Midnight Jewels (9 page)

Mercy felt her responses leaping to life the instant he touched her. The sensation was wildly disorienting, unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life. His touch was, she thought fleetingly, exactly as she had dreamed it would be, a riot of color for her senses.

The snifter in her hand trembled and then it was gone as Croft removed it from her fingers without lifting his mouth from hers. When both of his hands closed around her she caught her breath. His warmth and strength reached out to capture her and pull her into a glittering trap. All the fascination, the physical awareness and the deep, underlying compulsion to know Croft
that had been unsettling her for the past two days swamped her now.

She knew he was aware of her reaction. It made her feel vulnerable, and for a moment some of her wariness returned to initiate a losing struggle against the inevitable. Croft's hands tightened on her.

"You want me," he said, his mouth brushing her own.

"I've seen it in your eyes. You can't hide it from me. Your eyes are as clear as a watercolor to me. And I want you. I'll be careful with you. You have no reason to fear me, Mercy. I've told you before, you're safe with me. You know that, don't you?"

Once again she believed him, just as she had the first time he had told her she would be safe with him. Mercy relaxed in his hold, leaning into the captivating heat of his body. The pressure against her mouth was deep and persuasive and undeniable. When his thumb touched the corner of her lips and urged a response, she moaned softly. She opened her mouth to him and braced herself for the invasion of his tongue.

It was subtle when it came, not a storming of her defenses, but a careful, coaxing foray that left her shivering. It was only as he slowly filled her mourn, tasting her intimately, that she began to realize just how thorough his ultimate possession would be. This kiss was a sample, she knew, a probing exploration and a claiming that was only a forerunner of what was to follow.

When he reluctantly broke free of her mourn and began to trail questing, tormenting little kisses along the line of her jaw and up to her earlobe Mercy sighed in wonder. Her arms wound around his neck. The hard, muscled contours of his shoulders compelled her touch. She pressed her nails delicately into the fabric of his shirt, finding the resilient flesh beneath the garment.

"I was wrong," Croft muttered against her skin. "There's more than light and color in you. There's strength. Beautiful, subtle, feminine strength. We're going to find something very special together, you and I."

"Perhaps in time," she whispered, closing her eyes against me exquisite feel of his teeth on her earlobe.

"Tonight," he corrected.

She didn't argue. She was already beyond arguing. This was what she wanted. He knew it and she could finally acknowledge it. It was happening much too fast. She knew far too little about him. But never in her life had she needed and wanted a man the way she wanted Croft Falconer. Denying herself tonight would have been to deny a possibility that until now she hadn't even dreamed existed. She couldn't leave that unknown unexplored.

"Are you still a little afraid of me?" he asked. His hands slid down her back, forcing her gently against the length of him. When his palms reached her rounded buttocks he cupped her and lifted her up into the heat of his thighs.

"Yes. No. I don't know." It didn't matter, Mercy realized. Whatever fear existed was submerged beneath the flaring desire. And the desire was mutual. She could feel the rigid shape of him pushing against the fabric of his jeans.

"How can you be afraid of me when you can tell so easily how much I want you?" His voice was a husky groan as he pressed her even more intimately against him.

"Oh, Croft."

Mercy buried her face in the curve of Croft's shoulder, inhaling the raw, primitive scent of him.

"I want to see you come alive under my hands the way a watercolor scene does on paper." Croft shifted, turning her slowly in his arms until she was standing with her back against him. When she struggled slightly, not understanding, he whispered, "Don't fight me, sweetheart. Open your eyes."

Mercy did so and found herself staring at their reflected images in the mirror in front of her. She was almost shocked at her own languid, heavy-lidded gaze. She could see the desire in herself and it startled her. This was what Croft was seeing, this open invitation, this combination of sensual pleading and feminine command. The sight of herself might have embarrassed her beyond recovery if it hadn't been for the other image in the mirror. This second reflection showed
the hard-edged arousal in Croft's face. His golden eyes glittered with it.

He watched her expression as he caged her within the circle of his arms and began undressing her. Slowly and deliberately his fingers moved down the front of her tailored shirt. When all the buttons were undone he eased the garment off her shoulders and tossed it casually aside. Then he put his lips into her hair, his eyes still meeting hers in the mirror as he cupped her breasts in his hands.

Mercy was aware of a wave of delicious weakness going through her. She stared into the mirror, fascinated by the sight of herself encircled in Croft's bronzed arms. Her gently rounded breasts nestled in his hands, the nipples peeking over the edges. Even as she watched he lightly grazed his thumbs across the rosy peaks, drawing them to full attention.

She clutched at his arms, feeling so sensitized that she feared the next caress.

"Please," she managed, "I don't… It feels so strange."

"You're very sensitive. I knew you would be. Are you afraid it's going to hurt when I do this?" Croft circled each dark aureole with the edge of his thumbs. He watched her face in the mirror with a relentless intensity.

Mercy gasped as her nipples puckered into even tighter peaks. The feeling was almost unbearable, an ache and a longing and a sizzling sensitivity. Her lashes lowered until her eyes were almost closed. She said with total honesty, "I'm not sure what to expect with you."

"Sometimes there is a very fine line between pleasure and pain."

"Do you always know the difference?"

"Yes. Always."

She believed him and knew she should find the knowledge terrifying, but it was exhilarating. He was a man who was at home with violence. Perhaps he was not adverse to
crossing the invisible barriers between pleasure and pain when he was aroused. Instead of caution, however, Mercy was suddenly rilled with supreme trust. Croft did know the difference and he would never cross the line. She could give herself to him in perfect safety. With him she could learn the thrills and pleasures that lurked at the farthest edges of sensation without fearing the fall that would take her over the edge.

This man would always protect her. She could trust him. Once again her eyes met his in the mirror and this time she smiled at him.

It was a slow, sensuous, utterly female smile of invitation and longing and ancient promise that came from the depths of her being and radiated in her eyes. There was a warm flush to her skin that started just above her breasts and rightly colored everything in its path all the way to her cheeks. She knew from the look in Croft's eyes that he was vitally aware of her glowing excitement. His body was tightening in reaction and he muttered thick, dark words of encouragement into her hair.

Her fingers still clung to his forearms but she offered no resistance when he released her breasts and let his hands glide to her waist. There was a faint metallic rasp as he unsnapped her jeans and slid the zipper down. Mercy could feel the shift of muscle and sinew in his arms as he began to push the jeans over her hips. She was very conscious of the hard pressure of his manhood straining against his own denims. He had pushed himself close into the small of her back where she could feel him very distinctly. He was big, she thought. Solid and heavy and totally male.

"Do you have any idea how sexy you are? I could look at you for a long time, sweet Mercy. You're full of soft, round curves and hollows waiting to be explored. All kinds of shadow and light."

Mercy heard the words, but she didn't see his face because she had closed her eyes again when he shoved the jeans down her thighs. She could feel her panties going with the denim and knew that if she lifted her lashes she would see herself completely naked in the mirror.

Her natural inhibitions rose suddenly to assault her. "I don't want to be the only one standing here in front of a mirror without any clothes on," she whispered in protest.

He laughed softly, the sound dark and sensual in her ear as he leaned forward to kiss her shoulder. "Then undress me."

With a small cry she turned in his arms and opened her eyes to meet the lambent flames in his gaze. Something she saw there
both provoked and excited her. "I want to touch you."

"I need to feel you touching me."

She unbuttoned his shirt, having to concentrate on the small task because her fingers were trembling. Croft didn't make matters easier for her. He kept murmuring sensual promises and dropping light, unbelievably tantalizing kisses on her temple and behind her ear. His fingers played havoc with the sensitive nape of her neck as she fumbled with his garments. Never had she realized just how sensitive that part of her body was.

Croft shrugged impatiently out of the shirt when she had it undone and then he pulled her close again. When her breasts were lightly crushed against his chest he looked into the mirror behind her and smiled. Slowly he stroked his hands down her back to the curve of her bare hips. When he let his fingertips slide along the edge of the small cleft that separated her soft buttocks, Mercy caught her breath.

"Croft."

But he ignored her. His touch went lower, tracing a sensual path until he found the damp, feminine beat that told him all he needed to know about her state of readiness. As he drew his fingers through the gathering dew between her legs Mercy splayed her hands across his broad chest. Her
head tipped back and a small cry was caught in her throat. She sank her nails through the crisp, curling hair and into his skin just above his flat male nipples.

When she heard his sharp intake of breath she became conscious of what she was doing. Anxiously she looked up at him. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

He laughed silently down at her. "You couldn't possibly hurt me. But you could easily drive me out of my mind."

She smiled back at him, reassured. Then, with a boldness that was new to her and that she quickly discovered she enjoyed, Mercy unfastened and unzipped his jeans. The heavy shaft of his manhood spilled out into her hand, filling her fingers and thrusting far beyond to brush against her stomach. The hard, blunt shape of him was as unyielding as steel but its tip was covered in the softest of velvet. The contrast was enthralling. Mercy cradled him in her hand and stroked him gently, wonderingly.

"You're rather like a painting, yourself," she said. "There is a great deal more to you than first meets the eye. More than I expected." Much more, she added silently. He seemed massive, filling her fingers and pulsing with life and energy. She wondered if they were going to fit together as well as he seemed to think. She licked her lower lip and said carefully, "You're very large, Croft."

Croft slipped one hand down between their bodies, raking through the soft thatch of hair at the juncture of her legs. Then, without any preamble he eased one finger just inside her hot, moist channel.

"Oh!" Mercy's body clenched around his invading finger and she staggered a little, releasing her intimate hold to clutch his arms for support.

"And you're very small," he murmured gently. "Silky smooth. We're going to fit perfectly. I can't wait to get inside you and feel you around me. This isn't going quite the way I had planned. You're so ready for me. I thought I could
draw it all out a little longer. I wanted to take the time to do it right."

"The way you're going about it doesn't seem wrong, believe me." She swayed against him, her body filled with an unbelievable urgency.

"You don't understand," he muttered. "But this isn't the time to try to explain. Look at us, Mercy. Take a look in the mirror and see how right you are for me."

He moved, turning them both sideways to the reflective glass and Mercy glanced to her right, half afraid of what she might see. The sight of her slender body pressed against Croft, his hands possessively gripping the rounded globes of her derriere was disconcerting, even though she had been expecting it. She drew a deep breath, unable to take her eyes off the scene in the mirror.

"What is it, Mercy?" Croft eased one muscular leg between her thighs, forcing her to part her legs. "Don't we look good together? Don't you like what you see? We're creating a watercolor in that mirror." He caressed her hip, moving his palm upward until it rested alongside her breast The contrast between his bronzed fingers and her white breast was very erotic. His dark head bent over her tawny one made an equally sensual contrast. His leg tangled between hers was a bold invasion of her softness. "Sunlight and shadow."

She pulled her gaze away from the hypnotic scene in the mirror. Her fingers sank into his shoulders as she looked up at him. The dark, husky sound of his voice was a seduction in itself. She felt very open and vulnerable as he moved his thigh gently back and forth between her legs. His muscled leg was hard and hairy and enticing, sliding up along the delicate skin of her inner thigh. She knew she was dampening him with her uncontrollable response; knew, too, that he was highly aroused by it.

Mercy didn't understand how he could be as aroused as
she was and still so much in control. Something was wrong with the situation.

"Croft, you're very aware of what you're doing, aren't you?" she whispered, searching his narrowed gaze. He was with her every inch of the way, she thought, but there was a difference. She felt dazed and disoriented by her body's reactions, but she sensed that Croft was still completely in command of himself. It would probably take a great deal to shake that control, much more than the expectation of one night with a woman who melted like warm honey in his arms. The knowledge hurt a little, briefly disrupting the sweet web of passion
that was weaving itself around them.