His Trophy Mistress. Daphne Clair
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his hand for the shirt, but then, as if he couldn’t help it, his hand bypassed the shirt and touched her hair, stroked its newly washed sleekness, and his thumb traced the outline of her ear.
Paige’s heart stopped. She forgot to breathe. Couldn’t speak. Her eyelids fell of their own accord, before she jerked them open. “What are you doing?”
His hand had come to a stop, a hank of her hair trapped in his fist. “Where’s your husband?” His voice was deep and indistinct, and his jewel-eyes glittered into hers. “Damn him, why isn’t he here looking after you?”
The unexpected question widened her eyes, and her lips parted on a caught breath. Obscure anger shook her. “I’m a grown woman, Jager. I don’t need a man to look after me.” Never mind that Jager had done just that tonight, very competently, for which until this moment she’d been grateful. “And as for my husband,” she added huskily, and took a deep breath, “he…Aidan’s…”
“Not here,” Jager said harshly. And then his other arm came around her body, crushing her against him, and his mouth on hers smothered the words she was trying to say, sent her thoughts spinning into deep space and made her forget everything except his kiss.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS a kiss that took her breath, her heart, her soul. She couldn’t think, couldn’t move, except to lift her arms and cling, as if she were drowning in the wine-dark sea of desire and he was her only hope of survival.
The blood running through her veins sang his name, her skin was licked by fire, her limbs turned to liquid flame. The taste of him was an intoxication, the hard length of his body against hers a ravishment.
She opened her mouth to him and he took swift advantage of the invitation, making the kiss deeper, unashamedly sensual, a merciless invasion of her senses.
His hand pushed aside the front of her robe and settled on her breast, his thumb and forefinger finding the budding center, making her moan with ecstasy and arch herself against him, triumphant when she recognized the thrust of his arousal pressing at the apex of her thighs.
She brought one hand down to his bared chest in imitation of his caress, reveling in the heat and slight dampness of his skin against her palm, once as familiar to her as her own body.
Then his mouth left hers and his arms lowered, lifting her. She gasped, clutching at his shoulders, and his lips closed over her breast. With an inarticulate cry of pleasure, she let her head fall back. Dizzy and disoriented, she was wholly given over to sensation.
She hardly realized he had swung them round until his mouth momentarily left her and they fell together onto the bed. Before she’d drawn breath he impatiently untied the belt of her robe and bared her body to his hot, questing gaze. She stared back at him boldly as his hands traversed her from neck to knee, rediscovering the shape of her breasts, her hips, her thighs. There was color on his lean cheekbones, and his fingers were unsteady, his eyes heavy-lidded and glowing with desire. That look had always filled her with wonder—wonder that she could do this to him. That he wanted her so much.
One hand slipped between her thighs, and the other left her to undo his belt. He stroked her softly until she was wild with need, then stood for a few seconds to shuck the remainder of his clothing and sheath himself. Watching, she was briefly thankful that he’d thought of it, then he was beside her, taking her again into his arms, answering her frantic, silent plea to let her take him in, to experience the whole of him, and at last, without equivocation or delay, filling her with himself, driving her to the pinnacle and beyond, to that nameless place where past and present and future didn’t exist, but only the blinding, transcendental moment.
While the world drifted back into focus Paige resisted opening her eyes. Her cheek rested on Jager’s shoulder, and her legs were still tangled with his, his arm warm around her.
He moved, and she held her breath, afraid he would leave, but he only settled closer, enfolding her again. He kissed her closed eyelids, then feathered more tiny kisses along her cheek, and down her neck to her shoulder. She smiled, and he kissed her lips, long and tenderly, with an underlying hint of passion. Against her mouth, he murmured, “Tissues?”
Paige gave a little laugh, and reached without looking for the drawer of the bedside table.
Eventually she had to open her eyes. Jager was on his way to the bathroom, giving her a heart stopping view of his naked back, but in minutes he returned. She said sleepily, “Turn off the light.”
He detoured to do it, then came back to her, drawing her again into his arms and pulling a sheet over them both. “That was to dream of,” he said. “But too damn quick.”
His palm spanning her belly, he teased her navel with his thumb, while his lips wandered along her shoulder, nuzzling and nibbling. Her eyelids fluttered down, and a deliciously lethargic pleasure rippled all the way to her toes. As Jager’s hands and his mouth pleasured and tantalized, she moved her body subtly under his ministrations, allowing him better access there, hinting that some attention would be appreciated here.
He had always been good at this, she thought, a hint of sadness penetrating the dreamy aura he was creating. A silent tear trembled at the corner of her eye and coursed into her hair.
Jager found the salty track with his lips, and murmured, “What? Crying?”
“No,” she denied, not wanting to think about what had been or what might have been, or what might still be. She turned her head and met his lips with hers, aligned her body with his, thrust her knee between his thighs, to blot out the thoughts, the memories.
Jager responded with a surge of passion, and when she opened herself to him again and welcomed him with a sigh of satisfaction, he came to her as deeply and completely as before, but until the moment when he shuddered uncontrollably against her, a muffled sound tearing from his throat, there was gentleness in him this time, a tender concern in his touch.
Afterward he didn’t leave her side, holding her close in his arms until she drifted into an exhausted, velvety sleep. Her last thought was that he’d be gone by morning, and her heart gave a small throbbing ache at the prospect.
When she woke a weak morning sun was streaming though the window. Jager, fully dressed but without tie or jacket, leaned on the window frame, watching her.
“Oh, God!” She closed her eyes again, hoping he was a figment of her imagination. Or perhaps she was still dreaming.
“I didn’t think I looked that bad,” he said.
Paige opened her eyes again. He was fingering his chin, his eyes both wary and amused. He’d shaved, and his hair was damp and sleek. He must have used her bathroom, borrowed a razor, and she hadn’t heard a thing. “You’ve been here all night?” she said.
A dark brow rose. “You don’t remember? I’m disappointed. Shall I tell you what we did?”
“I know what we did!” Foolishly, she felt her cheeks burn. “I thought you’d leave before…now.”
“You mean before your parents find out I’m here.”
Paige clamped her lips. It was what she’d meant. No point in restating the obvious.
Vaguely she recalled hearing a car, the sounds of her parents’ return, but she wasn’t sure when. She’d been too engrossed in Jager, in the pleasure he was giving her, to even care.
She felt at a distinct disadvantage, lying naked in bed while he stood there patently at ease, his arms loosely folded. Clutching at the sheet for modesty, she sat up and looked around for something to put on.
Jager moved, a little awkwardly, stooping to pick up the toweling robe from the floor. “Is this what you want?”
“Thank you.” She had to drop the sheet to take it and pull it on, and he didn’t turn away.
Kicking away the bedclothes, she swung her feet to the floor, belting the robe. When she stood up he was close by, only a foot or