Page 96 of The Lady Has a Past

“Oh.”

The most fascinating man she had ever met was offering her an affair—aconvenientaffair.

“Does that arrangement work for you?” Simon asked.

“Yes.” She took the plunge. “Yes, that will work for me.”

“Good. We have an understanding, then.”

He took her brandy glass, set it on the end table, and flattened his other hand on the wall behind her, effectively trapping her.

He leaned in close and kissed her.

She stopped trying to analyze the wordconvenientand put her arms around his neck.

The kiss was different. It wasn’t the scorching embrace that had swept her away last night. This kiss was slower, deeper; somehow more intimate. Last night had been a wild storm of heat and energy. Tonight they were testing the new boundaries that defined their relationship.

Simon’s hands settled around her waist and then moved to cradle her rear. He lifted her up against him. She was intensely aware of his heavily aroused body. It was gloriously exciting to know that she had such an effect on him. He wanted her and she wanted him. They were both free to explore the depths of their desire for each other.

The future would take care of itself.

Chapter 44

Simon sensed the precise instant when Lyra threw herself into the kiss. The woman never did anything in a halfhearted or hesitant manner. He had been hard a moment ago but now he was beyond aroused. He craved her as he had never craved any other woman. The need was not just sexual. It was far more powerful. He had no words. He only knew that he wanted her in his life, no matter the cost.

From the outset he had been aware that she had the power to upend his carefully controlled and lonely world. He had been right. Nothing would ever be the same now that he had known her. The trick was to hang on to her.

He set her back on her feet and undid the sash of the dressing gown. The silk wings fell open, leaving her in a peach-colored satin nightgown. The luminous fabric slipped gracefully over her breasts and hips. He eased the dressing gown off her shoulders and let it fall to the carpet, a pool of floral silk.

Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt. He let her push it off.When it was gone he took the time to hoist his undershirt over his head and toss it aside.

He took her hand and drew her into the shadowed bedroom.

The lovemaking was different tonight. He was not sure why. The passion was soul-stirring and, ultimately, explosive. But there was another element involved this time. It was as if they were both participating in a sacred ceremony, forging a bond that was not meant to be severed.

When it was over and they lay spent and damp and satisfied in each other’s arms he tried and failed to find the words. As usual, Lyra did not experience the same problem.

“That was weird,” she mumbled into the pillow.

So much for enjoying the postcoital glow.

He sat up and rolled her onto her side so that she had to face him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She smiled a dreamy smile and threaded her fingers through his hair. “It just felt different, that’s all.”

“Different good or different not good?” he asked, deeply wary now.

“It felt like a real wedding night.”

He stared at her, floored. “How would you know what a real wedding night is supposed to feel like?”

“Turns out you know it when you see it.”

“But we’re not married,” he pointed out.

“No.” She yawned and cuddled against him. “That may turn out to be a problem.”

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