Midnight Jewels (10 page)

"Hush, Mercy," he breathed, leaning down to lightly taste the skin of her bare shoulder. "Don't cloud the moment with logic. This isn't the time for logic and reason. This is a time to feel. Just let your body respond to me. Look at the lady in the mirror. She's not afraid. She's feeling free and wild and alive. She's not going to ruin tonight with questions that can't be answered."

Before Mercy could gather her glimmering thoughts to pursue those unanswerable questions, Croft was easing her down onto the carpet in front of the mirror. The last of the unexpected, unbidden wariness within her evaporated.

Out of the corner of her eye Mercy saw the woman in the glass clinging to the man above her as he lowered himself down to cover her body with his own. When that other woman cried out and arched upward, offering her breasts to her lover's hungry mouth, Mercy was stunned by the degree of her uninhibited response. Her hair,
my hair
Mercy reminded herself in a desperate effort to maintain a distinction between image and reality, fanned out on the slate gray carpet. The man in the mirror shoved his fingers into the thick, tawny mass as he carefully set his teeth to one hard nipple.

Simultaneously Mercy felt the sensual, twisting tug as her own lover laced his hands through her hair. She sucked in
her breath in wild pleasure as Croft's teeth teased the peaks of her breasts. The woman in the minor raised her knee and in the same instant Mercy felt the hard, muscled contour of Croft's buttocks on the inside of her own leg.

She was vividly aware of the waiting, pulsing masculine flesh poised between her thighs and knew the woman in the mirror was strung out on the same tight wire of anticipation.

"Now." Mercy's voice was almost soundless, but the feminine plea in it vibrated through the air. "Please, now, Croft."

The woman in the mirror lifted her hips in wanton, aching invitation. Mercy felt the curling silk of the hair between her legs brush against the rough, crisp nest that surrounded Croft's jutting shaft. Croft groaned, the wordless sound hoarse and rasping in Mercy's ear.

"I've waited long enough," he said through clenched teeth as he settled himself more intimately between her legs. "Too long. Years. Maybe forever."

Mercy didn't understand what he meant, but she wasn't in a mood to ask any more questions. He was there at the core of her body, pushing into her slowly, as if he intended to savor every centimeter of possession. And then, as if some part of her knew how thorough and undeniable
that possession would be, Mercy tensed.

The woman in the mirror dug her nails into her lover's shoulders in sudden, silent protest as Croft forged carefully into Mercy's tight body. Mercy felt the taut, stretching sensation that hovered on the brink of pain and held her breath, unaware of how deeply her nails were scoring Croft's skin. Some of the delicious ache that had been driving her faded abruptly. Her senses focused on the reality of what was happening and she went taut with a sudden fear.

"Relax," Croft ordered gently. He held himself still with an obvious effort. He was only part way into her. He rested on his elbows, waiting for her body to ease a little around
him. "You're fighting it. There's no rash. We've got all night Don't fight me or yourself." His fingers brushed tangled strands of hair back from her face as he gazed intently down into her eyes.

Mercy could feel his muscles tighten as he fought sucessfully to hold himself in check. "You're so damned controlled," she gasped. It was a stupid protest, but it was the one that flared within her as she stared up at him.

"If I weren't, I might hurt you tonight. You're very tense, very tight. You must still be a little afraid of me, I think. Is it me or is it because you've been so long without a man?"

"Maybe I'm nervous because you're too sure of yourself, too much in charge of your own body." She moved her head in restless dissatisfaction and disappointment. "I won't be able to relax and let go until
you
do," she concluded rashly. "Step it. Stop everything. This has gone too far."

Something fierce lit his eyes for an instant. "You know I want you."

"You want to seduce me. There's a difference."

"You're an expert?"

"I'm not a complete fool. Don't you dare laugh at me."

"No," he breathed tightly, "you're not a fool. But you're letting yourself get fragmented by a hundred different fears. You'll tear yourself apart tonight if I let you."

"You're the one who's tearing me apart. Literally."

"You know that's not true. I've told you, you're safe with me."

"I don't believe you." She was grabbing at straws and realized it. She didn't know what it was she hoped to accomplish. Mercy was aware only of a desperate need to provoke him out of his contained, controlled desire. She wanted him as wild as he had made her. She needed to know he was as caught up in the wonder and excitement of the moment as she was. "Do you hear me, Croft? I don't believe you. I hardly know you. How can I possibly know what passes for
honor with you? How can I trust you? A woman would be an idiot to put herself in the hands of a man who admits he's an expert on violence. I don't believe you anymore. I don't trust you."

She felt the change in him immediately. Mercy was elated by the abrupt, trembling tension
that suddenly gripped him. But when she saw the new brilliance in his eyes she feared for a moment she might have gone too far.

"Damn it, you don't have any choice except to believe me." Croft's voice was suddenly raw. "You're going to belong to me."

"Am I?" She was taunting him and knew that in the morning she would be appalled by her own recklessness.

He wrapped his hands in her hair, chaining her. "Admit it," he breathed fiercely. "Admit you want me. Say it."

She caught her bream and then gave him the truth, unable to deny it. "I want you."

"Tell me you trust me. Tell me you were lying when you said you didn't believe you could trust me."

She sighed and surrendered to the rest of the truth. Her limited self-control was gone already. She didn't have his power or his strength of will. And she wanted him so desperately. "I trust you."

"Thank God you don't know how to lie to me." His hands seized her shoulders and his mouth closed over hers with a savage eroticism that threatened to swamp Mercy. The muscles of his hips bunched as he drove himself slowly, inevitably forward.

She felt him move within her, surging completely into her with an impact that took away her bream. Her body adjusted eagerly to his. There was no pain, only an unbelievably taut, filled sensation. Then she forgot about the woman in the mirror, forgot about everything except the sensual wonder of having Croft inside her.

"Oh, my God, Croft." She clung to him, wrapping her
legs around him in a desperate effort to hold him as deeply as possible within her.

"Sweet Mercy," he muttered. It was an oath and a prayer and a hoarse shout of triumph.

Croft held her as tightly as she held him. His fingers were clenched deeply into her soft flesh. Mercy gave herself up to the enthralling excitement, aware of her body tightening in a new and totally different way as Croft plunged into her and then withdrew in a rhythm of mounting tension.

Mercy felt free to fly now. She yearned for stars she had never touched, sensing for the first time in her life what awaited beyond the threshold. Even as she reached out blindly, giving herself completely, she knew she didn't fear the unfamiliar experience that awaited. Croft was with her. Together they grabbed for the shimmering conclusion to the ever-tightening spiral of sensation.

"Yes, damn it,
yes
," Croft's guttural command came as Mercy cried out her overwhelming need for release. "Take it, sweetheart. It's all yours."

She shuddered in his arms, sought for and found the unknown, hitherto undiscovered climax, and then reeled as it was thrust upon her.

"Croft, oh Croft, please, I can't stand it." She clutched at him, burying her face against his flesh. She could taste his perspiration on her tongue as she gripped him in an agony of satisfaction.

"Sweet Mercy, neither can I." He sounded awed with his own passion.

And then there was no more room for coherent words or demands. The storm of their desire broke, leaving them drenched and shuddering in throbbing release.

It was a long time before Mercy opened her eyes. Croft was still sprawled on top of her, his weight crushing her into the carpet. She smiled to herself, tracing small circles on his shoulders with the tips of her fingers. He had his head turned
away from her, facing the mirrored wall as he rested on her breast.

Mercy was unaware that he was watching her in the mirror until she happened to glance in
that direction and realized his eyes were wide open and very intent.

She grinned impudently at him. "What do you think you're staring at, Mr. Martial Arts Expert?"

"You."

"I don't recall giving you permission." She teased him with her eyes and a tilted mouth.

"I didn't ask." He lifted his head, slowly peeling himself away from her perspiration slick body. "Wouldn't be much point. You'd probably have said no. Just to be difficult." He brushed his mourn lightly over hers. "Christ. I had no idea just how difficult you were going to be when I saw that ad for
Valley
in the bookseller's catalog."

There was no good-natured amusement in his words, Mercy realized. He was having trouble adjusting to something and it showed. "Would it have mattered?"

He shook his head in a solid negative. "No. It wouldn't have mattered. What time do we leave in the morning?"

Mercy froze for a few seconds. Croft said nothing. He stayed where he was, crushing her into the carpet and waited. Just waited.

"Did you seduce me tonight in order to persuade me into taking you to Colorado?"

"No. I would have seduced you tonight regardless of whether or not you were leaving for Colorado in the morning. I wanted you very badly. I can't remember when I've wanted anything as badly as I wanted you tonight."

She looked up into his unyielding face and believed him. "I'm glad," she said gently. "Because I've never known anything like what happened tonight."

"Oh, Mercy. I know that. You're so damn transparent. Just like a watercolor." He smiled faintly and kissed the tip
of her nose. "I saw the shock in your eyes when I first made you look into the mirror and watch us, and I felt the shock in you when you went wild in my arms a few minutes ago."

She flushed. "Proud of yourself, are you?"

His teeth flashed in one of his rare, predatory grins. "It's your own fault for giving me so much delightfully positive feedback."

"I'm not sure I like you being able to read me so well."

"You'll get used to it." He rolled lightly to his feet and reached down to pull her up beside him.

"Will I?" Mercy eyed him assessingly.

"Mmm." He touched the corner of her mouth with a gentle finger. "I'm looking forward to spending a few days with you in Colorado."

"You mean you're looking forward to trying to talk Gladstone out of his purchase."

Croft shook his head. "No. I have no interest in trying to talk Gladstone out of
Valley
."

"Do you really mean that? Word of honor?"

"Word of honor. I swear I won't try to negotiate with Gladstone."

She ached to believe him, and when she searched his intent gaze she was finally convinced she could. "All right," Mercy said, coming to a decision.

Croft smiled again and reached down to scoop up their clothing. "I know it's all right," he said as he led her toward the bedroom.

Later, Croft lay quietly beside a sleeping Mercy and tried to analyze the shadows in the room. He wasn't having much success. He had already been over the same questions several times in his own mind and the answers eluded him. He was feeling restless again and it bothered him.

It was like looking at a watercolor. On the surface everything was crystal clear. He had achieved what he'd set out to
do. Mercy had yielded to him physically, emotionally and intellectually. He would be going with her to meet the mysterious collector who had grabbed
Valley
as soon as it bit the catalogs.

But Croft wasn't satisfied and he knew why. It had to do with the way she had provoked him into losing his self-control earlier. Until that moment everything had been going just the way he wanted it to go. Mercy had been melting in his arms, surrendering with a sweet, enticing sensuality that Croft had enjoyed. Hell, he'd more than enjoyed it. He'd gloried in it, reveled in it.

He had been thoroughly aroused, obsessed with the idea of a gentle conquest that would tie her to him with what he hoped would be strong emotional bonds.

He hadn't been taking advantage of her, Croft had told himself earlier that day when he had planned the seduction. It was all for her own good. Lying now in her bed he had the grace to wince at the thought of how Mercy would greet such a rationalization for the volatile lovemaking that had taken place on her living room floor. But it was the truth. He was doing all of it to protect her.

But he admitted to himself that he needed her tied to him. He had deliberately set out to do exactly that. He wanted the emotional bonds in place just in case things got rough in Colorado. They could be crucially important. They might even save her life.

Croft knew he couldn't talk Mercy out of the trip or the book. That had left him no choice but to accompany her to meet Gladstone. She needed someone to look after her just in case Gladstone turned out to be a man who should have died three years earlier. And Croft knew he needed the entré into Gladstone's home if he was to discover the truth.

Everything was intertwined. There was no way yet to separate out parts of the whole without ruining the delicate pattern that was being woven. Repairing a broken Circle took care and patience and precision.

He was doing what had to be done, Croft assured himself. The seduction tonight had been necessary, as necessary as any of his other plans. He accepted that even though he had his doubts that Mercy would be able to accept it if she knew all he did about the situation. He had done what had to be done.