The Wedding(12)

By: Emma Darcy


“Don’t be inflexible, Stockton. It’s ruined more people than I care to name,” Blaize said persuasively. “What we have here is an intensely desirable situation. And to be perfectly frank, there is a great deal of tension between us. Much more tension than can be summarily dismissed. Don’t you agree?”

Desirable, desirable... The word beat around Tessa’s brain, heightening the temptation. Where had all her fine standards of morality got her? Out in the cold while a big-boobed floozy took over her bed. Well, she needn’t be cold tonight! Blaize Callagan wanted her. And, yes... she wanted to know what he was like as a lover, however brief the encounter.

“Agreed,” she said, in a rush of heady recklessness.

“No regrets?” he asked.

If she had any regrets afterwards... well, she would live with them. At least they would make better memories than seeing Grant and that creature in her bed.

“No regrets,” she said.

She felt the rise of his chest at his sharp intake of breath. His eyes were instantly hooded, but not before Tessa saw the flaring glitter of triumph in them. He had got his way, she thought, with ruthless disregard for anything but his own desire. Yet she didn’t resent it. He had at least asked her, although he had certainly loaded the dice before rolling out that little nicety.

Perhaps it w s that quality in him that made him so provocative, so exciting. The will to dare, to take the opportunity, to win. And the arrogance of the mind behind that will.

But she also had a will, and Tessa knew inside herself that she was not his conquest. She had made a choice, for better or for worse. And she did not intend to be a passive victim to his will.

She moved her hands, sliding them under his opened shirt. If she was going to do it, she might as well fulfil every fantasy she had ever had. No point in holding back.

He went completely still, perhaps surprised by her initiative, perhaps savouring her touch on his flesh. He was, Tessa thought, a very sensual man. He waited as she pulled his shirt apart, pushed it off his shoulders, but he didn’t move his hold on her to let her drag it off his arms.

He was beautifully made, sleek and powerful, the muscles of his chest firmly delineated, his shoulders broad and strong, his upper arms... Tessa ran her fingernails down them, testing the tensile strength underneath his gleaming skin.

She heard his breath hiss through his teeth and looked at him through her thick lashes, the gleaming gold of her eyes smoky with a savage desire of her own. “Not all your own way, sir,” she taunted softly.

He smiled, and it was the smile of a predator about to take up the hunt. He lifted his hand from her breast, slid it under her hair, caressed the nape of her neck, tilted her head back, then, holding her firmly, brought his lips down on hers.

He kissed her hungrily, with quick shifting pressures, sensuality mixed with an aggression that barely allowed her to catch breath. She reached up to wind her arms around his neck. He curled his hand under her bottom and hoisted her into more intimate contact with his aroused state, scraping the softness of her breasts up his chest, crushing her against him as he turned and headed for the closest bedroom.

Tessa’s shoes slipped off her dangling feet. He kicked them aside. He laughed a deep throaty laugh as he stood her on the bed and swiftly disposed of her blouse and bra. “I knew you were beautiful,” he said, and with his mouth he paid devastating homage to both her breasts as his hands worked to strip off her skirt.

It felt so good, so exultantly good that he didn’t want her to have huge melons like that woman Grant had put in her bed. She moved herself with a fierce abandonment against his gloriously ravaging mouth, inviting, enticing, withdrawing, plunging forward, digging her fingers into his hair, making him work, shifting from one taut mound of pulsing flesh to the other, feeding a deep savage satisfaction that had very little to do with Blaize Callagan... except he was the perfect person to give her what she wanted.

Whether he sensed this or not, she didn’t know. Suddenly he wrenched his head out of her grasp and lowered her down on the pillows. He pulled the rest of her clothes off her legs with swift efficiency but no delicacy at all. Tessa didn’t care about that. She didn’t care about anything except what might be coming next.

He was breathing hard, harder than she was. And there was a gleam of raw savagery about his face as he tore off his shirt and threw down his trousers. He was every bit as magnificent as she had imagined he would be. He sat beside her to remove his shoes and socks, and she ran her fingernails down his taut thigh. She had actually fancied doing that in the limousine this morning.