you tonight.
There's too much at stake now!"
Calla slipped out of reach with the light, slightly uneven steps of a dancer. Without pausing to think she reached for a tall brass candlestick standing on the carved wooden buffet behind her. When she came around with it in one hand, still desperately clutching at her bodice with the other, it was too late. Slade moved quickly, gently, simply, and devastatingly effectively. Calla lay on the floor in a soft heap, unhurt but staring up at him in amazed fury. The candlestick lay several feet away. Automatically she grabbed once again at the front of her dress but not before the tip of one high, pointed breast had been exposed to his eyes.
The sleek knot of her hair had come undone in the tussle and the light brown stuff floated around her shoulders. Too breathless for an instant to speak, she simply stared at her tormentor. Slade stood above her, his hands on his hips, the opened collar of his white shirt giving him a rakish air that was redundant.
The man would have looked quite dangerous enough without it!
"I'll be the first to admit you look very sexy lying there in dishabille," he said dryly, "but I honestly hadn't planned on using judo to catch my future wife!"
"Your wife!" Calla could only stare at him speechlessly, wondering if he had gone crazy or if she had.
"Don't look so startled, sweetheart," he said in a gentling voice as he crouched down beside her and touched her cheek in a caressing motion that made her flinch. "On the other hand, that startled look is at least a change from the waves of the North Atlantic that have been lapping me all evening."
"Slade, will you stop making fun of me?" she bit out, levering herself to a sitting position and attempting to refasten the halter of her dress with shaking fingers. "I realize you must find this all very humorous, but I… oh!"
He reached out and grabbed her hands before she could complete the small task, and then he yanked her lightly across his lap as he settled down onto the carpet.
"I'm not finding this in the least amusing," he assured her, the mocking look-turning to one of growing passion as he moved the flat of his hand down her throat and across her breast, dragging the black material down to her waist. "I hadn't meant to propose like this at all. You are ruining every one of my fine plans!"
He lowered his head to seal the protest behind her lips, his palm gliding between the shallow valley of her breasts. His tongue pierced the darkness of her mouth as his fingers began tracing delicate patterns around a nipple.
"Don't be afraid of me," he whispered huskily against her lips as he held her cradled in his lap. "I won't hurt you…"
"Let me go!" she said with a soft cry of rage and despair. She couldn't move. He was holding her gently but firmly, leaving her tense body no room to maneuver. Her head lay against his thigh and she could feel the muscled strength of it.
"No," he soothed, his fingers coaxing and tantalizing on her breast before they began a light filigree pattern down to her stomach. "I didn't hurt you a minute ago. I know exactly how much force I applied and I didn't let you take a hard fall."
"Please, Slade…"
"God! You have a fine, strong body, little one. I can feel the strength in you beneath my fingers. Is that from your dancing? Who would have thought dancing could give a body power and grace?" he added whimsically, his lips scorching along her throat. "Perhaps you were born with it!"
"Slade, I won't let you seduce me!" she vowed, her voice a thread of sound, but nonetheless laced with her determined will. Why did it have to be this man who broke through all the carefully erected barriers?
Why did it have to be Slade York who could bring her body to life?
"You can't stop me, sweetheart," he muttered, his tongue curling around a nipple as his hand probed along the lacy edge of her briefs. "I want you too badly. And a man has a right to seduce the woman he's going to marry," he
There's too much at stake now!"
Calla slipped out of reach with the light, slightly uneven steps of a dancer. Without pausing to think she reached for a tall brass candlestick standing on the carved wooden buffet behind her. When she came around with it in one hand, still desperately clutching at her bodice with the other, it was too late. Slade moved quickly, gently, simply, and devastatingly effectively. Calla lay on the floor in a soft heap, unhurt but staring up at him in amazed fury. The candlestick lay several feet away. Automatically she grabbed once again at the front of her dress but not before the tip of one high, pointed breast had been exposed to his eyes.
The sleek knot of her hair had come undone in the tussle and the light brown stuff floated around her shoulders. Too breathless for an instant to speak, she simply stared at her tormentor. Slade stood above her, his hands on his hips, the opened collar of his white shirt giving him a rakish air that was redundant.
The man would have looked quite dangerous enough without it!
"I'll be the first to admit you look very sexy lying there in dishabille," he said dryly, "but I honestly hadn't planned on using judo to catch my future wife!"
"Your wife!" Calla could only stare at him speechlessly, wondering if he had gone crazy or if she had.
"Don't look so startled, sweetheart," he said in a gentling voice as he crouched down beside her and touched her cheek in a caressing motion that made her flinch. "On the other hand, that startled look is at least a change from the waves of the North Atlantic that have been lapping me all evening."
"Slade, will you stop making fun of me?" she bit out, levering herself to a sitting position and attempting to refasten the halter of her dress with shaking fingers. "I realize you must find this all very humorous, but I… oh!"
He reached out and grabbed her hands before she could complete the small task, and then he yanked her lightly across his lap as he settled down onto the carpet.
"I'm not finding this in the least amusing," he assured her, the mocking look-turning to one of growing passion as he moved the flat of his hand down her throat and across her breast, dragging the black material down to her waist. "I hadn't meant to propose like this at all. You are ruining every one of my fine plans!"
He lowered his head to seal the protest behind her lips, his palm gliding between the shallow valley of her breasts. His tongue pierced the darkness of her mouth as his fingers began tracing delicate patterns around a nipple.
"Don't be afraid of me," he whispered huskily against her lips as he held her cradled in his lap. "I won't hurt you…"
"Let me go!" she said with a soft cry of rage and despair. She couldn't move. He was holding her gently but firmly, leaving her tense body no room to maneuver. Her head lay against his thigh and she could feel the muscled strength of it.
"No," he soothed, his fingers coaxing and tantalizing on her breast before they began a light filigree pattern down to her stomach. "I didn't hurt you a minute ago. I know exactly how much force I applied and I didn't let you take a hard fall."
"Please, Slade…"
"God! You have a fine, strong body, little one. I can feel the strength in you beneath my fingers. Is that from your dancing? Who would have thought dancing could give a body power and grace?" he added whimsically, his lips scorching along her throat. "Perhaps you were born with it!"
"Slade, I won't let you seduce me!" she vowed, her voice a thread of sound, but nonetheless laced with her determined will. Why did it have to be this man who broke through all the carefully erected barriers?
Why did it have to be Slade York who could bring her body to life?
"You can't stop me, sweetheart," he muttered, his tongue curling around a nipple as his hand probed along the lacy edge of her briefs. "I want you too badly. And a man has a right to seduce the woman he's going to marry," he
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