Carpathian 21 - Dark Peril

perfectly natural, yet . . .

    “You are so hard on yourself,” he said.

    His voice was that sexy blend that only added to her growing desire. She swallowed hard. “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

    “Is that really so bad?” His fingers skimmed down her hair, tucked a strand behind her ear with exquisite gentleness. “Do you have to be perfect at all times? I would imagine that would be rather wearying.”

    The pad of his finger traced over her mouth, brushed back and forth until she parted her lips. He pushed inside her mouth and instinctively she closed her lips around his finger, her tongue flicking over it, sucking before she could stop herself. Hot color swept into her face and she tried to turn her head, but his hand spanned her throat, holding her still, his head slightly thrown back as if he was enjoying the sensation of her mouth around his finger. She stroked along his knuckle with her tongue, and followed as he slowly withdrew, so that she nibbled at the pad of his finger before he went back to tracing her lips.

    “Do you, Solange? Do you have to be perfect all the time?”

    “Of course not.” She could barely speak.

    “Only with me then.” He bent his head and brushed his mouth across hers.

    The shocking jolt slammed through her body with the force of a lightning bolt. His touch had been so light, yet a fireball shot through her to settle deep in her core.

    “You want to please me.” He made it a statement.

    She nodded, afraid to speak. Afraid he would move. Afraid he wouldn’t move.

    “That is as it should be. Has it occurred to you that I wish to please you?”

    She glanced up, her gaze colliding with his. He looked so powerful. A predator looming over prey. She was jaguar and not afraid of anything—with the exception of her lifemate—and wasn’t that insane?

    Lifemate. She tasted the word.

    “Solange.” He refused to allow her to look away from him. “When I ask a question, I require an answer.”

    The color in her face went from pink to crimson. “Yes, I’m sorry. It has occurred to me. It’s just difficult to believe. I’ll get used to it, though.” Maybe. “I just need a little time.”

    He smiled at her, that slow, sexy, heart-melting smile that she seemed to feel all the way to her toes. She loved to see that look on his face. The light in his eyes.

    “That was not so difficult, was it? To tell me how you feel? How will I please you if you do not tell me the things you need?”

    He brushed a kiss over her mouth again. Her lips trembled in response. The fireball in her core radiated so much heat she was afraid she might spontaneously combust. Her feminine channel burned for him, and between her legs she could feel the hot dampness spreading.

    “I have put several items of clothing in the small alcove for you. It would please me greatly if, when we are alone, you would wear one for me.”

    All over again her heart began to accelerate. Her pulse beat frantically, drawing his attention. He swept the hair from her neck and leaned toward her. She went absolutely still. His breath was warm against her skin.
    A shudder of desire started a wave of tremors. She rubbed her hands down her jean-clad thighs—her armor.

    Solange had to moisten her lips twice before she could get a word out and then it was a croak. “Where?”

    He turned and gestured toward the little alcove where she had stashed extra clothes and weapons. Needing to put space between them, she forced her trembling legs to walk across to the small grotto arched with rock where she could hide her burning face from him. There was a full-length mirror that hadn’t been there before. She could see the shock and excitement on her face. Her eyes were bright, almost emerald green.
    Her breath was ragged, drawing attention to her full breasts—more than full. She wasn’t fashionably lean, for all the exercise she got. She was built—sturdy. Compact and sturdy.

    Solange was grateful he hadn’t followed her. She felt overwhelmed by him. Somehow he had managed to put a small closet together to hang several items in a corner. She touched the fabric of the nearest long dress. At least she thought it was a dress or some kind of gown. It was long, and she bet it fit perfectly, but it was a dress—and she didn’t even own dresses. Made of black stretch lace, it was formfitting at the top, with spaghetti straps. The front dropped scandalously short, just barely covering the vee between her