He could still hear clearly the raw emotion in her voice when she had called outHow beauteous mankind is! O brave new world that has such people in’t!And oh, how he had yearned for the brave new world of which she spoke, one with her in it.
He still yearned for it now.
But he yearned for something else. Something deeper. Something true.
“You want me,” he accused against her skin, tasting her there. Roses and sweet orange.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
The susurrus of her affirmation lit a new fire within him.
He wanted her too. Needed her, in fact. Had to have her.
How he had gone six days without seeing her was a mystery to him. He was going to make up for the lost time now. It did not matter that they were in a dark, almost airless space. That anyone could interrupt them at any moment. It did not matter that she had told him to go, that she claimed to have no feelings for him. Not even his reasons for seeking her out mattered.
All that did matter was the truth of the desire they shared.
They could worry about the rest later. First, the passion between them needed to be answered. Right here, right now.
He dragged his mouth from her beautiful skin with only the greatest exertion of control. Looked down into her upturned face. She was pale, her skin flushed pink from the makeup she had scrubbed from her skin. Her lips were full and dark from their kisses, her eyes glazed, her pupils wide. Somehow, the loose chignon she had worn her hair in for the final scene had begun to come undone.
Golden tendrils curled over her forehead, framed her face.
And what he saw when he searched her face gave him hope.
“Tell me to go now,” he said.
Her lips parted.
Not a sound emerged.
He slid a hand from her waist to her breast, cupping it through the layers of her costume. She was not the innocent Miranda now, but Johanna, his lover. The soft weight of her breast in his hand almost took his breath, sending a sharp arrow of lust to his groin. He squeezed gently, damning the barrier of her corset.
“You want this,” he told her.
Still, she remained silent, saying nothing.
But she did not push away from him as she could have at any moment. Rather, her eyes dipped to his mouth.
“Say something,” he begged.
Because he was not above begging. Not when it came to this woman.
“Stay,” she said.
Not a confession. Not a lowering of her guard. But it was something.
And that lone word turned the fires inside him into an inferno.
He couldn’t speak. All he could do was act. He claimed her mouth again. This kiss was not slow, not a seduction. It was a possession. He slanted his lips over hers, kissing her as he had never kissed another. He kissed her as if he could brand her with his lips and tongue alone. Kissed her so she would never forget him, as long as she lived, no matter where she roamed.
If this was to be their final goodbye, he was going to make it worth every moment.
He devoured her mouth, his hands traveling over her curves in worshipful awe. The tiny room was cramped, sparsely furnished. In his whirling mind, he decided upon the table over the lone chair.
He moved them as one, kissing her, nipping her. He used his tongue, his teeth. And she was every bit as ferocious in her reaction to him. Her nails raked at his back. Her teeth bit into his bottom lip.
Three steps, that was all it took. He was still kissing her as he waved his arm behind her, clearing the tabletop. The sound of breaking porcelain and splashing water reached his ears but had no effect upon his ardor. He didn’t give a damn what he broke.
