Passion's Dream (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 1) (6 page)

“Oh, my,” Leah breathed in awe.  “This is—oh, my.”

Clay turned and opened the first of two side-by-side arched doors.  “This is your dressing room and closet.”

Leah peered inside.  “This is a closet? A family of four could live in here!”  The room was so enormous, it would make the rather limited wardrobe she’d brought with her look positively measly.  The bathroom, equally cavernous, with its Moorish tiled floor and wall border, marble countertop, gold faucets, and enormous bathtub, was like something out of the Arabian Nights.

She turned and caught Clay staring at her, an odd expression on his face.  Then he smiled, his unexpected dimples softening the angular planes of his dark face.  He took a step toward her and she had to fight the almost overwhelming urge to turn and run.  His lean, long-fingered hand reached out to push a tendril of reddish-gold hair gently behind her ear.  She suddenly realized that she was trembling.

Swallowing hard, she dropped her eyes before the piercing intensity of his gaze. 
You’ve got to
stop
this!  This man is a stranger to you.  A
stranger! 
Even counting the meeting on the beach three years ago, you’ve known him less than an hour, tops!

But even as her mind formed the words, her heart and body denied them.  This man was not a stranger.  Part of her had known him forever, in other places, in other lives, in other times, across countless eons.  And that part of her had recognized him instantly, the moment she’d set eyes on him three years ago.  That’s why she’d never been able to forget him.  That’s why she was so ripped apart by him now.

His voice brought her back to the present, weaving its soothing magic into the disturbing pattern of her thoughts.  Thoughts that became even more disturbing as he continued closing the distance between them.  “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” he was saying, “if you need anything, just ask me or Mrs. Murdock.”

“Are you—do you—I mean, do you live here, too?  In the house, I mean?”

“Yes, I have a room upstairs on the third floor—the former servants’ quarters.  It would fit inside your closet with room to spare.”  He smirked.  “Mr. Burke hired me to replace Julio until he can get back to work, but the doctors don’t think that will happen for at least six months.”

Six months! 
She ducked her head, trying to evade his touch, to no avail.  For some reason, he was tracing the smooth outline of her ear with his forefinger, sending fire leaping along her veins.  “Mr. Knight—“

“Clay.”

“Mr. Knight—”

“Don’t fight it, Leah, It’s inevitable.”

“No.  Please, you mustn’t say such things.”  She could feel his eyes boring into her and she could not bring herself to lift her head to meet them.  Because she knew that if she did, she would be lost.

“Why not?”  One shoulder lifted in a casual shrug.  “You know it’s the truth.”

“No.”  Her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips.  “It’s impossible.  We barely know each other.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”  His other hand lifted and suddenly he was holding her head firmly between his hands, turning her face upward toward his as he stepped into her body and lowered his head, his mouth mere inches from hers.  And she just stood there, impaled on his gaze like a butterfly impaled on a pin, unable to move, helpless to prevent her own destruction.

Oh!  My!  God!

Her eyes closed and she stopped breathing as Clay lowered his mouth to hers in a heartbreakingly sweet brushing of his soft lips across hers, touching, tasting, tantalizing.  As gentle as the kiss was, Leah knew that it was a taking.  A claiming.  A bold possession that melted her insides.  An aching warmth spilled through her lower limbs, dissolving her bones and drowning her will to resist.

Unable to stifle a groan, he slid his palms down the sides of her neck, over her shoulders and down her arms.  He put his arms around her back, drawing her more tightly against him, fitting her soft, supple curves into the hard planes of his very male body, crushing her soft breasts against his broad chest, making her achingly aware of his prominent arousal.  His cock was enormous, pressing against her belly like a club.

With a moan, she stiffened and tried to pull away, but his arms tightened, keeping her exactly where she was, imprisoned against him.  Except it didn’t feel like being imprisoned.  It felt like being…liberated
.
As if she were finally where she belonged.  Where she was meant to be
. 
The heady scent of soap, sweat, and pure, elemental male filled her nostrils, sweeping her resistance away on a tide of answering need.  Without volition, her arms went around him and she found herself clinging to him…
clinging to him…
like a vine clings to a tree.  For the first time in her life she felt deliciously, gloriously alive.  This man had awakened her slumbering body to a fever pitch of arousal she’d never known she was capable of experiencing, not even in her wildest imaginings.

She’d never felt this way with Richard.  Not even close!  Not once in the entire three years of their marriage.  Richard, whose approach to lovemaking had been perfunctory, almost clinical.  Richard, whose favorite name for her had been “Ice Princess” because of her inability to respond to him with the degree of sexual abandon he desired.  And because of her inability to have an orgasm.  As a result he had, more often than not, taken her in anger and frustration, ultimately seeking his sexual gratification in beds other than hers.

Remembering brought pain and Leah gave a small whimper of distress.

Sensing her imminent withdrawal, Clay pulled her even closer, deepening the kiss to part her lips beneath his.  He swallowed her gasp of pleasure, taking advantage of her open mouth to let his hot tongue surge forward into her mouth like a marauding pirate, to explore the treasure within.  He probed, searched, excavated, until he was able to coax her stiff tongue into relaxing and meeting his in the thrust and parry of their sensual duel.

Helpless against this carnal onslaught, she clung to him desperately, her blood becoming molten fire in her veins, raging through her like wildfire, melting her bones and roaring in her ears.

One of his hands, which had been caressing her back, moved to the slender curve of her waist, where it paused briefly before stroking up her side, stopping at her ribcage, just beneath the gentle swell of her breast.

Without even realizing it, she shifted her body slightly, allowing him better access and his hand closed over the ripe fullness of her breast.  Even through the thin silk of her blouse and the lacy bra beneath she could feel the heat of his skin.  His long fingers kneaded her soft flesh, then curved tenderly around the swelling curve, enabling him to brush his thumb lightly back and forth across the throbbing tip.  Her nipple surged forward, hardening under his touch and she let out a gasp.

Jesus Christ! 
Feeling her nipple grow tight under the lash of his thumb, Clay stifled a groan.  Longing swept through him.  Longing to take her into his mouth and suckle her hard tip, feeling her writhe in pleasure beneath him.  Longing to strip her to the waist and rub his face against her heated skin, hearing her little gasps and cries of pleasure as he stoked her arousal.  Longing to feel her wet, silken sheath welcoming the invasion of his cock as he claimed her.

With a moan of distress, she wrenched her mouth away from his and sagged against him.  Her legs were trembling so violently, she would have fallen if his arms hadn’t been holding her up.  The rapid pounding of their mingled heartbeats thundered in her ear as she struggled to regain control over her ragged breathing.

Clay’s inner struggle was even more savage than hers as he fought to keep himself from picking her up, throwing her onto the bed, yanking down her slacks and thrusting his cock into her moist, steamy sheath.  He knew she was aroused.  Her scent enveloped him, intoxicated him, ravished him until it was all he could do not to just fuck her senseless, over and over until he got her out of his system. 
Christ almighty! How am I ever going to be able to keep her safe if I’m the one attacking her
?

With effort, he managed to force himself to back off slightly.  “See what I mean?”  His husky whisper brushed against the corner of her mouth as he planted a line of tiny, nibbling kisses along her jaw.  “We do know each other, Leah. Have known each other in other places, other times.”  His arms tightened convulsively around her and he buried his face in the sweet curve where her neck met her shoulder.

The startling parallel of his words to her earlier thoughts was frightening.  “That’s-that’s nonsense,” she broke in, only slightly out of breath.  “I-I don’t believe in such stuff.”

“Neither do I.”  He smiled into her hair.  She could feel his lips curving.  “At least, I didn’t.  Until three years ago, when I met you.”  He straightened and pushed her slightly away from him to look down at her.  When she didn’t move, he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her head up.  Her eyes fluttered open and she saw the intensity of his passion-glazed eyes with a small tremor of foreboding.  She was struggling against her attraction to him, like a moth struggles against its attraction to a flame, circling ever and ever closer until, in the end, she, like the hapless moth, would be incinerated.

“Face it, Leah.  What’s between us is as inevitable as night following day, and we can no more resist it than the tide can resist the pull of the moon.  We have been
lovers, not once, but many times, in many other lives.  I feel it with a certainty I’ve never felt about anything before.  And we will be lovers in this life, I promise you.”

Yes, but for how long? 
It was a silent cry of anguish, making her lower her eyes so he wouldn’t see the pain written there. 
How long will it be before you, too, grow tired of me?  How long before you, too, find me wanting and seek your pleasures elsewhere? 
By his own admission, he’d had many women.  Did she want to wind up being the latest in a long line of Clay Knight’s discards?  She was smart enough to know that the pain of Richard’s betrayal would be nothing compared to the agony she would face if she were to become involved with Clay Knight.  Her automatic response to him was simply too strong to allow her to emerge unscathed if he were ever/ to tire of her and cast her casually aside.

She shook her head slightly.  No, she couldn’t do it.  She simply could not open herself up to that kind of pain.  With a kind of determined fatalism, she sighed and pushed her hands against Clay’s hard chest.  Surprisingly, he let his arms fall immediately to his sides, giving her the freedom to step away from him.  Perversely, she wanted to be back in the warmth and safety of his embrace.  For one nano-second, she allowed herself to consider it.  But she knew that the sense of safety was an illusion.  The only thing awaiting her within his embrace was danger—to her heart and quite possibly her soul.

She gave a nervous little laugh.  “Well, Mr. Knight.”  Somehow she managed to make her voice sound cool and amused, “I’ve really got to hand it to you.  You’ve got the most original line I’ve heard in my whole life.”

“Clay,” he replied automatically, frowning slightly.  He’d seen the struggle she was having against her own desires and longed to ease her fears.  “Is that what you think this is?  A line?”

“Of course.”  She gave an insouciant wave of her hand.  “What else could it be?”

He shrugged.  “The truth,” he said simply.

“Oh, come now.”  Somehow she managed to inject just the right amount of world-weary cynicism into her voice.  “Don’t tell me you actually believe all that nonsense about past lives and such.”

“Nonsense, huh?”  He fought a smile.  He wanted to laugh, wanted even more to pull her against him and
really
kiss her.  “So you’re denying that you find me attractive?”

“Fishing, Mr. Knight?”

“Clay.”

She slanted him an amused glance and he had the grace to look abashed.  “I’m sure you’re well aware of the fact you’re a very good-looking man.  You don’t need me to tell you that.  I imagine most women are attracted to you—”
unless they’re dead.

“Most women?”  He moved a step closer and she felt a brief flutter of panic, but she managed not to move.  “But not you.  Is that what you’re saying?  That you’re somehow immune to my considerable charms?”

He was deliberately crowding her, his nearness stealing her breath, robbing her of her ability to think.  She drew a steadying breath and inclined her head with regal coolness, a gesture she had learned well as Richard’s society wife.  A gesture she’d used often to mask her utter boredom with his corporate clients, or to conceal the confusion and turmoil of her true feelings.  “What I am saying,” she said with firm patience, “is that I don’t hop into bed with every handsome man I meet, just because I might—and I said
might
—find him attractive.”

He just smiled, a maddeningly arrogant smile and moved even closer, stepping around her side.  “Funny, I must’ve missed that part.”

“What part?”

“The part where I asked you to hop into bed with me.”

Her shoulders jerked as his hands descended on them from behind, but she managed not to move.  The whisky-roughness of his voice was a caress against her ear.  “However,” he went on, his lips brushing across the sensitive skin of her nape, “the question is academic.  When the time comes, I won’t have to ask.  You’ll be begging me to take you to bed with me.”