Page 17 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

Softly she asked, “What about me? Do you think I’m an unlikely-looking assassin that came in with a sob story to win the affection of a vulnerable girl and then murder her?”

There was a significant pause before he admitted, “It crossed my mind.”

“I see,” she whispered.

Her head was whirling with all he had told her, but it seemed too light to remain on the pillow. She tossed restlessly on the narrow space of the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position that would allow her to drift into a much needed sleep. Finally, annoyed with her insomnia, she lay on her back and flung her arms over her head.

Was it the soft swishing of clothes or the popping of his knees as he crouched down beside the sofa that first alerted her that he was no longer in the chair? She didn’t know. All she knew was that he was suddenly so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. She lay utterly still, not even daring to blink.

“I don’t know who you are, or what you are, but you’re not an assassin.” His voice was hus

ky with emotion, but she barely had time to analyze it before she felt the brush of his lips across hers.

Did a small sigh of pleasure escape her lips? Did she turn her head in a gesture of entreaty? What made his lips linger, hovering over hers for a heartbeat before melting against them and claiming total possession?

The cloak of darkness that enveloped them extinguished the hostility, the wariness, the suspicion, the resentment that had sprung between them. In that black velvet cocoon where no judgments are made and secrets are kept, they lost their identities. The differences between them seemed petty, indeed they ceased to exist. They were only two people, equalized by a need, seeking fulfillment for a longing as puissant as it was indefinable.

Erin’s lips were sweet and tender beneath his and parted in anticipation. He tasted, savored, memorized her with his lips and teeth and tongue until she breathlessly sighed his name.

Of their own volition, her arms lowered, and her hands clasped the sides of his head. He trailed hot, fervent kisses along her neck. His hands settled on her rib cage, almost encompassing it with their wide span. Tantalizingly she felt his thumbs move to the undercurves of her breasts and stroke them lightly.

She entwined her fingers in the thick golden hair as his face oscillated between her breasts. Moist breath scorched her skin through her T-shirt. With her help, he removed that last barrier. His fingers delighted in the texture of her skin and sought to explore every inch of it from her neck to her waist.

Then he kissed her, once on each breast. Completely covering the tip with his mouth, he flexed his cheek muscles. As though they were connected by an invisible cord, she felt that sweet tugging on her nipple deep in her womb. It caused a tiny volcano to erupt inside her, filling her veins with molten lava and bathing her body with its own liquid fire.

“Oh God.” His moan was born of the agony of self-denial. He covered her breasts with his palms. His lips came down on hers once again. His ferocious hunger was tempered only by a desire to bring her as much pleasure as he found in the kiss. Though his tongue coaxed her to kiss in a way she had never kissed before, it was a gentle persuasion.

All too soon, he raised his head. She could feel his stare. His features were indistinguishable in the absolute darkness, but his eyes were powerful even without the benefit of light. She was held immobile and silent under that hypnotizing power.

“This never happened,” he rasped. “Do you understand, Erin?” His voice was urgent, compelling her to grasp what his words conveyed. “This never happened. Do you understand?”

Dumbly she shook her head “no.”

But of course, in the darkness, he couldn’t see her.

Chapter Five

He had already left the study when she woke up. She opened her eyes slowly and, without moving her head, surveyed the room. It hadn’t changed overnight. Everything was exactly as it had been before. Only she was different. All the changes had been within herself.

What had she done? How had it happened? What had she been thinking? Obviously she hadn’t been thinking or it would never have happened. Had she gone temporarily insane?

Maybe it had been a nightmare. Yes? No.

All right, if it were too pleasant to have been a nightmare, maybe it had been a dream. No. She could still smell elusive traces of Lance’s cologne on her skin. Her breasts were slightly abraded where whiskered cheeks had nuzzled her. Her body evidenced too many signs of his intimate embrace. Even now she could recall each nuance of it in vivid detail. It had been no dream.

Her eyes wandered again to the chair where he had slept. The pillow crumpled in the corner still bore the imprint of his head. A feeling of great tenderness welled up inside Erin, and she caught herself smiling in remembrances.

The smile vanished when she saw his blanket lying discarded on the floor beside the chair. No doubt he had discarded thoughts of her just as indifferently.

She covered her mouth with a dainty fist. Mortification caused her eyes to squeeze tightly shut when she recalled the abandon with which she had kissed him back. God! He must be basking in self-satisfaction this morning. Surely he would be very pleased with himself. He could have easily seduced her to… No!

Another sob rose in her throat and a tear managed to slide past her closed eyelids and roll down her flushed cheek before she buried her face in the pillow.

How had it happened?

She couldn’t defend herself by saying that he had plied her with alcohol, or played on her sympathy, or physically forced her to submit to his kisses. He hadn’t even wooed her with loving words. He hadn’t said anything. He had merely come to her out of the darkness and touched her and kissed her and she had been more than willing to give him even more than he had demanded.

Miserably, she moaned again with the humiliating recollection of how her naked breasts had been plundered by his greedy mouth. No. His mouth had been neither plundering nor greedy. To add to her abasement, each time her mind conjured up the memory, her body ached again with longing.

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