Christine Feehan - Shadowgame

Lily didn't look to see where their enemies were. She trusted Ryland to know. She trusted his men to protect him, to watch the colonel closely and keep him away. Lily continued her slow pace around the room, waiting. The anticipation building. Heat curled low, a damp, rich invitation, her body calling to her lover.

She felt his breath first, on the nape of her neck. The heat of his body, close to hers. His hand slid, fingers splayed, around her waist, intimately, possessively, just under her breast so that she ached for his touch. He moved with her, a perfect union as he took her out onto the dance floor, whirling her into the mass of couples.

Lily looked up at him as their bodies came together, touched briefly, and parted. She looked up and he stole her breath. His black hair spilled around his head in a freefall of silky curls. His gray eyes glittered a molten silver. His body glided next to hers, barely touched, skin sliding against skin, his hand guiding her steps with complete mastery. Intricate steps, their bodies brushing intimately. It was exciting. Erotic. Making love on the dance floor just as she knew it would be.

Ryland's eyes held hers captive. She couldn't look away from him. Didn't want to look away from him. She wanted to be lost there for all time, in the heat of his hunger. The music moved through them, over them, surrounded them with fire and passion. As he whirled her close, holding her against him for several heartbeats, his hand caressed the side of her breast, finding creamy skin along the edges of the material of her gown.

Fire raced through her, flames licking over skin like tiny fiery tongues. Her nipples were taut so that each time she moved, her dress teased with the friction. He drew her close again, into the shelter of his arms, their bodies swaying in perfect accord to the music. Lily was grateful for the pulsing light that helped to hide the couples on the large dance floor. Her body molded itself to Ryland's, every step they rubbed against one another, her breasts against the heavy muscles of his chest, his hands skimming along the curve of her hip, caressing her bottom, the feel of his thick erection pressing against her with every step. A building of heat that smoldered and breathed with a life of its own.

She turned her head from his shoulder to look for the colonel, afraid they had been on the dance floor too long to escape detection, even in the dim light.

Don't think of another man, think only of me . The words brushed in her mind. His knuckles deliberately brushed over her nipples, his mouth touched her neck. They moved apart, swayed together, his hand sliding dangerously over her thigh, brushing along the apex of her legs. Her entire body clenched, her blood thickened.

The breath rushed out of her lungs, her heart stuttered. Every sane thought was gone, the other dancers were gone. Only Ryland remained real with his hard body and glittering eyes. He whirled her away from him again, brought her back, a captive between his legs, his thighs trapping her leg, his fierce arousal riding along the curve of her hip for a brief moment of anticipation, of total awareness.

He held her there while his body moved to the pounding beat of the music, his hips surging suggestively. Each movement sent lightning arcing through his bloodstream as his thick erection came into contact with her soft, yielding body. The passion of the music was a pounding in his head, in his body.

He had wanted to be different this time, to do all the little things a woman needed a man to do. The whispered laughter. The intimate talk. The shared outings. He wanted to court her the way Lily deserved. But his body went up in flames the moment he was with her. Not just flames but a firestorm burning out of control. Hot and bright and dangerous.

He had to hear her breath catching in her throat, see her eyes go sultry. She was so damned sexy, so hot his every restraint, his every control was gone around her. Dangerous for her, dangerous for anyone who tried to interfere.

The music was ending, the last notes dying away. He intended to let her go, to watch her circle the room, to be satisfied with the brief contact, but little jackhammers were ripping through his brain and he hurt so bad he was afraid he wouldn't be able to walk, getting them safely off the dance floor.

The next number was slow and dreamy, the lights lowering even more. With Lily in his arms, Ryland guided the way through the mass of moving bodies away from any watchers. The captain had his hands full. The woman in the flame-colored dress at the bar had taken to Ryland's suggestion quickly and easily. He knew his men were in the shadows, waiting for him to slip away. Expecting him to return Lily to the security of the house now that they had ensured her safety and allowed him his one dance. Ryland checked that eyes weren't following then-progress as he moved Lily deeper into the shadows where he wanted her. Where he needed her.

THE spiraling staircase was a massive structure. In scouting the hotel, Nicolas had discovered the hidden recesses in stairwell. Built in the thirties, the building had been renovated since, and inside the locked utility closet there was a small, narrow door that had been covered over with paper. It led to a tiny private room that had most likely been used for things illegal. Nicholas had shown him the hideaway in case of an emergency. Ryland was certain this was an emergency.

He took her beneath the stairs, turned a corner, and went down a small series of steps to the utility closet door. He had no problem getting past the heavy lock and moving her right through to the small, narrow room where so many others had secreted themselves over the years. He laughed softly and told her, "In the speakeasy days, they had peepholes in here. You can still see the cracks."

She didn't answer him. Couldn't answer him. She didn't know whether to slap his face for being so completely arrogant and certain of himself, or whether to fling herself at him and kiss him senseless.

They stared at one another, the heat flaring relentlessly between them. He made the decision for her. His body crowded hers deeper into the shadow of the stairwell, his arms tightening possessively. "Kiss me, Lily. I have to have your mouth."

She couldn't resist the ache in his voice, the lure of the forbidden. Lily tilted her head back, gasped when his lips fused with hers. Hot. Starving. She tasted passion. She tasted desire. His tongue stroked and cajoled, sweeping aside her every inhibition, her every fear, so that she answered him, fire for fire.

This man was hers. He belonged to her. Wanted her. Needed her. She could never resist the urgency of his need. He was devouring her, right there in the shadows, his hands cupping her buttocks to align her body more perfectly with his. From mere feet away came the murmur of voices, laughter, and the chink of ice in glasses. The music invaded through the cracks in the thin walls, so loud it nearly shook the floor, filling the tiny hidden room. Ryland lifted his head, his eyes dark with raw passion as he looked into her blue gaze. His body was painfully aroused and she was looking up at him, bemused.

He could see the outline of her nipples, dark, thrusting against the thin clingy material of her gown. The sight drew him, tempted him. He slid his hand up the side of the dress, pushing the material away from her ribs, inching it out of the way to expose one full breast.

The cool air on her heated skin only added to her acute sensitivity. She wanted him right there, wanted his hands on her, his body buried deep in hers. The addiction to him was beyond anything she had ever experienced or had conceived could be possible. She wanted to rip away his shirt and feast her eyes on his chest, run her hands over his muscles, feel his need of her growing in her hand, against her body. Lily moved deliberately, bringing up her hands, running her fingertips along her ample curves, tracing a path down her flat stomach, reveling in the way his hot gaze followed.