Robyn Grady - Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction - Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction

As the seconds ticked by, the space separating them seemed to compress and at the same time stretch an agonizingly forbidden mile. Did she want to breach that space? The stillness of his towering frame told her that Tristan only needed her nod.

She quivered inside.

Should she?

Shouldn’t she?

She wet her dry lips. “Tristan?”

“Yes, Ella?”

Her throat convulsed and she swallowed. “You want to kiss me again, don’t you?”

His smile changed. “Yes, I do.” He moved closer until his body heat seemed to meld with hers. “And I think you want me to.”

Quivering again, she stepped away from her safety net and nodded. “Very much.”

When Tristan drew her close and his mouth covered hers, Ella gave herself over to a tingling tidal wave of pure pleasure. After the anticipation of wondering these past twenty-four hours, Tristan’s kiss tonight was even more than she remembered—better than heaven, as if that should be a surprise.

As the strong band of his arms urged her closer still and he expertly deepened the kiss, she could have passed out from the blistering sensual overload. So many times she’d contemplated enjoying the intimate attentions of this powerfully attractive man. People were naturally drawn to and admired his superior bearing. Why should she be any different? She was only human, even if tonight he felt like a god.

Tristan’s palm spread and pressed low on her back as his other hand cradled and almost imperceptibly turned and kneaded the back of her head. Trembling inside, Ella clung to his chest, reveling in the musky scent of pure male and feel of flesh-and-blood granite. Such a moment should last an eternity, but now that they’d started, Ella wanted more.

More of what she’d glimpsed that day in his bedroom.

When Tristan reluctantly broke the kiss, he scooped her up in his arms and Ella’s breath left her lungs in a soft exclamation of surprise. His heavy-lidded eyes lingered on her lips as he began to move out of the kitchen, toward the stairs…

The stairs that led up to his bedroom.

At a jab of alarm, her eyes must have rounded be-cause he stopped abruptly and blinked twice. “I’m moving too fast,” he said.

There was little doubt what he would expect when they arrived upstairs. And she was certain that’s where he was taking her. In truth, wasn’t a night in each other’s arms what she’d dreamed of experiencing, too? It’d been so long since a man had held her, and this wasn’t just any man. If that was Tristan’s intention—to make love to her without reservation—shouldn’t she grab the opportunity, as well as the memories that would last a lifetime? This wasn’t a case of Tristan merely needing to expend some energy. Regardless of what happened after tonight, right now he truly wanted her as a woman.

And she wanted him, too.

Her tummy fluttered as she looped her arms around his broad neck.

“I’m game,” she murmured, “if you are.”

His eyes widened as if he were almost taken aback by her reply, but then his expression softened. “I’m more than game.” He began to walk again.

“If we’re awake at midnight you can wish me happy birthday.”

“It’s your birthday tomorrow?”

“I’ll be twenty-six.”

He smiled that sexy smile. “Then I guess we have some celebrating to do.”

She crossed her ankles and sucked in a decisive breath. “I could whip up a cake.” She liked chocolate torte, but Black Forest with lots of cherries was his favorite.

Holding her tighter, he mounted the stairs two at a time. “I don’t want you in the kitchen, Ella. I want you in my bed.”

They crossed the threshold into his room. The but-terflies in her stomach went berserk when he flicked on a lamplight and the tawny satin coverlet and ruby-colored cushions of his king-size bed materialized out of the dark. She’d smoothed his sheets hundreds of times and had wondered about stretching out on them just as often. Difficult to believe that tonight her fanta-sies would finally come true.

He set her on her feet and his warm, steady hands slid down the sides of her satiny nightgown.

“This is nice.” His mouth lowered to sample the curve of her neck.

She angled her head, shivering as she gave him better access. Nice? Was he referring to their new situa-tion or her negligee? she wondered.

“I bought it the same day I picked up my evening gown.”

Her voice sounded thick as his teeth slowly danced down her throat, making her flesh tingle and nipples bead tight. When her fingers found his head and flexed longingly in his hair, she felt his smile on her skin.

“Do you always wear this kind of thing to bed?” he asked. “Or were you hoping we’d bump into each other tonight?”

“I usually wear button-up pajamas.”

His raspy jaw grazed as he kissed an adoring line of fire up her throat. “Tonight it’s difficult to imagine you in anything other than French silk.”

Through the haze of building desire, a vague sense of self-consciousness sparked. She wasn’t like the women with whom he usually kept company. She wasn’t at all…refined. “I don’t normally buy silk neg-ligees or spend a lot on perfume or jewelry.”

“Then maybe it’s time someone did for you.”

His sultry admission threw her. But before she could think more on it, he found the bow at her cleavage and tugged the ribbon loose. Then he cupped her shoulders and, with a sculpting movement, dragged down the thin straps of silk.

The negligee slipped into a soft puddle around her feet. She sucked in a breath at a kick of raw, physical need as he brought her close, his long, muscular legs creating a V either side of hers. His rumbling tones resonated through her as his hands massaged her upper arms, drawing her up and toward him. He tasted the slope of her shoulder as if she were a fine delicacy.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against her skin.

Dissolving into him, she sighed on a delicious shiver. “ Okay isn’t the word.”

His slightly roughened hands combed down her arms, detouring over her rump to scoop her in and up. Her breath caught.

He was so hard.

He took a seductive, lingering kiss from the corner of her mouth. “You’re perfect.”

If he hadn’t been holding her, Ella would have swayed. And she could barely breathe. Every bubble of oxygen had been consumed by the fire raging inside of her.

He kissed her again—thoroughly this time, until her head spun and limbs floated away. When he left her lips and looked into her eyes, his gaze was hot and purposeful.

“Ella, I want you.”

Her body tensed as trapped air burned in her lungs and stars began to dance in her head. The reality of having Tristan Barkley kissing her, telling her he wanted her, was overwhelming, almost too much to absorb.

His knuckle nudged her chin up and he searched her eyes. “Remember, if I’m going too fast, we can take it slow—as slow as you want to go.”

She tried to even her breathing, to grasp what was happening and accept it. “Tristan…I…I…”

He blinked several times then let out a breath and pressed a kiss to her brow. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. It’s too soon.” He smiled as his gaze roamed her face. “Let’s get you dressed.”

Dropping onto his haunches, he found her negligee at her feet. She wanted to pull him back up, tell him he was mistaken and then lock her lips with his again. But she stilled when his hands slid up her legs as he towed the fabric along. Halfway up, when he reached her hips, his progress stopped.

His warm breath lingered on her thighs, high where her legs joined and a hypersensitive spot had picked up on the heat of his mouth and had begun to beat and glow. She was agonizingly aware of how damp her panties were—how desperately, shamelessly, she wanted him to touch her there. If he did, she just might explode.