Mica's heart refused to slow down as the stranger moved close to her. Even though she knew he meant to kiss her, she felt more curious than threatened. Tall and dark, he wore a white shirt with billowing sleeves and snug black pants that disappeared into the tops of knee high black boots. She noticed he had his dark hair clubbed back, though bits curled around his angular face. Mica caught a hint of humor in his gaze, along with something far more dangerous.
Instinct shouted this was his domain, and she tried to regain her composure and come up with a reason for being in his room. However, her composure slipped drastically when he took the book from her and replaced it on the shelf.
And touched her in doing so.
Mica gasped when their bodies came into contact. The hard muscle beneath the soft linen of his shirt caused her breasts to ache in reaction to his touch. Heat branded her, and her heart thudded a dangerous beat. She knew she should ask him to back up because he was a virtual stranger. Handsome, but still unknown.
Nothing could have prepared her for the seductive power of his brown eyes--dark, penetrating eyes capable of reading her most intimate thoughts. Tiny worry lines crinkled at their corners, and she felt an unbidden desire to touch him and soothe the frown from his face. His gaze captured hers. Black brows rose in question.
Yes, her mind screamed, regardless of the question. Overwhelmed by the pure sensuality of the man, she didn't move a fraction as he lowered his lips to hers. Just before his eyes closed, she caught a glimpse of passion in their dark depths.
His kiss dissolved any defenses she may have constructed, and she groaned as his arms circled her to pull her closer. She couldn't remember ever being kissed this way. His lips, firm and warm, touched her with gentle persuasion, yet she could sense the underlying passion. His mouth traveled from her lips to her ear, where he nibbled on her lobe before sucking gently.
She vaguely recalled a novel where the author wrote, "The heroine felt devoured." She had laughed at the time, but now understood, as his lips scorched a path back to her mouth to communicate his desire once more.
Her body melted into a puddle of heat. She ached with pleasure so intense it hurt. Her fingers curled into his shirtfront as her legs threatened to turn to jelly. She could feel his heart beat against her breasts, pounding in answer to her own erratic beat.
"What is your name, midnight minx?" His husky whisper reached her through a haze.
"Mica." She moaned as he rained kisses against her closed eyes.
"Mica? That's too masculine a name for one so delicate. Is there more?" Each word was punctuated with butterfly kisses along her brow and nose.
"Michaela Marie." His kisses were driving her crazy; otherwise, she would never have told him her middle name.
"Ah, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman." His kiss stopped any reply she would have made, the heat from his lips traveling through her to turn her blood to fire. She stood on tiptoe to get closer.
"Come to bed with me," he whispered, pulling her tighter against him.
His suggestion brought Mica to her senses, astounded that the man's sensuality had carried her away.
"No!"
She pushed away from him, and his arms dropped to his sides, but he remained close enough to block her escape. He no longer touched her, but Mica could feel his heat and passion as though he did.
"I don't think ... I really shouldn't be here." It was all she could think of in way of explanation.
"I know that, sweet thing, for this is Indigo Bay, and I know all who belong here." His full lips lifted in a sensuous smile. "But that is of no consequence, for tonight, if you will allow it, you will be my guest."
He executed a bow, and Mica felt the urge to curtsy as a lady would when a gentleman asked for a dance. It only deepened her chagrin to glance down and realize she was not wearing a dress, but silk pajamas. She needed to get out of here before she lost the rest of her dignity and begged him for something she had thought she no longer needed. She glanced around for an excuse, her gaze settling on the drink decanters he had reached for earlier.
"May I have a glass of ... water, please?" She gave him what she hoped was an enticing smile.
"Water? I have sherry and brandy, but no water." He now seemed in no hurry to continue his seduction, and that made Mica more nervous. When he moved towards the table, all fluid grace like a wild animal on the prowl, she knew she was in trouble.
Except for his kisses, which she couldn't blame entirely on him, he appeared to have the integrity of a gentleman. She used that to her advantage and allowed her Southern drawl to slip into her words, aware of its effect on men. "I really would like water, please. Sherry and brandy will make me wilt right on the spot, I assure you."
He gave her a sideways glance, and she fluttered her lashes. "Well, if you insist on water, I'll have to fetch it, for all the help are beyond hearing in their beds at this hour." He stopped to whisper close to her ear. "As we shall be, just as soon as I return."
Mica sagged against the desk and gave him a weak smile before he turned and walked out of the room. In the next instant, she sprinted to the library door. When a quick glance assured her he was nowhere in sight, she raced down the hall to the door through which she had come.
In her haste, it slammed behind her, but she didn't care as she twisted the key in the lock. Heart pounding and knees weak, she rested her head against the wood's cool surface. What in the world had come over her to make her act the way she had? And with a perfect stranger no less! She could only blame it on his overwhelming sensuality. She'd never met a man with such seductive power.
As she made her way down the stairs to her rooms, she recalled just how perfect he had been. He had a lean, muscular body, silky hair and laughing eyes. The best part had been his searing kisses--hot, sweet and more than adequate to send even the most sensible woman into ecstasy.
She fell into bed exhausted, but determined to find out the next day exactly what kind of rooms Sea Crest's second floor contained. More importantly, she wanted the name of the stranger who not only inhabited those rooms but also had managed to breach all the defenses she had so carefully constructed since her divorce.
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