One Wicked Night by Shelley Bradley Page B

playing over his flesh, creating a vision of shadows and strength. The only naked male body she had ever seen was Cyrus’s, and she was awed by the differences in Lucien’s.
    Chest bare, he stood more powerful, more inspiring, than Michelangelo’s David . His flesh was smooth and carved with muscle, his abdomen ribbed. A fine, soft sprinkling of hair extended across the breadth of his chest, ending at the ridge of his muscles. The downy dark hair picked up again just above his waistband, and formed a thin, intriguing line that disappeared into his pants.
    Sweet heaven, Lucien was gorgeous. He was a beautifully rugged male, clearly virile enough to satisfy any woman in his bed. She had experienced the touch of his fulfilling hands and would soon know the ecstasy of his lovemaking. She bit her bottom lip nervously.
    He reached for her. His palms, warm and reassuring, rested on the top curve of her hips. “Don’t bite your lip. Bring it to me so I can kiss it.”
    She swallowed. Did he have any concept of the havoc he was playing with both her logic and emotions?
    He closed the distance between their mouths, claiming hers in a soft, searching kiss.
    “You feel wonderful,” he whispered against her skin.
    She closed her eyes against the pleasure of his voice washing over her. The feel of his flesh, hard where hers was soft, aroused her. “You do, too,” she said hesitantly.
    “God, sweetheart, you don’t know how much I needed to know that.”
    Serena never had the opportunity to reply. Instead, Lucien lifted her onto the sheets. He didn’t wait an instant before bending to worship her breast with his tongue.
    Stunned by the unexpected sensation, she grasped his shoulders. She withheld a groan, the admission of her pleasure, until his lips caressed her nipple to an aching point while his tongue paid it swirling homage.
    He lifted his head and smiled at her pleasure, not the cocky smile she would have expected, but a smile of sharing. Gently, he reached up and pulled the remaining pins from her hair. The mass cascaded around her face and across her shoulders, faintly golden against the crisp white linen. She knew it was a wet, tangled mess. But Lucien’s expression said otherwise. His fingers slid through the strands with reverence.
    “You are . . . beautiful,” he breathed. “That word seems so inadequate. I have never seen hair your color. At first, in the dark and the rain, I thought it merely blond. But it I see now it is more like white gold.”
    She shrugged shyly. Cyrus had never said a word about her hair color, good or otherwise. “Nothing so spectacular as that. It is simply what I was born with.”
    “I think it is spectacular, and on you it is perfect.”
    Casting her gaze away, she smiled. “Thank you.”
    Shaking his head, he lay on the bed and urged her to lie beside him, face to face. Wrapping his arms around her, his hands swept down her back and took her buttocks in his palms. He squeezed her, shifting closer, before drawing her leg over his hip. He caressed her thigh, while his lips conducted a leisurely sweep up her neck, then across her jawline and cheeks. When his mouth finally touched hers, a welcome succor pervaded her, mixing with a charge of desire.
    He slowly ravished her with his kiss. As he did, he exposed emotions and passions trapped under the daily facade of logic. Thoughts no longer ruled her actions. Instead, when Lucien rolled her to her back, fitting his hips intimately between hers, she welcomed him with a soft gasp of pleasure. He pressed against her, the silk of his trousers rubbing her neediest spot to higher arousal. Instinctively, she lifted her hips to him.
    Wordlessly, he rose. Serena watched through heavy lids as Lucien removed his trousers and drawers. Firelight played over him. The natural tone of his skin was many shades darker than her own. And Serena’s curious eyes followed that trail of dark hair she had noticed earlier. As she had suspected, the line continued