Page 62 of The Avenging Angel and the Spy
She remained quite still, making no self-conscious effort to cover herself, permitting Sinclair to devour her with his eyes. For perhaps the first time in her life, she experienced a genuine gratitude for the perfections of her form, grateful because of Sinclair’s response.
He sank back down beside her and hungrily pulled her into his arms with a kiss that was long and deep. The fire that blazed upon the hearth behind them seemed as nothing beside the flames Sinclair stirred inside her.
He sought her lips again and again, the softness of her hips and breast molding to the hard length of him. His fingers whispered over her flesh, exploring her most intimate curves, rousing her wherever he touched.
Who would have thought, she marveled, that he could be so tender—Sinclair Carrington, that arrogant rogue, that teasing rakehell.
Jean-Claude had ever been a gentle lover, approaching her like a pilgrim to a holy shrine. Belle had once teasingly accused him of making love to her as if she were the Virgin Mary. He had been deeply shocked by her blasphemy.
But for all his gentleness, there remained no doubt that Sinclair came to her as a man to a woman. When he lowered his mouth to her breast, teasing the pink crest with the roughness of his tongue, she was pierced with longing so fierce, she nearly wept. How she did need this man’s loving, perhaps too much.
Yet for all his expertise, Sinclair felt more awkward than he ever had in his life. Never had his partner’s pleasure meant so much to him. Curbing his own raging desires, he deliberately prolonged the love play until it became the most delicious torment to them both.
“Now,” Belle cried, her nails raking his back. “Please, Sinclair, take me now.”
She opened herself to him, and he could no longer resist the invitation. He eased himself inside her, his own pleasure heightened by the sight of her flushed features, so beautiful.
He began to move slowly at first. Moaning, Belle rose to meet his thrusts, urging him on to a faster, more frenzied tempo. Fighting against his own climax, he sought to bring her to the peak of her desire. He knew when she had reached it, for she flung back her head, emitting a soft cry of ecstasy.
Only then did he give way to his own passion, which had mounted to the point of pain. The release was shattering and sweet. He collapsed, spilling his seed deep within her.
For long moments after, he held her, burying his face against the softness of her throat, her heart thundering in rhythm with his own.
Have no regrets, Belle, he prayed silently, for I have none. He knew not how long they lay there, lost in each other’s embrace. When he felt Belle stir, he raised his head to seek out her reaction now that all passion was spent.
She smiled tremulously and stroked his hair back across his brow behind his ear. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Her simple expression of gratitude tugged at his heart. He cupped her hand in his and pressed a kiss against the upturned palm.
“For what?” He chuckled. “I was not exactly a disinterested party. I had a few selfish desires of my own, you know.”
She shared his laughter, but sobered immediately. “I fear it is I who has been the selfish one. I want you to know that I have not just been using you because I felt lonely and afraid. Tonight has meant more to me than you could ever know. I only wish—” She paused ruefully. “I only wish I could say more to you than that.”
“Hush, Angel.” He silenced her with a quick kiss. “I don’t expect you to pledge your undying devotion simply because I made love to you.”
“The only man I have ever made such promises to was?—”
“Yes, I know,” he said when she was not able to finish. A dull ache throbbed near the region of his heart, but he managed to shrug it off. He cradled her closer. “You keep your memories of Jean-Claude. I don’t mind, for it’s my arms you are in right now.”
Crooking his fingers beneath her chin, he tipped up her face. “We are practical people, you and I, Belle. Neither of us believein forever, but we both know what has happened between us tonight is very rare indeed. Let’s not spoil it by trying to offer apologies and explanations.”
She gazed back at him, her eyes wide and searching. Then she nodded slowly, moving closer to accept his kiss. Locked once more in each other’s embrace, it did not take long for the passion to build again.
This time Sinclair scooped Belle up and carried her back to the bed. As he began to caress her, she stopped him, gently forcing him onto his back.
“No, Mr. Carrington,” she murmured, smiling down at him, “This time it’s my turn to drive you to the brink of madness.”
Propped up against the pillows,they watched the dawn break over the windowsill, the rosy-gold light creeping across the carpet to where they nestled beneath the coverlets. Cradled against the lee of Sinclair’s shoulder, his strong arms locked about her, Belle sighed deeply. Never had she expected to view the arrival of morning as an intrusion.
With the cold light of day, now will come the regrets, she thought, the confusion, the embarrassment. She waited but she felt none of those dreaded emotions, nothing but this wondrous sensation of contentment. Day or night, to be lying here in Sinclair’s arms seemed the most natural thing in the world.
She felt the warmth of his breath against her curls, so even and deep, she wondered if he had fallen asleep. Before she could raise her head to glance up at him, he stirred, depositing a kiss upon the top of her head.
“I should be stealing back to my own room,” he said. But he only held her tighter, making no move to do so.
“Why?” she murmured teasingly. “Are you yet trying to protect my reputation?”
“No, simply to let you get some sleep. You look exhausted. You did not get any rest at all last night.”
