Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

a thousand years before, their motto, "Stand Aside," indicating the precise degree of their unconcern.

"As long as you're happy?" While Daisy's tone was teasing, beneath her casual jest rested her own fundamental resistance to such complacent hedonism.

"Do you mind?" A perceptive man, he'd caught that very small taint of disapproval. "I contribute generously to charity. Does that help?" His grin was beguiling.

Daisy laughed. "This is not precisely the position in which to pass any moral judgments, lying as I am in your bathtub, lusting after your body."

His smile could have brought the dead to life. "I was too polite to mention that. Maman has always cautioned me to avoid conversations having to do with virtue at times like this."

"You like your Mama." His tone had been one of delight.

"Yes. She'll adore you."

A stabbing jealousy struck her. "Do you bring all your lovers to meet your Mama?"

"Never."

She was suspicious of his glib reply, for he'd already answered her similarly on several occasions and for a man of de Vec's expertise, she found it unlikely so many "nevers" were appropriate to their relationship. "You needn't patronize me; I'm quite realistic about life."

"Sometimes, Daisy, mon chou, you're entirely too realistic. When I say never, I mean it. There's no point in lying."

"Don't tell me you're always truthful in your…" Resenting the breadth of his experience with women, she stumbled over the words defining his profligacy.

"… friendships with women?"

She was sunk down in the water still, her dark hair floating on the water's surface, her eyes accusing.

"Yes," he said to her silent accusation, "I am. Not impolite, and omission, I'll admit, becomes a developed skill, but always honest, darling." A great deal of his charm, beside the obvious beauty of his face and person, was the result of his engaging frankness.

She wanted him beyond the dictates of her resentment and conscience, her lustful need stark and strong. He was too hand-some lounging in the simple wooden spindle chair, dressed in an open-throated plain white shirt and buff-colored trousers rolled up above his strong, bronzed ankles, his heavy-lidded eyes seductive, the muscular definition of his tall lean frame on display�stretched out and lightly clothed, his skin very dark in contrast to the pale hues he wore. He was too tantalizing, making himself available as it were, not pressing himself on her. She'd thought he might help her bathe or at least come over to kiss her, and she found herself wanting to feel him inside her more powerfully for his reserve. If keeping his distance were deliberate, how often had he played the game, how many times had he sat and waited for a woman to come to him? Was she any different after all from the others, with the state of her arousal so pronounced? "Come here," she said, testing her power and his casual disregard.

"Are you finished?" he softly inquired, ignoring her remark.

"Yes, finished," she said, thinking instead of the unfinished state of her desire. "Come here and kiss me."

"I'll get a towel." He had his own plans and they didn't include getting wet.

She suddenly rose like Aphrodite born, in sleek lush invitation, water streaming in glistening iridescence down her body, her black hair cascading in a river of silk down the supple curve of her back, the dark triangle of hair between her smooth, gleaming thighs, shiny, damp, and tempting. She touched herself briefly there with a graceful gesture as if in invitation and waited for him. But drawing near, he only offered her his hand to step from the tub and wrapped her in the large white towel he'd taken from the bed. "Can we eat later?" she said very low, her throaty persuasion asking for more. "I mean luncheon," she softly added, letting the towel slide to the floor, watching his eyes drift down her slender form, thinking there were mysteries beyond the explanation of the intellect when she wanted to make love to this man anytime she saw him, anytime she thought of him… anytime at all.

"Come outside with me," he coaxed.

"Don't you want me?" She was more direct than coquettish. And she felt strangely breathless standing nude before him like a slave on the block.

Taking a very deep breath, he slowly exhaled. "Oh, yes."

With Eve-like assurance she reached for the buttons of his shirt. She had the admission she wanted, a response comparable to her own hot-blooded yearning. When he stayed her hand with a gentle pressure before her fingers unfastened the first ivory button, the inquiry in her eyes was mild.

"I hope this won't ruin my libertine image," he said with a grin, "but I promised Gabriella—my cook," he added in the event she didn't recognize the name, "we'd take luncheon at three." Bringing her captured hand to his lips he gently kissed her fingertips before placing her hand carefully within the curve of his palms. "François reminded me when he brought up your water that she was preparing a salmon aspic. The temperature's warm today and well… she and François have taken care of me here at Colsec for a long time."

"Let me get this straight. Gabriella's salmon aspic takes precedence over making love to me?"

If she hadn't been grinning, he would have answered her differently. "Let's just say I've more confidence in your ability to wait than Gabriella's aspic… and," he added, his smile wide, his hands holding hers warmly engulfing, "if you get angry with me, I know one or two ways to curtail your resentment."

They stood very close, their spirits in tremulous rapport�held in check… only barely.

"In other words, Gabriella doesn't succumb to your seductions."

"That's about it."

"So if I were to agree without argument to postpone my libidinous urges, you would no doubt…" Her voice took on a husky contralto resonance, and the light of mischief shone in her eyes. "… reward me later."

"My word on it, counselor," he said, grinning. "After the aspic's been served, I'm completely at your disposal."

"Completely?" The single word held suggestion rich in imagery.

He smiled. "Absolutely."