Tyler rose at the same time as his companion. Without taking his eyes off her, he neatly stepped in front of the gray-eyed man, impeding his forward progress. Pressed his drink into the grinning man’s hand and came toward her.
Tyler couldn’t fault his friend’s reaction. Josh was an artist. How else would an artist react to the ultimate challenge to sculpt? How could you capture a tenth of a goddess’s beauty in clay or bronze, even with hands as masterful as Josh’s?
The people she’d passed when she’d crossed the lawn were openly staring at her.
He was sure they were wondering who she was, how she figured into this group.
Men who dealt regularly with beautiful women had gone stock-still when they saw her, probably not even certain what it was about her that made them want to get on their knees. Josh knew and he knew, but it was more than that for him. He’d felt her tremble beneath his touch, just as he’d seen ugly darkness pour out of her. But still she emanated a mysterious feminine power, something that called to the soul as much as the cock. Under her touch, a man could find absolute power, torment, or a lust that knew no civilized constraints.
He could tell she’d come for him with a single-minded purpose and she had no interest or desire to interact with anyone else. The thought made the want that had been branding the inside of his gut for days become raw. He’d missed her to the point there were times he’d felt like a rabid dog. Working out until his muscles were quivering, he’d run along the path by the Gulf until he was so exhausted he could barely make it back home. And still he couldn’t keep himself from going back to the guestroom, stretching out on the sheets and pillow linens he hadn’t permitted Sarah to change so he could breathe in her lingering scents.
She’d piled her hair up on her head, a twist with a silken tail that fanned out over her shoulder and left breast. She’d done that thing that women knew how to do, soft wisps of hair around her temples. No eye makeup, just a pale pink lipstick.
The dress she wore was a creation of soft cream. Sleeveless, a clinging cotton that hugged her body from breast to thigh, baring the points of her finely boned shoulders.
She wasn’t wearing a bra beneath it, her small bosom perfectly molded, the posture of her body showing she was entirely unselfconscious by the stretched fabric, the anatomically specific display of the shape of her breasts, the points of her nipples. Those long, shapely calves were bare, tucked into a pair of strappy-heeled sandals, her pale pink painted toenails matching the long nails of her fingers on her elegant hands. No jewelry, no rings. Just Marguerite.
As he made his way toward her, all the sharp desire of the past two weeks throbbed in him like untreated gunshot wounds. She watched him come, certainly read his desire, his intent, but she showed no fear, no compulsion to retreat.
He caught her shoulders. When her body touched his he almost groaned. Maybe he did. All he knew was he needed her in his arms and his mouth on hers before time could move forward.
The strength in his grip, the passion a living thing in his eyes, made Marguerite tremble, though she managed to keep it inside. Barely. It terrified and exhilarated her at once to know he’d wanted and needed her with the same fierceness. How could something be so frightening and reassuring at once?
He stared at her a long moment. The intensity of it was enough to have those around them instinctively giving them space. It didn’t surprise her. Tyler had class in every aspect of his life. He’d tolerate no one in his home lacking it.
When he brought his mouth down on hers, she snaked her hands up the inside of his arms and curled her hands around his neck. Burying her fingers into his hair at his nape, she brought her body into his, aching, seeking. His mouth held hers with sure possession, almost savage need.
She was sure it was a good thirty seconds before either of them knew or cared that they were not alone. When he raised his head, she noticed the wounds on his face were healing. Still noticeable, but the tape was gone.
He shifted his glance. “Good Lord, you’ve absolutely frozen the men here. They’re not sure whether they’re supposed to worship you or be terrified.”
“You don’t appear to be terrified.”
He smiled, brought her closer. His voice dropped, his lips pressing to her ear. “I’m better at hiding it.”
“Not as much as you think.” She closed her hands on his forearms. “You’re shaking.”
“So are you.”
His lips were damp with the touch of hers. “You know,” he said in a soft rumble.
“I’ve watched you take a sub just over the cliff edge of sanity. Hold him there until I couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t snap from the mental strain. But you have that uncanny knack of giving him release a second before he’d completely lose his fucking mind for all time. These last couple days I figured you were trying that out on me.” Her lips curved because she heard the wry humor. And because it honestly felt so…good to be standing here. So incredible.
“Was it working?”
His eyes swept heat through her with their look of dangerous purpose. “One more day and I’d decided to storm your place and drag you home with me by your hair like some kind of barbarian.” He wrapped his hand in the tail of hair that fell forward over her shoulder and tugged, his thumb making a discreet caress over her nipple. She emitted a short gasp of reaction before she could stop herself. His eyes darkening, he continued to stroke the hair in his grasp, making that idle pass with his thumb again. “I actually felt it get hard for me,” he murmured. “The moment I touched it.”
“You wouldn’t have gotten past Chloe.” She tried to hold onto her sanity. “And I’ve had the same experience with you. Different body part, though.” She flicked her lashes down, back up.
He smiled, a baring of teeth. Spared a glance at the man he’d left who’d resumed his seat and was watching them with avid interest, that amused look still on his attractive face. “I would have brought ammunition to distract Chloe.”
“He is quite something.” She raised a brow, teasing him, something she’d never contemplated doing before. “I didn’t think your taste in submissives ran to the same gender.”
Tyler chuckled, slid an arm around her, turned them so they were to all appearances casually strolling back toward his chair, but his fingers played along her hip and the top of her buttock, making her pulse race. “He’s a good friend and a tremendous artist. And—I do underscore this several times for the health and well-being of any Mistress who tries to seduce him—completely unavailable. His wife’s at a medical conference and he decided to spend a few days here until she gets back because he has a show coming up soon. He’s trying to work up a couple additional pieces at the not-so-gentle demand of his dealer. He’s done studio time here before. It’s quiet and I can keep him from going out of his mind, mostly, without Lauren.” Tyler slanted her a glance. “He’s got somewhat of an uncertain temperament in her absence, given to falling into artistic melancholy, so she likes having me watch over him.
“The reason I suspect he’s staring at you like that and the reason I don’t consider beating him up for it is you walked across the grass and his creative wheels started revving like the legs of the Road Runner in a Bugs Bunny cartoon. And of course he recognized you as a Mistress.”
“But he’s taken.”
“Irrevocably. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate the qualities when he sees them.
He is an artist, after all.” Tyler smiled. “Now you know why he’s here. Why are you here, Marguerite? And if you’re here to tell me you’re going to break it off after that kiss, you better slip off those shoes and prepare to outrun me.” She couldn’t help it, she did smile this time. When she put up her hand to cover it, he caught it, brought it to his lips, began to nibble on her fingers.
“Tyler, there are people watching us.”
“There are people watching you. Thinking what a lucky bastard I am. Tell me why you’re here. I want to hear it. I need to hear it.” She closed her hand into a fist, held it there in his grasp and summoned up her courage to look at him. Something in her expression apparently warned him, for he stopped the easy flirting. He let her go, studied her face. “What is it, angel?” She made it a countdown. She would just count to five and say it. Words. They were just words. Certainly words that could change her life, that changed everything, even though perhaps people said ones like them every day and didn’t mean it, just used the phrases as a nicer way of saying what they really wanted to do. But she didn’t say what she didn’t mean and he knew it.
“I can… I don’t want to interrupt your party. But… I can…” She took a breath.
Closed her eyes. Felt him waiting. 1…2…3…4…5…
“I want you to make love to me. I want to go to your room, your bed, be under you, feel you inside me, see your eyes, feel your body and know…we’re together. I don’t know if that’s love or just need, but I know I need you. I need that with you. I need what I’ve never known and I need it from you. Only you. And it may destroy everything or build something. I really don’t know. I just know… Please make love to me.”
She opened her eyes and she was staring into his, which had filled with an emotion so strong that she couldn’t face it.
“No. No, damn it, don’t you look away.” He caught her face, held her there, brushed his thumbs along the soft skin under her eyes. “There’s nothing on earth I’d rather do, angel. You know… You understand what I am, who I am. How I’ll make love to you. How I want to make love to you. As I said before, it doesn’t—”
“Turn off at The Zone doors.” A shudder ran through her, her pulse increasing under his touch as the light in his eyes flared, telling her he felt it, as well as understood the meaning of her acknowledgement.
She lifted her chin and his hand lowered, collaring her throat where the pulse beat strong and fast beneath his palm. She shuddered.