Mystic Mountains

drawing him in as a siren calls to a sailor too long at sea.
    "You 've had too much to drink. You wouldn't be doing this otherwise," she whispered as he ran his fingers along her silken thigh above her stocking top.
    The touch sent a jolt through her, making her tremble. It fired his passion, ignited a flame of desire within him.
    "Perhaps we both have. Perhaps we both feel the magic, Bella. This night has been like no other. Why don't we forget who we are, forget everything and just taste the pleasures we both know we crave." Slowly he bent his head. Pushing aside her undergarments he placed a soft kiss on the inviting bare skin his fingers had just caressed.
    She gasped. "No!" The denial burst from her lips. She shook her head, but as his fingers moved higher she made no move to stop him. He saw her bite her lip, and knew she was stifling a moan of protest, saw her hands clench into fists as she fought the urge to push him away. She was as lost as he; as wrought by a passion she didn't understand.
    But he understood it fully. Moving onto his knees he pressed forward between her spread legs then buried his face into the softness of her breasts. She arched back when his hands inched up her thighs and cupped her bottom.
    "Please, Tiger," she whispered in a husky voice that echoed the longing engulfing him.
    In one swift movement he was on his feet, drawing her up with him. Her body sank against his, yielding, soft, womanly. It was too much for him; she was too irresistible. He groaned his need as she wrapped her arms about him, pressed her softness against his hardness.
    Isabella realized in the moment before his mouth touched hers that she wanted this kiss as much as he did. Probably more. Because he could get any woman at the lift of a finger, but this might be the only chance she would ever get to savor this delight, this heaven that was Tiger.
    "Come with me." He drew her across the kitchen with a gentle tug on the hand.
    Isabella had enough wit left to recognize that had she refused him he would accept it. But deep in her heart she knew she might die with the pain of it if she said no to him.
    He led her to her small room, not to his own. In a moment of instinctive panic she pushed at his hands as if to free herself.
    "No, Bella love, don't fight me."  He closed the bedroom door behind them.
    "I don 't—"
    H e cut off her protest with his mouth and she was lost to everything but the touch, the taste, and the scent of him. All other thought fled. The smell of his skin, hot, earthy, manly, filled her, sent her senses spinning. The touch of his thighs against hers made her shiver. How many times had she dreamed of being thus with him? How many nights had she lain in her bed and longed for him to come to her, to take what she knew had always been his by right? And not because he was her master, her owner, but because he was the possessor of her soul.
    In the soft moon glow streaking through the narrow window he looked driven by his need, intent. He'd never looked more handsome. Her hand reached to touch his beloved face, her fingers tracing a path down his jaw then over his lips.
    With the ease of a practiced lover he undid the hooks of her gown, the ties of her many petticoats, her camisole. With a gentleness that touched her deeply he picked her up then set her down on the narrow bed. Sitting beside her he kissed the rounded fullness of her breasts while he peeled her stockings off and tossed them to a corner along with her dancing slippers. His eyes never leaving hers he unpinned her hair then pressed his lips to the strands as he ran it through his fingers.
    "Let me do the same." She released his golden mane from the ribbon at his nape, smiling her pleasure as she copied him.
    Her desire built until she knew no fear, no inhibition. Arching against him, she wordlessly pleaded with him to end this torment. When he left her she whimpered a protest.
    "Hush, love," he murmured, hastily removing his clothes until he stood before her, his body majestic in the half light.
    Her eyes froze on the dark figure above her, so very powerful with its broad chest and muscular limbs, legs as firm as tree trunks. Th e evidence of his desire filled her with awe even as she shivered with sudden trepidation.
    "You 're beautiful," she whispered as he came back to her, stretching out at her side, letting her feel the hardness and strength of his magnificent body. Unexpectedly his skin felt like silk beneath her fingertips; silk over