She cried out and plunged down, pressing him high inside her. Her world came apart, fragmenting into glimmering shards of rapturous wonder. They penetrated her skin, spread, and melted, until she was a mass of glowing heat with him hard and vibrant at her core.
With a sob, she put her arms around his shoulders, held his head to her breast, curled herself around him, and clung tight.
Gradually, he moved back, drawing her down with him. His breathing was harsh in her ear. Every muscle in his body was locked tight.
"Why?" She whispered the word against his skin.
Lucifer lay beneath her and couldn't think enough to form a coherent thought. "I wanted you more than once, but…" He lost the thread. She was hot and so tight around him. He brushed a kiss to her temple. "In a moment." His voice was a gravelly rumble, almost hoarse with need.
He'd wanted her more than once, but she'd been untried, untutored. If he'd had his wicked way with her, he'd have had her three times, and she'd have cursed him in the morning. Instead, once inside her, he'd stayed deep, moderating the length and thus the force of his thrusts to minimize the abrasion and pressure to her delicate flesh. So he'd been able to enjoy having her come apart in his arms with him sunk inside her twice… thus far.
Lifting her, he withdrew from her, sliding from beneath her. She murmured, tried to clutch and hold him. He soothed her with a kiss along her back. "You have to do all I say, remember?"
She slumped onto her stomach. "So what should I do?"
He reached for a pillow. "Absolutely nothing. It's my turn now."
She lay boneless and let him lift her hips and stuff the pillow beneath them. He knelt between her legs and bent one slender limb, nudging it to the side, knee almost level with her waist. Then he touched her, leaned over her, and slid home.
Her breath fell from her in a gasping moan.
"Did that hurt?"
She shook her dark head and pressed back against him. He took what she offered, sinking deeper into her body. Arms braced, he lowered his head and dropped a kiss on her shoulder.
"Just lie still and let me love you."
She did-he would have thanked her if he'd been able to form the words. Instead, he thanked her with his body. She lay hot, naked, and completely open before him; he filled her, his hips pressed to her firm derriere, the smooth hemispheres glowing palely in the moonlight. The curves caressed him, her body welcomed him, enclosing him in slick, sweet heat. The musky scent of her rose and wreathed through him; he drew it deep, and felt the beast within him slip its leash.
Beneath him, he felt her stir. She didn't move, but her body tightened about him. He reacted instinctively, pressing his hips to her bottom, thrusting deep, rotating just enough to lift her hips in a roll.
She caught her breath and pushed back, then eased down again. He gritted his teeth, withdrew further, held back, then filled her slowly. He sank home, rolled, withdrew-she moaned.
Filled with feminine entreaty more primitive than words, the sound shredded his much-tried control. He rode her hard, plunging even deeper; she met him, urging him on. He'd meant to be gentle, but she was wild and wanton-he responded in the same way.
She shattered beneath him in a climax so intense he felt it in his bones. She spasmed so hot and tight about him, he thought he'd lose his mind. And then he did. Lost all touch with reality as he lost himself in her. Lost his soul to her heat, lost his heart to her.
Chapter 13
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Phyllida woke. She lifted her lids; through the nearby window she could see the sky. A gray light washed over the darkness, presaging dawn, but dawn was not yet here.
Her lids fell; she snuggled deeper into the warm cocoon of the covers. Every muscle in her body felt stretched, released. The heavy arm across her waist was comforting.
She half sat up with a jerk-or would have, but that hairy arm tensed and held her down.
Lying on her side, she sent her senses searching. Lucifer lay sprawled on his stomach alongside her, one arm flung over her. And he was awake. And naked. And so was she. Escaping this while maintaining her composure was not going to be a simple matter.
Unfortunately, rack her brains though she did, she could recall no teachings on the etiquette of leaving a gentleman's bed. If he'd been asleep, she'd have slipped away-and worried about meeting him face-to-face later. Fully clothed, she'd have managed with tolerable calm.
But naked? With him naked beside her?
If she lay there thinking about it anymore, she'd end in a witless panic. She turned; his arm slid over her waist. On her back, she glanced sideways at his face, half buried in the pillow. "I have to go."
Only one of his eyes was visible; it opened and regarded her-far too intently for her liking.
"You haven't yet told me what you were looking for, which is presumably why the murderer is after you."
"It's not, but it's nearly dawn. I have to get through the wood and into the Grange. If you call later this morning, I promise I'll tell you everything."
He didn't lift his head-he just shook it. He looked stunningly handsome with his black hair rumpled; had she done that? Her fingers itched.
"I was going to come and interrogate you this morning, but the present situation has a great deal to recommend it in terms of extracting information."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that you won't be leaving this bed until you've told me all."
"Don't be silly-I have to leave before your household gets up. You won't want your servants to know I'm here."
Lucifer shrugged. "If you don't mind, why should I?" He was going to marry her; in the circumstances, everyone would turn a blind eye.
She stared at him, blank-faced, then her eyes flashed. "Well, I do mind!"
She tried to push his arm from her. He sighed and turned-and drew her into his arms. She quieted. He rolled her until she lay on her side, all but nose to nose with him, his arms locked around her, her legs tangled with his, his erection pressed to her soft belly. He looked into her eyes. "In that case, you'd better start talking."
Her expression was impossible to read; only her dark eyes, still wide, still lustrous with lingering satiation, showed her awareness of his state. Of his unstated threat. Her lips firmed, obstinate to the end.
He held her gaze and waited, while the sun rose.
Phyllida capitulated. "I've been searching for a packet of letters. Not mine-someone else's."
"Mary Anne's."
The leap of logic was hardly great. "Yes. She hid the letters in her grandmother's writing desk, and then her father sold the desk to Horatio and it was delivered here before Mary Anne realized."
"What's so threatening about these letters?"
"I don't know. All I know is that Mary Anne and Robert are desperate to get them back without anyone knowing anything about them, much less reading them."
He searched her eyes. "You promised not to tell anyone?"
"I swore I wouldn't reveal the existence of the letters to anyone at all."
After a moment, he nodded. "All right. So you were looking for the letters…" His gaze sharpened. "That's why you were in Horatio's drawing room on Sunday last."
Phyllida sighed. "Yes." It felt good to be able to tell him. And he'd understood about her promise; she'd thought he would. "I was searching for the writing desk and walked into the drawing room-and saw Horatio lying there, dead."
"Where was I?"
"You hadn't arrived yet. I'd just turned Horatio over and realized he really was dead when I heard you striding up the path."