He did not take his mouth from hers when he reached behind her to pull the hazy fabric aside. Grasping the quilt, he pulled it straight down to the foot of the bed, exposing pristine white sheets.
He picked her up, put her down on the pale bedding, and stepped back to finish undressing himself. The wispy bed hangings drifted closed. On the other side of the veil Octavia watched him through the misty material. She lay on her side, knees slightly bent, hips curved in graceful, seductive lines.
He stood there for a few seconds, every muscle rigid with the effort it took to exert some control over the aching, raging need that was uncoiling rapidly throughout his body. It had never been like this with any other woman, he thought, baffled and bemused. He could not seem to wrap his mind around this sensation. It was not just physical. He was old enough and sufficiently experienced to take the physical effects in stride.
There was something else going on here. He knew that in the depths of his soul. He'd been trying to ignore it, work around it, deny it, but there was no possibility of avoiding the reality. Octavia was different.
He looked at her through the drifting veils that surrounded the bed, and for a moment he wondered if she really was a sorceress who had somehow managed to enchant him.
He had no time to wonder about his predicament. The heaviness of his erection made it impossible to think clearly. He fought his way out of the rest of his clothing.
When he pulled the bed hangings aside the second time, Octavia reached for him, drawing him down onto the snowy sheets. He put one hand on the sweet, round curve of her hip and she twisted urgently against him.
"Nick."
"Not so fast," he whispered.
But she was moving, sliding, slipping along the length of him. He felt her mouth on his chest and then her tongue touched his belly.
When her fingers curled around him and her lips moved lower, he thought he disintegrate.
He rolled her onto her back, pinning her with one leg thrown across her thighs. "I meant what I said. We're going to take this nice and slow."
"Are we?" Her voice was both mischievous and sensual. A woman who knows she's in control of the situation. She wriggled a little beneath his weight. "Do you really want to go slow?"
"Most definitely," he said. "I want to go slow tonight. And what's more, I'm going to make sure that we do."
She drew her fingertips down the length of his back. "Wanna bet?"
"Oh, yeah."
He bent his head and covered her mouth with his own. When she was absorbed in the kiss, giving herself completely over to it, working her sorcery, he reached out and snagged one of the trailing bed hangings.
He looped the fabric around her left wrist and tied a quick knot in it. "Ummph?"
She wrenched her mouth away from his. Her eyes snapped open.
He grasped a wispy hanging on the opposite side of the bed and anchored her other wrist.
"Oh, my." She looked up at him, sexy laughter sparkling in her eyes. "This is interesting."
He leaned over her, bracing his weight on his elbows. "I thought so."
"All this just to slow me down?"
"I'm a desperate man."
She could pull the airy bed hangings down and free herself with a couple of quick tugs, but somehow he didn't think she would do that. He sensed that she was in a mood to walk on the wild side tonight. He could tell because he was inclined in the same direction. A shining example of synchronicity at work.
"What happens next?" she murmured.
"I don't know." He slid one hand between her legs and found the pearl in the oyster. He smiled when he felt her move beneath him, seeking more. "Shall we find out?"
"Oh, yes." She licked her lips and looked up at him through veiled lashes. "Let's do that."
He stroked her slowly, dampening his hand in her dew.
She lifted her hips against his fingers, tempting him with her body. She could have lured an angel into trouble. And he was no angel.
He moved down her body with his mouth, going lower until her scent enveloped him. He was so hard now he dared not brush his erection against her skin for fear of losing the fragile grip on his self-control. This was going to be a test of endurance and he was determined to make sure that he won tonight.
Eventually, when she was moaning and restless, he found the small, sensitive nubbin with his mouth. She caught her breath and tensed.
"Nick."
He used his tongue until she was gasping and writhing.
"Yes, please, yes. Now, damn it."
He slid a finger into her, searching for the spot; pressed upward. She gasped.
"Yes. Right there. Oh, yes. Oh, yes, oh, yes, oh, yes. Nick"
She came in shuddering little waves of raw, feminine energy that took his breath away. He barely made it back up her body in time to sink himself fully into her before his own climax ripped through him.
She jerked her arms abruptly and then her nails were in his back and her legs were wrapped snugly around his hips. The last thing he remembered was the feel of the bed hangings floating down like so many silken cobwebs, tangling him in a snare he did not think that he would ever be able to escape.
He came back to his senses a long time later. For a moment he did not open his eyes, preferring to savor the satisfaction that hummed through him. He was content to drift forever in the aftermath of the lovemaking.
Then he felt the soft touch of gauzy fabric twining around his right wrist. He opened one eye. Octavia's breasts brushed across his chest when she leaned over him to secure his other wrist to the bedpost. He opened his other eye.
"What's going on here?" he asked with lazy interest.
She straddled him and smiled slowly. "My turn."
"Oh, wow."
She felt him leave the bed again shortly before dawn. Dismay and regret and a strange resentment whispered through her. She opened her eyes and stared at the wall, listening to him pad barefooted across the floor.
Of course he was leaving. What had she expected him to do? Stay until morning? What would be the point? This was a summer affair.
But she was not about to let him just slide out like this. He could say a proper goodbye when he left her bed, damn it.
She turned on her side, searching for him in the shadows, expecting to see him making for the bathroom with his clothes. But he wasn't creeping across the carpet.
He stood at the window, one hand braced against the sill, and looked out at the moonlit bay. The pale glow streaming through the glass etched his shoulders in steely silver and cast his profile into deep shadow.
"Nick?" She levered herself up on her elbows. "What are you doing?"
He turned his head to look toward the bed. "I was just thinking."
"About what?"
"About what happens at the end of the summer."
She did not move. She did not even breathe. "This isn't The Talk, is it? Because if you're trying to sneak it in now-"
"It's not The Talk," he said, his voice roughening abruptly.
She stared at him. "Are you angry?"
"Maybe. Yeah. I think so. I'm trying to have a rational discussion here and you're throwing that crap about The Talk in my face."
He was angry, all right. Fair enough. She was rapidly losing her temper, too.
"Okay, sorry," she said stiffly. "I just wanted to be sure you weren't going to try to deliver that stupid talk now. Because it's much too late."
He did not move for a few seconds. Then he came away from the window and walked back to the bed to stand looking down at her.
"Too late?" he repeated neutrally.
"Whether you like it or not, we are involved in a relationship. It may not work out for a variety of reasons, but I'll be damned if I'll let you put some arbitrary limit on it."
"There seems to be some confusion here," he said coldly. "You're accusing me of trying to specify the time and date when this thing between us ends, but I'm not the one who keeps talking about leaving Eclipse Bay in a few weeks."