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hers, coaxing them open, and she shivered a little as his tongue began to
follow the same path over her parted lips, then slid between them, his mouth
gradually more persuasive as he sought her response. Startled by the leap of
fire in her blood, Portia gasped, and Luc crushed her close, his mouth fierce
with demand she responded to so utterly that he tore his lips from hers at last
and thrust a hand into her hair, holding her still as he looked down into her
eyes with such heat her mouth dried.
'This is not easy, Portia,' he said harshly.
She stared at him, dazed. 'Does your lip hurt?'
'It is not my lip that troubles me! You are irresistible, ma belle. It is
impossible just to kiss and want no more than that.' He smiled down at her
crookedly. 'I am not made of stone, Portia.'
'Neither am I,' she said deliberately, and felt secret muscles clench as his
eyes blazed his response.
Very slowly, his eyes looking deep into hers, he drew a hand down her
cheek, then followed its progress with his lips, kissing her throat as he
stroked the outline of her breasts through the soft cashmere. Portia stirred
restlessly, unable to sit still under his touch, and Luc, in tune with every
nuance of her response, slid his hands under the thin wool, caressing her
satin-covered breasts with a delicacy so erotic Portia began to breathe
shallowly, uttering a hoarse little sound he smothered with his kiss as his
hands slid behind her to release the catch and her breasts surged, bare and
taut, into his waiting hands.
Luc buried his face in her hair as his thumbs moved in soft, abrasive caresses
over her nipples, causing such tumult inside Portia that she sat up suddenly
and held up her arms. Luc drew a rasping breath and slid the sweater over
her head. He tossed the scrap of satin aside, then gazed at her with a molten
look so tactile she felt it on her skin as it roved over her in slow,
pulse-quickening relish. Her nipples hardened, and her breath suddenly
laboured in her chest as she thrust herself against him and buried her face
against his shoulder, unable to endure his gaze a moment longer.
'Mon Dieu,' he said hoarsely. 'You are so beautiful, so alluring. Can you
understand how you make me feel?' He held her closer, his breath catching
in his throat as her breasts flattened against his chest.
Portia shook her head. 'Not like this,' she said gruffly, and began to undo his
shirt. But he tore it open, sending buttons flying in all directions in his
impatience to feel her naked breasts against his chest. Luc buried his face in
her tangled curls, uttering a torrent of husky, erotic French into her
uncomprehending ear as his hands moved restlessly over her bare back.
At last she pushed him away a little, smiling shakily into his smouldering
eyes, in school my French teacher never used words like that,' she
whispered.
Then I must teach you the language of love, ma belle.' Luc bent his head, his
hair brushing her skin as he kissed the slopes of her breasts, his tongue
tasting the satiny curves. Then he took one of the quivering, diamond-hard
tips between his lips, his teeth grazing delicately on the sensitised flesh, and
Portia gasped as darts of fire found their target deep inside her. Her head
went back, threshing from side to side as Luc played clever havoc with lips
and teeth and fingertips, until her entire body was blazing with need. For a
long, timeless interval Luc made love to her with relentless skill, until his
own artistry finally defeated him.
Abruptly he jumped up and put his shirt back on, his eyes averted, if I take
even one look at you, I am lost,' he panted. 'Have mercy, Portia. Cover
yourself before I lose my head completely.'
Dazed, surprised, and utterly frustrated, Portia pulled on her sweater with
trembling, uncoordinated fingers.
'I'm respectable again,' she told him, and Luc thrust his shirt inside his belt
and turned to look down at her, his jaw set.
'I did not realise I possessed such strength of mind,' he said bitterly. 'To let
you go just then was not easy, Portia.'
She drew in a deep, shaky breath. 'Then why did you?'
Luc sat down beside her, leaving a space between them as he took her hand
in his, his eyes holding hers as he smoothed her skin with a caressing finger.
'Because I was afraid that if I followed my desire to its natural conclusion
you would think this was my sole reason for coming here this weekend.'
A faint smile played at the corners of her mouth. 'But, as you told me before,
Monsieur Brissac, if a sexual encounter was all you had in mind you could
have achieved that in Paris and saved yourself the price of an airfare.' She
looked at him levelly. 'Unless, of course, you are combining business with
pleasure this weekend.'
'Of course I am,' he said promptly. 'I am a client spending time with a partner
of Whitefriars Estates to clinch the sale of Turret House.' He laid a caressing
fingertip on her bottom lip. 'That not one word about business shall pass our
lips this weekend will be our little secret, cherie.'
'One I'll keep to myself, too,' she said with feeling.
'Do not look at me like that, ma belle, or your client's good intentions will
vanish,' he advised hoarsely, and moved farther away. 'Perhaps I should
leave now, while I can.'
'It's early yet,' she said quickly.
Luc's eyes glittered. 'You know very well I am delighted that you wish me to
stay, Portia. But I warn you that you must keep your distance. I have no
defence against your touch.'
'Then I won't touch you,' she assured him, and curled up in the safety of the
armchair.
Luc smiled ruefully, and asked about the programme for next day. 'For
myself, I would like nothing better than another day spent like this one,' he
said, from the far corner of the sofa.
'Fine by me,' she assured him. 'Heaven knows we bought enough food
today.'
'I would like to make one change, Portia.' Luc gave her a long, steady look.
'Now you can trust my self-control, will you come to my apartment
tomorrow?'
'Yes,' she said without hesitation.
He eyed her in surprise. 'You know, Portia, I did not expect you to agree so
quickly.'
'I'm curious to see your flat,' she said candidly. 'Besides, I've enjoyed today.
All of it.'
Luc breathed in deeply. 'I, too, cherie. So come early tomorrow.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Luc BRISSAC'S London base was a first-floor flat in a large, handsome house
built at the turn of the century. When he conducted her through it the
following morning, early, as he'd insisted, Portia was deeply impressed by
the large rooms and floor-to-ceiling arched windows, and envied him the
conservatory he used as an office. The entire flat gave an instant impression
of light and space, even on a cold February morning.
'This is lovely,' said Portia, her cheeks glowing from the kisses Luc had
planted on them when she arrived. 'Is it all your own taste?'
'It is to my taste, but only the furniture is mine. The decor is the work of the
interior designer who sold the flat to me through your agency, of course.'
He smiled at her appreciatively. 'You look very beautiful this morning,
Portia.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] - zanotowane.pl
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