Taking him.
Lids heavy, breath coming in panting gasps, barely able to see, he was beyond all control, but so was she. This might have been unwise, but he didn’t care-and, thank God, neither did she. If he’d had any doubts, the half-moons her nails were scoring in his skin had banished them.
She was with him, urging him on even as he reached for her knees, and drew first one, then the other, to his hips, opening her to even deeper penetration. She only gasped, clung, rocked beneath him ever more evocatively, wordlessly pleading for release.
The roar in his blood grew, drowning out all but the need to have her climax. To see her surrender, to take her to the very peak of desperate sexual need, then tip her over into sexual bliss.
To feel her beneath him as he did, to sense that moment of absolute surrender.
To see her face, her expression, in the instant ecstasy took her.
He thrust deeper, faster, harder, more powerfully as he felt her rise.
Her fingers bit into his arms as she arched. She gasped into his mouth as her nerves drew that very last fraction tauter.
Then she shattered.
She came apart beneath him on a strangled cry, a sound that satisfied one of his needs. He’d expected to hold back, to take more of her, yet her convulsing sheath clamped tight, and she took him with her, pulled him over the precipice’s edge and on.
Release swept him; he couldn’t deny it. His roar muffled in the curve of her throat, he thrust deep and let go.
And joined her.
Felt her arms close around him and tug him down, wrap about him and hold him close as oblivion rolled in, over, and enveloped them.
For long moments, the heat held them, blessed and golden, a gentle sea.
Slowly, inexorably, satiation swept in, infusing them as they spiraled down, and drifted back to earth.
To the unexpected, unanticipated intimacy of each other’s naked arms.
December 14
Grillon’s Hotel
Deliah woke to a gray morning and the rattling of coals in the grate. Heart leaping, she glanced at the bed beside her-only to discover it empty.
The bed was a four-poster, and at some point in the night Del must have drawn the curtains along one side and across the end; she could see the window and the leaden sky, but the hotel maid at the hearth couldn’t see her.
Or the rumpled, crumpled disaster of the bed.
Bess would be up shortly and undoubtedly would notice, but Deliah had no intention of explaining. Indeed, thinking back, she wasn’t sure she could.
How did one rationalize something so far beyond reason?
She spent two minutes trying, then gave up.
Aside from all else, she could not bring herself to regret a single moment of the night, something Bess would detect, and that would only lead to more questions. Difficult, prickly questions given Bess knew her history with gentlemen and was every bit as protective as Del wished to be.
Would he regret-was he already regretting-the interlude, their unanticipated explosion of mutual madness? Of shared insanity.
She knew he hadn’t intended it any more than she had, but they’d clashed, kissed fierily, and that had been that.
The firestorm of passion sparked by that kiss had swept over them and cindered all caution, and reduced all inhibitions to insubstantial ash.
The result…had been glorious.
Lying in the enfolding warmth, she replayed each scintillating moment, at least those she could recall.
Quite enough to heat her cheeks, to have her shifting beneath the sheet.
Then she remembered what had happened later, when he’d woken her in the depths of the night.
He certainly hadn’t behaved like a man burdened with regrets.
If he had been, he wouldn’t have…done it all again.
Only more slowly, and with much greater attention to detail.
Her body thrummed just from the memory.
The maid had left; the fire was crackling. She heard the door open, and Bess’s quick, light steps. Tossing back the covers, she froze, then set her chin, wrapped the loose sheet about her naked self, and swung her legs out of the bed.
“Good morning, Bess.” Sheet trailing after her, she walked out from around the bed. “Have you seen my robe?”
Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.
Bess stared at her, mouth open, for one long moment, then simply said, “Oh, my God.”
Washed, brushed and wearing one of the walking gowns that had been delivered from Madamae Latour’s salon, Deliah strolled into the sitting room of the suite in an entirely amiable mood.
Over the matter of the gowns she’d decided not to cut off her nose to spite her face. She’d accept them for now, but later she would insist on paying Del in full. In money.
But she needed gowns to wear now. Not anticipating a prolonged halt on their journey north, she had a few carriage gowns, and not much else. She’d charged Bess with shopping for chemises, stockings and similar necessities while she was out tempting the Black Cobra with Del.
He was in the sitting room, seated at the table breaking his fast with Tony and Gervase. At sight of her, all three started to get to their feet. She waved them back. “No-stay where you are.”
While the others subsided, with a careful look, Del pulled out the empty chair between his and Tony’s. With an airy nod and a light smile, she thanked him and sat.
She looked at Tony as Del resumed his seat. “So,” she asked, reaching for the teapot, “did anything come of your watch at the tavern?”
If Del could be a man of the world and evince no telltale sign of the hours they’d spent rolling naked in her bed, then she could do the same.
From the corner of his eye, Del watched her sip tea and nibble a slice of toast and marmalade as Tony and Gervase recounted their disappointingly uneventful evening.
“The Cobra or his minions must have been watching from outside the inn, waiting to see if their hirelings brought a woman.” Gervase shook his head. “We thought of hunting to see if we could spot them, but in that neighborhood there are simply too many seedy characters.”
“And they all look suspicious,” Tony said.
Grimacing in commiseration, Deliah set down her empty cup. “So what are our plans for today?”
They discussed their options for drawing the cultists out.
Del had already told Gervase and Tony of the excitement following his and Deliah’s attendance at the recital. They’d been troubled, and not a little disgusted to have missed the action. They’d resolved they wouldn’t again leave Deliah and him unwatched while out of the hotel. However…
“We need to make it easier, more attractive for them to approach-to come out of hiding and make some move.” Gervase looked at Del and Deliah. “The museum’s a warren-it might appeal to them.”
They all agreed that the museum and its many rooms was worth a try.
Del stirred and shot a glance at Deliah. Tried to keep all expression from his face. “It’s too early yet to go to the museum.” He switched his gaze to Tony and Gervase. “I think I’ll take a stroll to Guards’ Headquarters. Laying more false trails can’t hurt.”
“That,” Deliah said, laying aside her napkin, her gaze on Tony and Gervase, “sounds eminently sensible. You two can follow and keep watch. I’ll wait here until you get back, then we can go to Montague House.”
Tony and Gervase agreed readily.
Del inclined his head.
And told himself he had no grounds on which to feel sensitive, let alone irritated, by his recent bedmate’s unaffected manner, by the lack of any hint of susceptibility, or consciousness in her attitude to him.
She was behaving exactly as he should want her to behave. Neither Tony nor Gervase had detected any change in the air between him and her.
Because there wasn’t any. At least, none to be detected. Even by him.
Despite all, he’d expected something-a tremble in her fingers, an almost imperceptible change in her breathing-some indication of her heightened awareness of him.