Midnight Jewels

just as she had the first time he had told her she would be safe with him. Mercy relaxed in his hold, leaning into the captivating heat of his body. The pressure against her mouth was deep and persuasive and undeniable. When his thumb touched the corner of her lips and urged a response, she moaned softly. She opened her mouth to him and braced herself for the invasion of his tongue.
    It was subtle when it came, not a storming of her defenses, but a careful, coaxing foray that left her shivering. It was only as he slowly filled her mourn, tasting her intimately, that she began to realize just how thorough his ultimate possession would be. This kiss was a sample, she knew, a probing exploration and a claiming that was only a forerunner of what was to follow.
    When he reluctantly broke free of her mourn and began to trail questing, tormenting little kisses along the line of her jaw and up to her earlobe Mercy sighed in wonder. Her arms wound around his neck. The hard, muscled contours of his shoulders compelled her touch. She pressed her nails delicately into the fabric of his shirt, finding the resilient flesh beneath the garment.
    "I was wrong," Croft muttered against her skin. "There's more than light and color in you. There's strength. Beautiful, subtle, feminine strength. We're going to find something very special together, you and I."
    "Perhaps in time," she whispered, closing her eyes against me exquisite feel of his teeth on her earlobe.
    "Tonight," he corrected.
    She didn't argue. She was already beyond arguing. This was what she wanted. He knew it and she could finally acknowledge it. It was happening much too fast. She knew far too little about him. But never in her life had she needed and wanted a man the way she wanted Croft Falconer. Denying herself tonight would have been to deny a possibility that until now she hadn't even dreamed existed. She couldn't leave that unknown unexplored.
    "Are you still a little afraid of me?" he asked. His hands slid down her back, forcing her gently against the length of him. When his palms reached her rounded buttocks he cupped her and lifted her up into the heat of his thighs.
    "Yes. No. I don't know." It didn't matter, Mercy realized. Whatever fear existed was submerged beneath the flaring desire. And the desire was mutual. She could feel the rigid shape of him pushing against the fabric of his jeans.
    "How can you be afraid of me when you can tell so easily how much I want you?" His voice was a husky groan as he pressed her even more intimately against him.
    "Oh, Croft."
    Mercy buried her face in the curve of Croft's shoulder, inhaling the raw, primitive scent of him.
    "I want to see you come alive under my hands the way a watercolor scene does on paper." Croft shifted, turning her slowly in his arms until she was standing with her back against him. When she struggled slightly, not understanding, he whispered, "Don't fight me, sweetheart. Open your eyes."
    Mercy did so and found herself staring at their reflected images in the mirror in front of her. She was almost shocked at her own languid, heavy-lidded gaze. She could see the desire in herself and it startled her. This was what Croft was seeing, this open invitation, this combination of sensual pleading and feminine command. The sight of herself might have embarrassed her beyond recovery if it hadn't been for the other image in the mirror. This second reflection showed the hard-edged arousal in Croft's face. His golden eyes glittered with it.
    He watched her expression as he caged her within the circle of his arms and began undressing her. Slowly and deliberately his fingers moved down the front of her tailored shirt. When all the buttons were undone he eased the garment off her shoulders and tossed it casually aside. Then he put his lips into her hair, his eyes still meeting hers in the mirror as he cupped her breasts in his hands.
    Mercy was aware of a wave of delicious weakness going through her. She stared into the mirror, fascinated by the sight of herself encircled in Croft's bronzed arms. Her gently rounded breasts nestled in his hands, the nipples peeking over the edges. Even as she watched he lightly grazed his thumbs across the rosy peaks, drawing them to full attention.
    She clutched at his arms, feeling so sensitized that she feared the next caress.
    "Please," she managed, "I don't… It feels so strange."
    "You're very sensitive. I knew you would be. Are you afraid it's going to hurt when I do this?"