Scandals Bride

Chapter 6

Two minutes later, Catriona stood in the shadows before Richard's door and stared at the oak panels. An overwhelming sense of fatality weighed heavily upon her; she stood on the threshold of far more than just a room. In opening the door and stepping inside, she would take an irrevocable step into a future only dimly perceived.

Never before had she faced such a choice-such a crucial, life-changing decision.

Shifting, she drew her dressing robe closer and inwardly chided her hesitant self. Of course stepping over the threshold would change her life-getting with child was definitely irrevocable, but quite clearly part of her future. That future lay beyond the door-why was she hesitating?

Because it wasn't just a child who lay beyond the door.

Exasperated, she straightened and reached for the doorknob, simultaneously opening her senses-to detect any hint of warning, any last-minute premonition that her intent was wrong. All she sensed was peace and silence, a deep, quiet steadiness throughout the house.

Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door. It swung noiselessly wide; beyond, the room lay silent and still, lit only by the glow of the fire still flickering in the hearth.

Stepping quietly inside, Catriona closed the door, easing the lock back so it slid home without a sound. Eyes already adjusted to the dark, she scanned the room. The huge four-poster bed stood shrouded in shadows, its head against the corridor wall. The sight held her eyes, her senses. Slowly, on silent slippered feet, she approached the bed.

She was five paces from it when she realized it was empty, the coverlet flat, undisturbed. Eyes flying wide, her breath caught in her throat, she whirled and scanned the room again.

And, from her new position, saw an arm, clad in a dark coat sleeve, wide white cuff golden in the firelight, hanging over the side of the wing chair facing the fire. The arm hung limply, long, lax fingers almost reaching the floor. Between their tips hung a crystal tumbler, its base balanced on the polished boards.

It was empty.

Drawing a calming breath, Catriona waited for her heart to slow, then, carefully silent, glided forward and rounded the chair.

At least one part of her potion had worked-he was asleep. Asprawl in the chair, his long legs stretched before him, his waistcoat undone, his cravat untied, he still managed to look elegant. Elegantly dissolute, elegantly dangerous. His chest, covered by his fine linen shirt, rose and fell regularly.

Catriona's gaze roamed then lifted to his face; she studied the lean planes gilded by the firelight-a bronze mask more relaxed than she'd yet seen it. With his eyes shut, it was easier to concentrate on his face, on what it showed. Strength was still there, glaringly apparent even in repose; the hint of not sadness, but a lack of happiness that hung about his well shaped mouth was not something she'd noticed before.

Inwardly frowning, she committed the sight to memory, then shook herself, and turned her mind to her task. Step one had been accomplished-he was asleep.

Fully dressed.

In the chair before the fire.

A good ten paces from the bed.

Catriona frowned in earnest. "What now?" she muttered under her breath. Hands rising to her hips, she studied him-and considered-and studied him some more. Her head was shaking even before she reached her conclusion with him asleep, she'd have to provide the lead in the upcoming proceedings, and for that, she definitely needed him on the bed. A chair might be possible, but her imagination boggled at the thought.

She glared at her sleeping victim. "I might have known you'd find some way to be difficult," she informed him in a hissed whisper. Bending, she retrieved the tumbler from his fingers before it fell, and turned to set it on a side table. The glass clicked on the polished table top.

Catriona swung back, her eyes flying to Richard's face. The black crescents of his lashes flickered. Then rose.

He looked directly at her.

She froze. Her mind seized; she stopped breathing.

His lips curved, kicking up at the ends first, then curving fully into a beguiling smile. "I might have known you'd turn up in my dreams"

Daring to breathe-just a little-Catriona slowly straightened and finished turning to stand before him. His eyes followed her, as his lids lifted farther, it was clear he was drugged. Ringed by deep blue, his pupils were huge, his gaze unfocused, not sharp and intent as it usually was.

His beguiling smile, both inviting and evocative, deepened. "Only fair, I suppose-the witch of my dreams haunting my dreams."

He was awake, but thought he was dreaming. Catriona blessed The Lady-this way, she could get him to the bed. Letting her features, which had blanked with shock, ease, she smiled back. "I've come to spend the night with you."

His smile changed to a wicked grin. "That's usually my line, but in the circumstances, I'll let you borrow it."

He seemed in no hurry to rise from the chair; smiling still, Catriona held out one hand.

Retrieving his right arm from over the side of the chair, he reached out and grasped her fingers; before she could urge him up, he drew her closer. His gaze swept her, far hotter than the fire at her back.

"You need to get rid of that robe."

Catriona hesitated for only a second; any argument might bring him to his senses. Drawing her fingers from his, still smiling, she raised her hands and lifted the loose robe from her shoulders then let it slide down her arms.

His dazed blue gaze followed it to the floor, then slowly, very slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, rose, caressing her legs, her thighs, her hips, her breasts-by the time he reached her face her cheeks were flaming.

A situation not helped by the wicked glint in his eyes or his openly lustful smile.

"Good enough to eat."

He made the pronouncement as if he was contemplating doing just that. His gaze slid from her face to rove hungrily again-and Catriona realized that with the fire behind her, her fine nightgown would be translucent.

"Ahh… come to the bed." She held out both hands.

His gaze still on her body, he lifted his hands, every movement slow and heavy, as if his limbs were leaden. His fingers closed about hers-then he lifted his blue gaze to her face, to her eyes, and she saw the wicked laughter flare.

"Not yet."

He pulled her into his lap.

Catriona went to shriek-and had to swallow the sound. She tensed to struggle-and had to suppress the impulse. Sharp sound, or a fight, could wake him. She wriggled in his lap and managed to face him. His thighs felt like solid oak beneath hers, his chest when she placed both palms against it, felt like warm rock. About her, his arms lay heavy and relaxed-they might as well have been steel bands holding her trapped.

They shifted; she felt his fingers slide up the back of her neck, splaying into her thick hair. He angled her head-his lips closed over hers.

Hungrily.

She was kissing him back, exchanging breath for breath, caress for fiery caress, before she had a chance to think. Heat rose, pooling within her, radiating from him. As her wits whirled and desire danced in the air, she didn't think she'd have much trouble carrying out her plan. Provided she could get him to the bed.

With an effort, she drew back from the kiss. He let her go, her head tipped back-and back-as he trailed fire down her throat. "The bed," she gasped. "We have to get to the bed."

"Later."

Catriona's temper kicked in. She opened her mouth-and lost her breath on a gasp as his hands closed possessively about her breasts, protected only by thin lawn. His thumbs circled, then finger and thumb closed tightly. She bit her lip hard, denying her instinctive shriek.

His hands left her breasts and she breathed again. Only to feel long fingers, hard palms, tracing her body, investigating every curve, subtly caressing yet with a deeper purpose-as if he was learning her.

Licking lips suddenly dry, she managed to gasp: "Richard-the bed."

His hands stopped; she sensed his attention-and held her breath. Would he wake? What had she said to focus him so?

Slow and sure, his hands resumed their meandering, imparting heat through her thin gown.

"That's the first time you've said my name." He breathed the words against her jaw, then feathered a kiss across her already swollen lips. "Say it again."

Catriona dragged in a breath too shallow to steady her head; she lifted a hand and brushed back the heavy lock of hair falling across his forehead. "Richard?"

He kissed his name from her lips, then drank deep while his hands continued to roam, tracing breasts, hips, the long muscles of her back, the backs of her thighs, the globes of her bottom. Slowly arousing her-and him. When next he lifted his head, she was quivering. "Richard-take me to your bed." She had no difficulty investing the plea with believable feeling.

His reply was a wicked chuckle-a sound that played havoc with her overstretched nerves.

"Not yet. What's the hurry?" He tipped her chin up and nibbled his way down her throat. "We've all night-and time stands still in dreams, anyway."

Not this one. Catriona struggled to harness her wits. "Just think how much more comfortable we'll be in your bed."

"I'm perfectly comfortable here-and so are you. And we're about to be even more comfortable yet."

Catriona righted her head, registering as she did that one large hand was presently cradling her bottom, fondling far too knowingly, leaving her flesh heated, fevered. She looked down-and saw long fingers, dark against the white of her nightgown, artfully slipping the tiny buttons free.

Her eyes flew wide; she sucked in a desperate breath-and lost it in a shuddering, achingly desperate sigh as his hand flicked back the open bodice and his fingers brushed the peak of her swollen breast.

His artful fingers returned, caressing, tracing, teasing, then possessing.

She let her lids tall, felt her bones melt, felt her will evaporate like mist before the sun. But… "The bed," she whispered.

"Later," he insisted. Cool air caressed her heated breasts as he pressed back her gown and bared them fully. One hand closed firmly, gently kneading. "This is my dream. I intend to enjoy it-and you-to the full."

Catriona bit back a groan. Cracking open her lids, she studied his face, lit by the fire's glow. Saw the sleepy smile of lustful anticipation on his lips, felt the heat of desire in his gaze, fixed on her breast, on the throbbing, aching nipple his wicked fingers teased and taunted.

He sensed her gaze, and glanced at her-then smiled, oddly confiding, and returned his attention to her breast. "There are ladies in London who imagine they're cold." His smile deepened-for an instant distinctly predatory. "Some like to believe their flesh is chilled, that their passion is locked in ice." His knowing fingers played over her aching flesh-never forceful, always teasing. His lips twisted, wryly triumphant. "I've melted quite a few of them. There's a knack to it."

As if to demonstrate, he shifted her in his arms, exposing her other breast, simultaneously letting her feel how intimate was his hold on her bottom.

"You, however, are going to be no trouble-you're like that mountain in whose shadow you were born."

Dazed, Catriona blinked. "Merrick?"

"Hmm." He turned his head and looked into her eyes. "Snow and ice on the peak…" Looking down, he lifted his hand from her bare breast and trailed his fingers down, over the curve of her stomach, into the hollow at the apex of her thighs. "But fires burn beneath."

Catriona sucked in a breath as his fingers lightly traced the line between her thighs. She couldn't suppress the impulse to squirm, and felt his fingers firm about her bottom. He held her still and continued to play, tracing the long lines of her legs through her fine gown. His touch was tantalizing, she was breathing rapidly-her heart thudding in her throat-when he reached down and caught the gown's hem.

He lifted it slowly, then slid his hand beneath, the gown rose on the back of his hand as he traced, caressed, assessed her ankle, calf, knee, and thigh. He pushed the gown up over her hip, then, with complete and utter absorption, fell to caressing the expanse of thigh thus exposed. Beneath his fingers, a thousand fires sprang up, heating her, dewing her skin.

Caught in his play, as absorbed as he, Catriona knew he was right. She didn't need him to shift her again, so he could study the copper-bright curls at the junction of her thighs, didn't need to feel his fingers stroke them, then part them, then slide past, into her softness.

Didn't need him to look at her with unfocused eyes lit by blue flame and say: "You're just like that mountain-you're a volcano inside." He looked down again. "A dormant one perhaps." Very gently, he stroked the soft flesh between her thighs, which had parted of their own accord. "I'm going to stir you to life. Until passion pours like lava through your veins. Until you're hot and aching and wet. Until you're so slick and needy, you spread your lovely thighs wide and let me enter you. Fill you. Until I bathe in your heat."

Catriona closed her eyes and felt her body surrender-felt the slickness he drew forth. Felt his fingers slide and glide, over and between the throbbing folds. Then his lips brushed hers. On a gasp, she kissed him back sliding her hands from where they'd lain passive against his chest, around and about, holding him to her.

The kiss reached deep, then he drew back and chuckled-a wickedly devilish sound. "You're not like those ladies in London at all. The most intriguing thing about you is that you know you've fire in your soul."

Eyes closed, her body so heated she felt liquid, Catriona felt him open her, felt him press gently, then slowly, deliberately, slide one long finger into her.

She felt the invasion keenly, felt it in her soul.

Welcomed it in her heart.

He shifted within her, gently stroking; the sudden tension that gripped her eased. She softened about him, about his probing finger, relaxing against him, sinking into his embrace.

"You're not a woman of ice and snow."

She heard his words, and felt them, a breath across her temple, a deep reverberation in his chest. She tightened her hold on him, spreading her hands across his back, hanging on for dear life as if he was a rock anchoring her against the waves of heat beating through her.

Waves he incited with every smooth slick stroke, every subtle twist of his finger, every probing caress.

"You're heat-pure heat. Elemental heat. The heat of the earth, the purest fire."

He was right-she was burning now with a flame hotter than the blue of his eyes. She'd always known this was how it would be-that passion for her would be hot and heated, steamy and searing. How she'd known, she didn't know, but the knowledge had always been there. And it had been so hard to hold the fire in, to quench it, tame it, hide it through all the years she'd waited.

Waited for this.

She was long past asking him to stop and adjourn to the bed. That would necessitate him taking his hands from her, and she couldn't bear that. His hands were pure magic, wicked fingers made to tease her, to light her fires.

And there was a tidal wave of flame bearing down on her.

She cracked open her lids just enough to find his head-to drag his lips to hers. She kissed him deeply, urgently, wantonly. Let her thighs part farther, urged him to reach deeper.

Instead, he drew back. And chuckled wickedly again. "Oh, no. Not yet, sweet witch." He withdrew his hand from between her thighs.

Breasts heaving, Catriona lay back in his arms and stared at him. "What do you mean?" she finally managed to gasp. "Not yet?"

He grinned. "This is my dream, remember. You have to wait until you're frantic."

Lips parted, she stared at him. "I am frantic."

The look he bent on her was patronizingly dismissive. "Not nearly frantic enough."

With that, he lifted her and set her on her feet between his thighs. Her legs quaked; his hands steadied her. Her gown slithered down to cover her legs, the bodice gaped. Catriona yanked the two halves together and ignored the teasing quirk of his brow.

Once she'd steadied, he rose-and immediately tottered; she had to steady him.

His frown was only fleeting; another chuckle banished it. "I must have had more of that whiskey than I'd thought."

All but collapsing under his weight, Catriona, suddenly suspicious, looked up into his face. His eyes met hers, still dark as the night, his gaze still vague and unfocused, his lips were still set in that boyishly open smile.

He was still… dreaming.

Shifting her feet so she could better support his weight as he slumped, unrestrainedly heavy, against her, Catriona muttered a curse and struggled to ease him around the chair.

"The bed," she stated.

"Oh, indeed," he averred. "It's definitely time for the bed."

His devilish chuckle ensued; she shut her ears against it. If she hadn't known she'd drugged him, she would have thought him drunk-he could barely set one foot before the other. Certainly not in a straight line.

"Keep looking at the bed," she instructed as they lurched heavily toward the door. "Look-it's over there." Exerting all her strength, she managed to turn him and get them back on course.

"Never had such trouble in my life," he said, not sounding terribly concerned. "Usually know precisely where the bed is." After two more heavy steps, he added: "Must be that whiskey. Hope I'm not too drunk to accommodate you."

Gritting her teeth with the effort of holding him steady, Catriona didn't reassure him. And then wished she had.

"Never mind," he murmured, and threw her a lecherous leer. "If I am too debilitated, I'll just tease you until the effect wears off."

Catriona closed her eyes fleetingly and stifled a groan. What had she done? She'd willingly taken the principal role in the dreams of a rake. She must have been mad.

But it was too late to draw back. Far too late. Aside from anything else, no matter how frantic she had to get, she wanted to reach the end of the hot, steamy, heated road he'd started her upon.

She definitely wanted to be hot and needy, and to feel him enter her.

Three more lurching steps and they reached the side of the bed-the opposite side to the one they'd started out for. Catriona was simply relieved. "There!"

Swinging him around so his back was to the bed, she placed both palms against his chest and shoved. He obligingly toppled back across the bed-but took her with him.

Landing half-across him, Catriona couldn't manage even a squeak. She immediately wriggled, fighting free of his arms but not of his hands-they were everywhere. She tried to ignore them. "We have to get you undressed." At least undressed enough.

Predictably, he chuckled. "Be my guest." Flinging both arms wide, he lay back And grinned.

Catriona narrowed her eyes at him and tugged his cravat free. She flung it over the end of the bed, then, kneeling beside him, grabbed the lapel of his coat. No matter how she tugged, she couldn't get it even close to his shoulder. Exasperated she sat back, and noticed that his chest was quaking, even though his expression remained guileless.

She glared at him. "If you don't help me undress you, I'll leave."

Laughing softly, he rolled onto one shoulder, then sat up. "It's impossible to get a well-cut coat off me without my help."

Catriona humphed. She watched as he shrugged the coat off and sent it to join his cravat. Impelled by she knew not what, she reached out and ran her hands over his chest, pressing aside his waistcoat to explore the wide expanse. Beneath her questing hands, muscles shifted, rippled, then set. He caught her wrists and yanked her to him, then bent his head and kissed her.

She sank into his embrace, felt the heat surround her, rise within her, lick tantalizingly up her spine as he gathered her closer. With a mind of their own, her fingers quickly undid the buttons of his shirt, then slid inside, spreading wide over warm tight skin, over ridged muscles, hard bands of hair-dusted flesh.

He broke from the kiss with a soft curse. From beneath her lashes, she saw him fight free of both waistcoat and shirt and fling them aside. She also saw one hand drop to his waistband, undoing the buttons there. Closing her eyes quickly, she reached for him, relieved when he captured her lips with his and kissed her witless.

He shifted, coming up on his knees and guiding her back, down onto the bed. She sank back obediently, eyes closed, silently willing him to be quick.

His weight shifted on the bed; she heard the dull thwacks as his shoes, then his trousers hit the floor. She kept her eyes tight shut-she definitely wasn't going to look. Then she felt him beside her; he leaned over her, and his lips covered hers.

He kissed her deeply, commandingly-more intimately than before. He took her mouth as if she'd offered herself; in a way, she supposed she had. The claiming was complete, unrestrained-as if even asleep he knew she was his. His for the taking.

And he took.

Somewhere along the line, she opened her senses, let them reach and tell her what her eyes could not. She set her hands exploring, over the smooth acres of his chest, tight and hard under her hands and roughened by crinkly hair, then over the rounded curves of his shoulders. Flexing her fingers into the steel of his upper arms, she lifted against him, driven by his kiss-he was leaning far over her, his body, hot and hard, a mere inch from hers.

He was lying beside her, his hip against hers, his body radiating heat and a sensuality that wrapped about her, about them, and shielded them from the world.

And still he kissed her, reaching deep, asking for more and taking it. Emboldened, she met his demands-and let her hands stray lower.

To his hip. Fingers reaching, she traced the wide bone, sensed the slightly different texture of his skin. And sensed the sudden hiatus in their kiss-the abrupt refocusing of his senses.

Deliberately, she let her hand fall, fingers languidly trailing over his lower stomach.

His breath hitched-he pulled back from the kiss.

Just as she found him.

Eyes still closed, she touched tentatively, surprised to find such delicate skin. And felt him quiver, then tense. Intrigued, she slowly reached farther, and wrapped her fingers around the heavy length. Every muscle he possessed locked.

The one in her hands throbbed.

Lips curving in a wicked smile, she stroked, and caressed, closed her hands and weighed, then explored farther still.

He broke and caught her hands. "Sweet witch, you're killing me."

The words sounded as if they'd been said through clenched teeth; she gave a wicked chuckle of her own.

Only to have him kiss her voraciously, ravenously, until her wits whirled and she lost touch with reality. Then he drew back.

"Now it's my turn."

He swung over her, kneeling, his knees on either side of hers. Catching the hem of her nightgown, he raised it.

Eyes closed, expectation hammering in her veins, Catriona lay still and waited.

He pulled her gown up to her waist-then straight up to her shoulders, drawing her arms up, clearly intending to wrestle it from her.

Catriona gasped and came alive. Grabbing folds of the gown, she tried to wrestle it back down. He didn't need her naked to-

He chuckled, the sound even more evocative with her head wrapped in her gown, her body fully exposed. To the night, to him.

"Actually," he drawled, "that's an even better idea."

The gown shifted, twisted; Catriona waited half a second, then tried to move her arms, only to find them stuck. Her head, arms and shoulders were wrapped, trapped, in her gown.

"Hmm. Excellent."

The purring drawl had her biting her lip, had her tensing with expectation. An expectation fully borne out when she felt him lower his naked body upon hers. He shifted, sliding lower, his legs outside hers.

"Positively succulent."

She felt his breath against the soft skin of her breasts and wondered what he meant.

The next instant, she arched wildly and nearly screamed as his mouth closed hotly about one nipple. He pressed open-mouthed kisses over her quivering flesh, then lovingly licked each peak to a tight bud-before torturing it with his tongue.

Catriona fought wildly-just to catch her breath. When she finally thought she'd become used to the new sensations, he suckled one nipple fiercely-she screamed and melted anew.

Luckily, the folds of her gown got into her mouth and muffled her shriek. As sanity returned, she realized his attentions hadn't faltered-she hadn't jarred him fully awake. When he suckled her other breast, she was prepared for the lightning bolt-the shocking strike of pure sensation. Her body arched, but she contained her scream.

Panting, gasping, her body afire, she waited, desperately trying to imagine what he would do next.

His lips drifted lower, leaving trails of fire down her body, over her waist. He pressed hot kisses to her stomach; she tensed, then relaxed as the trails continued down her thighs, first one, then the other.

Then he shifted, moving back and away. Senses searching, Catriona placed him kneeling astride her calves. Then she felt his hands close about her knees and hit them, parting her thighs.

After the slightest hesitation, she let him open her; catching her breath, she waited for him to cover her.

Instead, she felt a feathery touch, then feathery kisses dotting along her inner thigh. First one, then the other.

As what he might intend broke on her mind, she gasped and tried to clamp her thighs shut, only to find his broad shoulders between.

He chuckled wickedly.

And pressed a long, hot kiss to her damp curls.

"Not yet, sweet witch."

Then he kissed her.

And licked her. And sucked so gently she thought she would die.

Mindless, she threshed, trying to fight her way free of her nightgown; defeated, she tried to sit up-only to feel the heavy weight of his forearm across her waist press her down. Only to feel his other hand slide beneath her bottom and tilt her up. So he could savor her softness more thoroughly.

And savor her he did. Long and slow, languid and devastating, his lips and tongue wove their magic, until fires burned under every inch of her skin, until her bones had melted and her nerves shrivelled and her wits had reduced to ashes. Until she was panting, almost crying in her need.

She was hot, she was needy-she was ready.

She was frantic.

Then he pulled back.

Richard!

Her cry was weak-a demand and a plea.

He shifted back onto his knees with a satisfied groan; the next instant, he smoothed aside the folds of her gown, searching for her hands. Their fingers touched, and locked; he drew her up so she was sitting.

Catriona swung her legs under her so she was kneeling, too-but before she could push her gown down, he whisked it off over her head. Aghast, she watched it float over the end of the bed.

She looked at her tormentor.

Which was a big mistake.

Fully dressed, he was intimidating. Naked, he was mesmerizing. Fascinatingly, mind numbingly male-a potent, powerful presence just waiting to claim her.

In all that had led to this moment, she had steadfastly refused to let her mind form any picture-to imagine how he would look naked, without the civilized cloak he wore when he stalked the world. Dragging in a tight breath, she wondered if imagining might have been better-might have better prepared her to face this.

To her mind, to all her senses, he was magnificent, his long, lean frame covered with taut muscle. The sight of him stirred her powerfully, unfurled some primitive emotion in her.

She gulped, and forced her gaze upward, relieved to see his boyish grin still in place.

"That's better."

While her eyes had been roaming, so had his, with very evident results. He reached for her, she tried to hold back but her knees slid across the sheets. To her surprise, he didn't gather her into his arms, but, sinking back on his ankles, stopped her with her knees against his and eased her back so she was sitting as he was, on her ankles, knees wide.

He grinned, his expression the very essence of male sexual expectation. "Next installment."

Her wits long gone, her senses reeling, she couldn't even summon a frown. "Installment?"

His hands closed over her breasts, confident and firm. His thumbs rubbed her tightly budded nipples, her body came instantly alive. Her lids fell of their own accord as she arched lightly, pressing her breasts into his palms. "What do you mean?"

"I want to see how high you can go-how high I can take you before you shatter."

She struggled to frown, struggled to make sense of his words, and couldn't. Not with his hands on her breasts, then roaming her body, her sides, her thighs, quiveringly tight.

Then he stroked her soft curls, then slid long fingers past to stroke her there, where she was hot and molten. Two fingers pressed in and filled her, then retreated; he circled her entrance, then pressed-and she gasped. His fingers slid away, and played, then returned to the same excruciatingly sensitive spot, and pressed again.

White light flared behind her lids. And suddenly, Catriona understood. She grabbed his wrist-and felt, beneath her fingers, the seductive shift of tendon and muscle as he probed her-slowly, deliberately, evocatively.

She snapped open her eyes and looked at his face. Harsh-edged with passion, the planes were set. Fully aroused, his gaze was locked on where his hand worked between her thighs.

She couldn't believe her senses. "You're teasing me? Like this?"

He looked up and met her gaze. His was still clouded, his eyes like black pools; if anything, the hold of the drugs was deepening. Then he smiled-the same boyish smile. "I've been itching to sink into you since first I set eyes on you-I've been aroused virtually every minute I've spent in your sight. Being around you, especially every time you put your pert nose in the air, has been torture I thought I'd give you a dose of your own magic before I ease my pain." His smile grew soft, distinctly dreamy. "And as for this"- he pressed again; Catriona gasped and swayed-"I plan on teasing you a lot more yet."

"A lot more?" Aghast, she stared at him and tried to think of what he hadn't yet done.

His grin widened. "When I'm inside you. It'll be long and slow-the most perfect torture for a sexy witch."

Catriona simply stared-what had she done? What had she set in train? He was dreaming. He really was dreaming-reality fluidly merging with fantasy. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't realize he was frightening her, pushing her too far. Making her feel far too much. He didn't know she was real.

She was going to lose her mind it he didn't fill her soon. Simply lay her on her back and take her. Quickly. She could feel the passion mounting, bubbling through her veins, exactly as he had predicted. Her inner fires were raging, she was molten with liquid heat. And she needed to release it.

She wanted him-now, immediately, ten minutes ago. It was her own need that was scaring her, not his.

But he didn't know that-and she couldn't explain. She didn't want to beg. Unexpected panic flared within her.

It must have shown in her face, for he frowned. His fingers slowed, and he cocked his head slightly, studying her. He blinked once, twice-confusion was writ plain in his face. "What is it?"

Catriona opened her lips-but no words came out. What should she say? What should she admit to? He was clearly dazed, increasingly hazy-he was operating on instinct. What sort of instinct did a rake have?

Her gaze locked with his, she moistened her lips, suddenly aware of the huge risk she d taken. Algaria had tried to warn her, but she hadn't understood. She wasn't in control of this situation-and neither was he.

Which meant she d thrown herself on the mercy of a rake's true soul, his real, inner self, his true character-and she didn't know what that was.

She was about to find out.

Acting on instinct, she held out her arms to him. "I want you now."

She didn't try to hide the genuineness of her need-her vulnerability. Her only guarantee that she would be safe in so doing was The Lady's insistence that he was the one. Placing her trust in The Lady's judgment, with her arms, with her eyes, she reached for him. "Please."

She didn't see him move, only felt his arms close about her as he gathered her close.

"Sshhh." He held her against him, hot skin to hot skin, and pressed his face into her hair. "I didn't mean to frighten you." His hands stroked her back, soothingly, comfortingly. Cupping her bottom lightly, he shifted against her, his erection riding against her belly. "Put it down to too much imagining. I've been fantasizing for so long about you-how you'd feel"-he slid his hands over her back and hips-"how you'd taste." With his shoulder, he nudged her head up and kissed her-gently, lingeringly-the hunger in him held back, the tangy taste of her still there on his lips and tongue.

Then he raised his head and looked into her face. "I want you in the worst possible way"-he gunned ruefully, boyishness overlaid by passion-"in every way known to man. I want to see you flower for me-spread your legs for me and hold out your arms for me. I want to be inside you more than I want to breathe-I want to feel you rising beneath me as I ride you. And I want to wake and find you beside me-I want to hold you forever." He pressed a kiss to her lips. "I want to care for you forever." Lifting his head, he looked into her eyes. "I want to be your lover in all ways-in every sense of the word, and the deed."

Locked in his dark, cloudy gaze, Catriona could only quiver. He'd seduced her all over again. "Come."

It was she who took his hand, she who lay down upon the bed, spread her thighs wide and held out her arms to him.

And he came to her-the invincible warrior without a cause-devoid, because of her scheming, of his mask, the shield he held up to the world. In that instant, when he'd looked into her eyes and made his declaration, he hadn't been capable of lying. He wanted to love her-and to have her love him. Not just physically but in all ways. He wanted her as part of his life-and wanted to be part of hers. She'd needed no higher powers to read the truth-it had been there, transparent in his unshielded eyes.

It was there, written on his soul-and in that moment she'd been able to read the words. The truth. The reality of what he yearned for.

So she welcomed him to her, wrapping her arms about him as he covered her. Nudging her thighs wider, he settled between and fitted himself to her slick sheath. Turning his head, he took one pebbled nipple into his mouth and suckled fiercely; she arched, and he pressed inside her, stretching her.

She tensed and tried to force her muscles to ease. He reached down, between their bodies, and caressed the nubbin he'd earlier teased.

Sensation streaked-jagged lightning striking deep. It broke the banks and set the floodtide raging, molten passion, lava hot, surging, racing through her. And she was caught in the tide, swept up and whirled away, into the pure heat of the moment. She felt him retreat, then powerfully surge, and fill her.

Felt him ride deep to her core.

She melted about him and welcomed him in-into her body, into her heart. She knew it was dangerous-she saw the gaping hole yawning at her feet, but the desire that drove him, the raw need that now filled him, driving him into her again and again-as surely as it had caught him, it caught her. She jumped into the hole without a second thought.

And gave herself to him, opened her body and her senses, and let him fill both. Exquisitely vulnerable, spread beneath his hard strength, held immobile by it, impaled by it, she kissed him wildly, and urged him on.

But not even she could warp his true character; despite the force of the energy flowing so strongly between them, he harnessed it and set himself to please her Pleasure her.

In a wild and wonderful way.

His surging rhythm became hers, became her very heartbeat. He used his body to love her-she learned to use hers to love him back. He was no gentle teacher, yet he forced nothing but pleasure on her. She raised her knees and gripped his hips, and gave herself up to his loving.

To the joy, the heat, and the escalating pleasure. To the moment that came upon her unawares, and stole her mind, her senses, her very being from her.

And left her floating in a void of delight, anchored only by his heartbeat.

She only just managed to smother her scream; she wasn't even sure she succeeded. She wasn't even sure that she cared.

Richard felt her melt beneath him, felt the last of her contractions fade, sensed her final surrender. With a gasp and a groan, he thrust deep and shut his eyes, blocking out the sight of her, the blazing mane of her hair a frame for her ecstasy, for the expression of pure peace that filled her face.

Racking shudders swamped him; he felt her grip him tight.

He gasped again and surrendered, and followed her into the void.

Later, much later, he lifted from her and drew her into his arms. She turned and snuggled closer, warming him inside and out. He felt his lips lift-he couldn't understand why he felt so pleased. Why he felt so at ease. So complete.

Then he remembered.

But it was just a dream.

With a soft sigh, he closed his eyes and wished dreams could last forever.