[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
away. Instead he savored the feel of her in his arms, the way she rested her head against his chest.
Something so wrong shouldn't feel so right. He told himself to step back, even as his hands began sliding,
urging her closer. They molded together perfectly, making it impossible for her not to realize how badly
he wanted her.
Still, she didn't pull away. She inhaled deeply, tightened her hold on him. He chanced a glance down at
her face, saw her eyes closed, a contented smile curving her lips.
And his heart damn near stopped.
With brutal detail he remembered their moments by the reflecting pond, how beautiful she'd looked
standing there in the puddle of sunshine, with the crumbling stone turret behind her, the swans gliding
across the water. He remembered the enchantment on her face, the sense of adventure, the intimacy he'd
skillfully destroyed when she'd tried to take his picture.
He'd wanted to crush her in his arms, not crush her.
But there could be no pictures, just as there could be no intimacy. There could be nothing real and
tangible stemming from their time together. It was a mistake in the first place, a mistake they would both
have to forget.
Pictures, the intimacy his body hungered for, would make that impossible. They could have only these
moments in the shadows, memories that would fade without leaving permanent scars.
Instinctively, he knew she already bore too many of those.
Outside, the wind whispered louder, sending a branch strumming against the side of the wine cellar. A
few splatters against the roof indicated a nearby storm. She stilled then, looked up at him. The little
candle had almost burned itself out, but its valiant flicker provided enough light to see desire glowing in
the green of her eyes.
It was like standing before an executioner with no hope of a pardon in sight.
Deliver us from evil,he thought desperately, but realized the prayer couldn't help him. The need to put his
mouth to hers was dangerous, but it wasn't evil. The desire to taste her, drink her in, was purity in its
most unabashed form.
The moment stretched to the breaking point. Pull away, Sandro told himself, but could no more let go
than he could rip his heart from his chest. He slid a hand over her shoulders to tangle in her hair, then did
the only thing he could.
* * *
Miranda put a hand to Sandro's chest and stopped him before his mouth could touch hers. The fever in
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his midnight eyes burned through her, but she couldn't indulge it. Not until she knew for sure.
"Who, Sandro? Who do you want to kiss?"
Tangled in her hair, his fingers tensed. And a languorous smile curved his lips. "The woman who's doing
her best to drive me insane."
"But who am I?" she persisted, and saw the moment he realized what she asked.
"You're you," he whispered. "Not a Carrington, not the ambassador's daughter, but a beautiful woman
who needs no name."
That was all it took. She melted there in his arms, sliding her hand from his chest to curve around his
neck and urge him to her.
He needed no urging. On a groan his mouth found hers. Whereas in the alley she'd tried to shut him out,
this time she opened for him, inviting him in, hungering to taste the same passion she'd tasted the day
before. This kiss was different, though. Deeper. Almost & seeking. His mouth moved against hers as
though searching for something lost. Something precious. Miranda felt his need deep in her bones, and
responded instinctively. There was a tarnished nobility to this man of the shadows, a thread of regret
beneath the swagger and hard muscle. She didn't know why he unsettled her so, only knew she wanted
to bring him light. Help him find what was missing.
He slid a hand to her hips, where he slipped around to cup her bottom. She felt the hardness of his body
against hers, the bulge against his pants that made it impossible to pretend this was just a simple, innocent
kiss. There was nothing simple or innocent about the interplay of their mouths. Carnal was the only word
to describe the little nips, the way he sucked her bottom lip, the way he seemed to be absorbing her
inside of him.
But she didn't want to be inside of him. She wanted him inside of her.
The thought jarred her, thrilled her. She felt as though they'd tapped into the casks and drank greedily,
as though wine now flowed through her veins, thick and rich, heady, intoxicating. How long since she'd
been held with such possession, kissed with such delicious thoroughness?
Never, she knew. Never.
The fact that one of her father's men would be her first, her bodyguard of all people, shocked her clear
down to the toes his kiss sent curling. She'd never understood how Elizabeth had let herself become
involved with Hawk, but if this same fire had burned for her, even fractionally, she understood the
wrenching sobs she'd heard from her sister's room after Hawk asked for a transfer overseas.
The sense of foreboding slammed in from nowhere and chilled Miranda to the bone. She fought it, intent
on Sandro, the moment, the way he backed her against a cask. His mouth cruised down her neck,
toward her chest, where he lifted a hand to gently tease her nipple.
She didn't mean to tense, but knew she had when his mouth stilled against her collarbone. They hung that
way a heartbeat, body to body, heart to heart. In his kiss she'd found warmth, but the damp chill of the
night pushed closer now.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
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"I have to."
"No, you don't," she said, pushing up to brush her lips over his.
He took her shoulders and stepped from her, holding her at arm's distance. His eyes were dark,
ravaged. His breathing was shallow. "If I don't," he practically growled, "I won't until I have you naked
and under me, and I can't let that happen."
Miranda wasn't sure how she stayed standing. "And what's so bad about that?" Just the thought had her
wet and wanting.
Or maybe she owed that to the kiss.
He swore softly. "Some lines," he said tightly, "can never be crossed."
Lines. Rules. Protocol. They were the stock and trade of her family's world. She'd always hated them,
found them as restricting as a straitjacket. "You wanted to kiss me," she reminded, trying to keep the hurt
from her voice.
The waning light of the candle emphasized the tight line of his jaw. "I want to do a lot more than kiss you,
bella. But I've already told you a man in my line of work has to think about more than what his body
wants."
His body. The crude dismissal of the passion between them stung. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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away. Instead he savored the feel of her in his arms, the way she rested her head against his chest.
Something so wrong shouldn't feel so right. He told himself to step back, even as his hands began sliding,
urging her closer. They molded together perfectly, making it impossible for her not to realize how badly
he wanted her.
Still, she didn't pull away. She inhaled deeply, tightened her hold on him. He chanced a glance down at
her face, saw her eyes closed, a contented smile curving her lips.
And his heart damn near stopped.
With brutal detail he remembered their moments by the reflecting pond, how beautiful she'd looked
standing there in the puddle of sunshine, with the crumbling stone turret behind her, the swans gliding
across the water. He remembered the enchantment on her face, the sense of adventure, the intimacy he'd
skillfully destroyed when she'd tried to take his picture.
He'd wanted to crush her in his arms, not crush her.
But there could be no pictures, just as there could be no intimacy. There could be nothing real and
tangible stemming from their time together. It was a mistake in the first place, a mistake they would both
have to forget.
Pictures, the intimacy his body hungered for, would make that impossible. They could have only these
moments in the shadows, memories that would fade without leaving permanent scars.
Instinctively, he knew she already bore too many of those.
Outside, the wind whispered louder, sending a branch strumming against the side of the wine cellar. A
few splatters against the roof indicated a nearby storm. She stilled then, looked up at him. The little
candle had almost burned itself out, but its valiant flicker provided enough light to see desire glowing in
the green of her eyes.
It was like standing before an executioner with no hope of a pardon in sight.
Deliver us from evil,he thought desperately, but realized the prayer couldn't help him. The need to put his
mouth to hers was dangerous, but it wasn't evil. The desire to taste her, drink her in, was purity in its
most unabashed form.
The moment stretched to the breaking point. Pull away, Sandro told himself, but could no more let go
than he could rip his heart from his chest. He slid a hand over her shoulders to tangle in her hair, then did
the only thing he could.
* * *
Miranda put a hand to Sandro's chest and stopped him before his mouth could touch hers. The fever in
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
his midnight eyes burned through her, but she couldn't indulge it. Not until she knew for sure.
"Who, Sandro? Who do you want to kiss?"
Tangled in her hair, his fingers tensed. And a languorous smile curved his lips. "The woman who's doing
her best to drive me insane."
"But who am I?" she persisted, and saw the moment he realized what she asked.
"You're you," he whispered. "Not a Carrington, not the ambassador's daughter, but a beautiful woman
who needs no name."
That was all it took. She melted there in his arms, sliding her hand from his chest to curve around his
neck and urge him to her.
He needed no urging. On a groan his mouth found hers. Whereas in the alley she'd tried to shut him out,
this time she opened for him, inviting him in, hungering to taste the same passion she'd tasted the day
before. This kiss was different, though. Deeper. Almost & seeking. His mouth moved against hers as
though searching for something lost. Something precious. Miranda felt his need deep in her bones, and
responded instinctively. There was a tarnished nobility to this man of the shadows, a thread of regret
beneath the swagger and hard muscle. She didn't know why he unsettled her so, only knew she wanted
to bring him light. Help him find what was missing.
He slid a hand to her hips, where he slipped around to cup her bottom. She felt the hardness of his body
against hers, the bulge against his pants that made it impossible to pretend this was just a simple, innocent
kiss. There was nothing simple or innocent about the interplay of their mouths. Carnal was the only word
to describe the little nips, the way he sucked her bottom lip, the way he seemed to be absorbing her
inside of him.
But she didn't want to be inside of him. She wanted him inside of her.
The thought jarred her, thrilled her. She felt as though they'd tapped into the casks and drank greedily,
as though wine now flowed through her veins, thick and rich, heady, intoxicating. How long since she'd
been held with such possession, kissed with such delicious thoroughness?
Never, she knew. Never.
The fact that one of her father's men would be her first, her bodyguard of all people, shocked her clear
down to the toes his kiss sent curling. She'd never understood how Elizabeth had let herself become
involved with Hawk, but if this same fire had burned for her, even fractionally, she understood the
wrenching sobs she'd heard from her sister's room after Hawk asked for a transfer overseas.
The sense of foreboding slammed in from nowhere and chilled Miranda to the bone. She fought it, intent
on Sandro, the moment, the way he backed her against a cask. His mouth cruised down her neck,
toward her chest, where he lifted a hand to gently tease her nipple.
She didn't mean to tense, but knew she had when his mouth stilled against her collarbone. They hung that
way a heartbeat, body to body, heart to heart. In his kiss she'd found warmth, but the damp chill of the
night pushed closer now.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"I have to."
"No, you don't," she said, pushing up to brush her lips over his.
He took her shoulders and stepped from her, holding her at arm's distance. His eyes were dark,
ravaged. His breathing was shallow. "If I don't," he practically growled, "I won't until I have you naked
and under me, and I can't let that happen."
Miranda wasn't sure how she stayed standing. "And what's so bad about that?" Just the thought had her
wet and wanting.
Or maybe she owed that to the kiss.
He swore softly. "Some lines," he said tightly, "can never be crossed."
Lines. Rules. Protocol. They were the stock and trade of her family's world. She'd always hated them,
found them as restricting as a straitjacket. "You wanted to kiss me," she reminded, trying to keep the hurt
from her voice.
The waning light of the candle emphasized the tight line of his jaw. "I want to do a lot more than kiss you,
bella. But I've already told you a man in my line of work has to think about more than what his body
wants."
His body. The crude dismissal of the passion between them stung. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]