. Grimacing, he glanced toward the window again as though seeking the source of his ailment.

“What's—?” Her gaze followed his. The sun was a sinking slice of orange now. Valmont would begin to wonder what kept her.

When she looked back at him, his features and bearing seemed to have altered somehow. His eyes were wilder, and his lips had taken on a more sensual, determined curve. His body loomed larger and closer and more threatening. It almost seemed that he was devolving into something less human. Into something more…animalistic.

“Come here.” It was the growl of a dominant male intent on corralling female prey.

“W-what's happening to you?” she stuttered, recoiling from him.

His eyes stalked her and an arm lashed out, herding her into the warm, sculpted cave of his chest. Tucking her snug, he smoothed the flat of his hands down her, over the contours of shoulders, spine, waist, and hips, as if to accustom her to his possession. His cheek brushed hers as he drew back just enough to find her lips.

Her hands crept up his back, and with a sigh, she opened for him, letting him gentle her and wrap her in the strength of his desire. It felt like a haven. Like protection and naked wanting and she wished it could go on forever. She needed this. Him. If only for a moment or two.

He groaned against her mouth and those big hands roamed lower to mold the curves of her rear. Hefting her higher against him, he crowded her backward.

The clatter of dishes shattered the air as his hips shoved hers onto the edge of the lacquered tabletop. His heated grip tilted her until it seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to clasp her legs around his waist. Widening his stance, he scooped her impossibly close and his kiss deepened into a full-blown carnal assault on her senses. The thick knot of his erection taunted her through layers of clothing, plowing her furrow in long, hot drags until she wanted to scream for the relief of penetration.

“Gods! I need you,” he husked, and his words reverberated through her marrow.

Her eyes opened in alarm. Clutching his shoulders, she wrenched her mouth from his. “Your boudoir,” she gasped.

Hmm?
His glazed eyes were fixed on her lips, and his head began to lower toward them again.

She twisted her face away. “Your bedchamber! Where is it?”

His mouth found her throat instead, and she felt the drag of teeth. “No,” he rasped. “Here.”

“Here?!” she echoed weakly. He wanted to do this here? No man had ever dared suggest such a thing to her and a prurient thrill shot through her at the prospect of abandoning herself to him on the dining table. But she had long ago established a routine in these matters and deviating was out of the question. This was not a night for taking chances.

Cool air brushed her ankles. A hand had begun lifting her skirts and was already sliding along a stockinged thigh.

“
Non
!” She struggled fiercely, until her slippers touched ground and she stumbled from his hold. “Upstairs!” she gasped.

With that, she took his hand in hers and headed up the carpeted stairway. On the landing, she let him go, and without instruction, tried a door and found it to be a bedchamber.

Entering, she glanced back at him. “Coming?”

He followed her. Just as men always did on these occasions.

Inside, she scanned the room as she headed straight for its bed, automatically noting all possible exits and items that might be used as weapons should one be needed. Kicking off her slippers, she scampered onto the mattress and strategically positioned herself amid its plush cushions. She'd seen the other girls at Valmont's work their wiles often enough and knew that a look of submission in a woman lying upon a bed was what men preferred.

Her fingers played with the curl of hair that had fallen over her breast. Her other hand patted the coverlet beside her. “Take off your jacket. Lie with me,” she coaxed in a sultry voice.

Bending one knee, she surreptitiously tugged her skirt up to display an ankle, then reclined, laying the backs of both hands on the pillow alongside her head. It was her patented alluring pose and it had never yet failed her.

Advancing on her, Lyon surveyed the scene as though his instincts told him something was awry, but he couldn't determine precisely what.

She curved her lips into a provocative smile. He smiled back at her, easily entranced. Easily ensnared.

Yanking the jacket from his arms, he heedlessly flung it off, planting one knee on the mattress. Instantly, she leaped up to sit before him and flatten a staying hand on his chest.

“And your shirt as well,” she insisted, beginning to unfetter his buttons. “I want to see you.”

Tugging her to him with a hand at her spine, he propelled her backward, following her down to the bed. Straddling her with his legs, he braced his elbows on either side of her shoulders, so his chest hovered but a breath above hers, barely affording her room to work.

Hands delved into her hair, cupping her head. Lips parted hers. Between their bodies, her nimble fingers desperately ripped the last of his buttons free. Spreading his shirt wide, she pushed it off his shoulders. With a muffled curse, he helped her, shrugging it off with an aggressive twist of his torso.

He fell upon her again, his mouth rejoining hers in a voracious, carnal dance. Her restless hands roved his chiseled back, learning its inclines, planes, and valleys.

Outside, the weary crimson sun surrendered the battle to stay afloat and drowned itself in the river. In its wake, stealthy rays of young moonlight slipped through the windowpane. Oh so gently, they stole across the floor, then slanted high onto the bed to lovingly caress its occupants.

With an anguished cry, Lyon threw back his head and arced away from Juliette until the small of his back was bent at an acute angle. Hard hips anchored hers as his arms locked straight and his fingers bit the covers beside her.

Going up on one elbow, she lay a hand at his waist.

“Lyon!” she whispered. “What's wrong?”

But he either didn't hear or was simply in too much pain to respond. Caught in some invisible, torturous grip, his taut body quaked with intermittent shivers. Cool moonlight limned his golden skin, starkly rendering features drawn rigid. A muscle worked in his jaw and blood throbbed visibly in the hollow of his throat. Between them, his cock gave a single, violent jolt, and a low bestial snarl welled from somewhere deep within him.

Juliette's back hit the mattress again and she pressed her palms in the lee of his ribs, holding him off. “Lyon?” she whispered.

Above her, masculine eyes opened to slits and seared over her, making her aware of how she must look with her wild hair and her breasts plumped so high that her nipples peeked from her bodice. Foolishly embarrassed, she tried to tug her neckline higher.

His body began to lower over her, so slowly that she felt the seam between their flesh unite, inch by inch. Belly met belly, then rib met rib, and then the soft tissue of her breasts gave against his chest and his fingers threaded her hair.

Covetous amber glinted, locking with green as they stared at one another, separated only by centimeters of air fraught with mutual need.

“I'm going to fuck you,” he growled softly.

The raw words shocked her, excited her, as he'd meant them to. Big hands framed her skull and those beautiful lips descended to scald hers. His thighs forced hers wide and he began to rock his strangled rod against her vulnerable notch in long, lustful thrusts. The fabric of her skirts and his trousers molded the bulge that was his cock, and with each shove, muslin dipped just inside her to blot at tissue that was slick with her own juices.

Her knees rose at his sides and the tips of her fingers tucked themselves in the back of his trousers. Pressing her core against the unyielding shape of him, she intensified the sharp, sweet bite of desire.

Strong arms lifted her shoulders, hugging her to him, and his mouth turned to deeply kiss her throat. With a will of its own, her hand rose to curve at his nape and she lifted her lips to his ear. At that moment, she came so close. So, so close to giving in.

“Yes, I
want
you to fuck me,” she whispered. He wouldn't remember, and she needed to say it aloud to him. Just once.

“Gods, yes!” Levering himself away, he got to his knees, beginning to unfasten his trousers.

Her eyes widened. What was she doing! If he were to find his way inside her skirts with that thing of his, she was done for. Seeking to regain control of the situation, she wriggled violently away from him.

“No! Juliette!” he protested, instinctively reaching to restrain her. When he saw she only meant to reverse their positions, his grip loosened and slid to her thighs, helping her to saddle him.

His cock felt even more impossibly huge in this new position and she squirmed, sitting atop him with both palms braced on his chest. His hands curved around her rear and he began helping her to ride him. “Like this, just for another moment…then…I…must…”

Her slit pulsed and a surprised sob escaped her, drawing his gaze. But she only smiled at him and told herself not to yearn for that which she couldn't have. Firmly stowing any wayward emotions away, she reached deep within her essence, tapping that facet of herself that made her unique in the world.