With one hand splayed across the small of her back, he pulled her hips tighter against his. With his other hand he found the hem of her top and slipped beneath it to stroke the smooth satin of her skin. With deft fingers he unsnapped the front catch of her bra and cupped a breast. The fullness of it surprised him. The feel of her nipple hardening at the brush of his fingertips excited him.
He dragged his mouth from Serena's lips to her jaw to her ear. She shivered as he traced the delicate shell with the tip of his tongue and trembled when he whispered to her, his voice as dark and hot as the night.
«I want your breast in my mouth, chere. I wanna taste you. I wanna feel your nipple between my lips.»
A whimper caught in her throat.
«I wanna be inside you. I wanna feel you around me, tight and hot and wet.»
Serena's mind reeled with the seductive images he was conjuring. She could feel her temperature rising, sexual desire like a fever in her blood. It was exhilarating, intoxicating, frightening. Her body pressed against his, making its own desires known even as her mind grappled for control.
He kissed her throat, letting his teeth graze the skin. Serena caught her breath against the moan that threatened, but she couldn't stop herself from arching her neck to give him better access. He whispered a more explicit request in her ear, then sucked gently at the soft petal of her earlobe.
«No,» she barely managed to say between gasps. It sounded more like a question than an answer. «No,» she said more forcefully.
Lucky rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger, tugging subtly at the turgid peak. He raised his head a fraction and stared down at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with passion, the thin band of amber ringing the pupils as warm as the light from the lamp on the table.
«Yes, chere,» he whispered.
Serena's gaze drifted to his mouth, that incredible, sensuous mouth, gleaming wet and red from their kiss. She stared at it, imagining it at her breast, tugging, sucking, his tongue laving her nipple while his fingers stroked her most sensitive flesh.
«No,» she murmured, the word barely a breath moving from her lips. «I hardly know you.»
«You know I'm a man. I know you're a woman. What more do we need to know?»
«We don't even like each other.»
Lucky growled low in his throat as his mouth moved toward hers. «I'm likin' you just fine right now, sugar.» He kissed a corner of her mouth, probing gently at the cleft of her lips with the tip of his tongue.
«J'aime te faire l'amour avec toi,» he breathed the words against her lips. «Bien, ma chere, casse pas mon coeur.
He might have been saying anything. He might have been telling her she was uglier than a mule, but the words, spoken in his smoky voice and flavored with their rich French accent, had their desired effect just the same. Serena felt her common sense further diluted by desire. A languid weakness floated through her arms and legs. She leaned heavily against Lucky and his scent filled her head-musky and warm and indisputably male.
He kissed her again, filling her mouth with his taste. His fingers left her breast to encircle the wrist of her right hand. He drew it down from where it rested flat against his chest. He moved against her hand, nuzzled her cheek, nipped her ear. «That's all for you, angel. Let me give it to you, chere.»
Serena let her fingers flex hesitantly. Another wave of heat flashed through her. Oh, God, she wanted him. She wanted a man she'd only just met, a man who was a mystery to her, a man whose overwhelming masculinity frightened her on a fundamental level.
She turned her head away to draw in a deep breath, and her gaze hit the butt of the semiautomatic pistol that nestled against his ribs. Her heart skipped a beat, then rushed into double time as she looked beyond the gun to his biceps. An ugly two-inch-long gash was carved in the flesh and a line of dried blood trailed from it.
He was a dangerous man. A criminal. A man without scruples.
Shaking from the conflict that raged inside her, Serena pushed herself back from him. «You're bleeding.»
«What?»
«Your arm. The one next to the gun,» she said pointedly. «It's bleeding.»
«It's nothing.» Lucky reached for her.
Serena stepped back, crossing her arms in front of her, still avoiding his gaze. «Not to me it's not.»
He reached out slowly to touch her hair, lifting a golden lock to rub it between his fingers. «If I put a Band-Aid on it, will you go to bed with me?»
«No.»
«Why not?»
«Because I don't indulge in meaningless sexual flings with men I barely know,» she said, struggling to resurrect her facade of calm.
Lucky watched her lift her chin and straighten her shoulders and resented like hell the ease with which she seemed to throw off the need that still pounded through him. «You mean you'll fuck a man only if you think he'll put a ring on your finger,» he said brutally.
«That's not what I said.»
«Mais non, but that's what you meant.»
«That isn't what I meant,» Serena argued. «I don't believe in casual sex. I don't go to bed with men who have no intention of investing emotionally in a relationship just because they happen to be well hung. That's what I meant,» she said bitingly. «Are you going to try to tell me you're in love with me?»
Lucky forced a laugh. «Not a chance.»
Serena clenched her jaw against the unexpected stab of hurt his words inflicted. Of course he wasn't going to say it-not now, not ever. Nor did she want him to. «That settles it, then, doesn't it?»
«Only for tonight, sugar,» he said, hooking a finger beneath her chin and tilting her head back. He bent his head and brushed a mocking gentleman's kiss against her lips. «Bonsoir, cherie. Sweet dreams.»
Serena watched him saunter out the front door. She had no idea where he was going. She told herself she didn't want to know. At any rate, she was too exhausted to care. She'd been put through an emotional wringer, and every muscle and bone ached with it.
Avoiding even a glance at the bed, she curled herself into one corner of the sofa and tried not to think about Lucky, his heat, his passion… the way he had held her when she'd told him she was afraid.…
CHAPTER 8
SERENA SAT IN THE PIROGUE, SHADING HER EYES from the fierce morning sun that had come up like a ball of fire to burn off the low-lying fog. It was not yet noon and already the heat was as oppressive as a fur coat in July. She had dressed in a sleeveless white cotton blouse and khaki walking shorts, but even these summerweight garments wilted and clung to her and made her think longingly of a swim suit and a quiet day at the beach.
Adding to her discomfort was the knowledge that Lucky was standing behind her. She could feel him glowering down at her, and she straightened her back to show she wouldn't be intimidated by his evil mood.
She had gone searching for him at seven-thirty, eager to get to Gifford's -partly because she didn't quite trust herself to be alone with him. She had slept all of two hours after they had parted company the night before. And those two hours had been full of erotic dreams starring Guess Who. Just the memory was enough to make her blush. She didn't want to begin to decipher its meaning.
Lucky Doucet was trouble; he was an outlaw. The fact that he had a body to rival Adonis's couldn't enter into the argument. She couldn't get involved with him. She kept repeating that to herself like a mantra, but every time she thought she had herself convinced, her mind would sneak in the memory of the way he had held her after she'd told him about getting lost in the swamp. For that moment he had been gentle and tender and compassionate……
He had been none of those things when she found him that morning. After searching the galleries back and front and finding only a trio of baby raccoons playing on the steps, she made her way up the exterior staircase to the attic.