Sweet Revenge

his lips played havoc with her nerves. “And I don’t want any more than you’re able to give.”
    When he deepened the kiss, she moaned. There was something both of despair and of wonder in the sound. For an instant, only an instant, she gave in to it. Her body pressed against his, her lips parted, her heart opened. He had a glimpse of beauty, of generosity so overwhelming it left him shaken.
    Then she was drawing back, turning away. “Philip, I know what my image is, but it’s only an image. This kind of thing isn’t for me.” She clasped her hands together to hold them steady.
    “Maybe it hasn’t been.” Again, he put his hands on her shoulders. “Until now.”
    She had pride. It had gotten her through the unstable and confusing years. Because it was strong, she was able to speak without shame. “I’ve never been with a man. Never wanted to.”
    “I know.” She turned back, as he’d hoped she would. “I understood that this morning when you told me about your father, what you’d seen happen between him and your mother. There’s nothing I can say to erase that or ease your feelings about it—except that it doesn’t have to be that way, should never be that way.”
    He touched her again, a hand to her cheek. It was as much a test for himself as for her. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to absorb the feel of his fingers on her skin and the jangle of nerves and needs it brought to her. She’d always been a woman who’d known her own mind, and her own destiny. Tonight, it seemed, he would become a part of both.
    “I’m afraid.”
    He slipped the twin ivory combs out of her hair. “So am I.”
    She opened her eyes at that. “I don’t believe you. Why should you be?”
    “Because you’re important.” He set the combs aside to let his fingers tunnel through her hair. “Because this is important.” He drew her close again, struggling to remain gentle, to remember her fragility rather than her strength. Both were there, both had snagged him from the first instant. “We can analyze this all night, Addy. Or you can let me love you.”
    There wasn’t a choice, nor had there ever been. Adrianne believed in fate. She’d been destined to leave Jaquir, as she was destined to return. And she was destined to spend this night, if only this one night, with Philip, and learn what it was that made women give their hearts, and their freedom, to men.
    She expected passion. She understood it. That was the wild frenzy that made men search for a form of release. She knew of sex from the frank talk of the harem to the wistful romantic chatter at tea parties. Women were as hungry as men, if not always as able to sate the hunger. The impression of sex that had remained with her since childhood was a tangle of limbs, a torrent of sound and movement best done in the dark.
    When his lips came to hers again, she was prepared to give herself over to it.
    But it was only a whisper of a kiss, the brush, retreat, brush of mouth against mouth. Her eyes blinked open in surprise to find him watching her.
    He saw the confusion, and the desire growing moment by moment as he toyed with her mouth. There was no urge to devour or possess. Not this time. Not with her. Whatever skill he had, whatever patience he’d developed, he would use tonight. He let his hands lose themselves in her hair, giving them both time to adjust to the unexpected.
    So when he touched her, she didn’t stiffen. Her body seemed ready to be stroked and discovered. He shrugged out of his jacket and she no longer hesitated to run her hands over his shoulders, down his back. Impatient to know the same freedom he was experiencing, she tugged at his shirt until it was free and she could feel the flesh beneath.
    She heard him suck in his breath at her touch. His mouthbecame more urgent on hers, his heartbeat less steady. She heard him murmur, but didn’t understand his request to go slowly. She couldn’t know how much it cost him to undress her carefully, to keep his hands easy when he wanted to grasp greedily. Naked, she shivered once. The sound of her dress falling to a pool at her feet echoed like thunder in his head.
    Her skin glowed in the vague moonlight that silvered the ends of her hair as it fell over her breasts. He’d known what it was to want, but he hadn’t known that the edge of desire could be so jagged—so jagged his hands shook as he tugged off his shirt, so jagged his throat ached as he lay her on the bed.
    She, too, had known