Midnight Jewels

elicited between her thighs and then coaxed her small bud of desire into a tingling fullness.
    When he was satisfied with her reaction, he drew his finger lower. He used her womanly lubrication to ease his path. Mercy shuddered as he slipped his questing finger inside her and then went lower still to find the sensitive flesh just below her soft, wet channel. There he drew an exquisite little pattern that nearly drove Mercy over the edge.
    "Croft!" She wriggled on his lap, trying to get more of the delicious sensation. "Oh, God,
Croft
."
    "I know," he muttered, his voice dark and husky with passion. "I know what you want. I'm going to give it to you. Now." He stopped his sensual exploration and cupped her buttocks in both hands. With infinite, excruciating slowness, he guided her down onto his upthrust manhood.
    Mercy was fiercely aware of every throbbing centimeter of him as he entered her. Her whole body tightened in anticipation as Croft filled her completely. She wanted to hurry now. The excitement was already starting to ripple through her and she could not control it. It .gripped her, claimed her and thrilled her. And the dark glitter in Croft's eyes told her he was with her every step of the way.
    When he had buried himself in her softness, Croft began to guide the primitive rhythm. He used his hold on her thighs to establish the movements of the sensual dance.
    It was an act of urgency and claiming and Mercy was as aroused by it as she was when he teased and tormented her with his caresses.
    There was a different type of excitement in this sudden fierce need. It proved just as compelling as the other kind.
    The onrushing climax that shook them both seemed as natural and magnificent as the vista of mountains and meadows that surrounded them.
    Croft's shout of exultant satisfaction echoed across the meadow.
    When it was over they collapsed in each other's arms until the brisk air and dazzling sunlight restored their energy.

    Isobel Ascanius stood at the window and watched Croft and Mercy walk back into the compound. She saw Falconer halt for a moment and pause to brush some bits of grass and dried leaves from Mercy's hair. It didn't take much imagination to know that at some point during the morning walk Mercy had found herself lying on her back in a mountain meadow. Isobel found herself feeling strangely envious.
    She couldn't remember the last time a man had made love to her in the grass under a sunny sky. Isobel maintained a carefully groomed appearance of exoticism. Hers was a beautiful, cool, sensually challenging facade that never failed to attract and compel. She required her lovers to be skillful and sophisticated. Her image was clearly not that of a woman who would tolerate a simple tumble in the grass. Few men would dare to suggest it. She couldn't even begin to imagine Erasmus Gladstone suggesting such a thing, for example. Gladstone was an accomplished lover, but sometimes he repelled her. His passion was cold and mechanical, satisfying but never fulfilling.
    Isobel told herself that Gladstone's emotionless lovemaking was sufficient. Sex was a low priority on her personal list of needs and desires. She took her real pleasure in knowing that Gladstone respected her skills as a professional security consultant and bodyguard and she planned to impress him with her abilities as a strategist. She would find ways to convince him he needed her.
    She had started working for Gladstone because she sensed that he would one day be powerful enough to promote her into the level of power she craved. Someday she, too, would be the head of a lucrative network based on providing the titillating, illegal products demanded by a spoiled, egocentric, shortsighted clientele. She would be rich beyond her wildest dreams, a woman with the power of life and death over others. Her goals were clear and shining; and she would not abandon them.
    But as she watched Mercy returning to the house, Isobel found herself wondering what it had been like out there in the meadow with Croft Falconer.
    "Everything is under control for tonight?" Erasmus asked from behind her.
    "Of course. You're certain it's necessary to get rid of Falconer?"
    "Better to be safe than sorry," Gladstone murmured. "On the surface he is nothing more than a very ordinary, very uninteresting man. The perfect lover for our dull little Miss Pennington, I imagine. But something about him bothers me. He moves very well, have you noticed?"
    Isobel glanced out the window