The Daughters of Nightsong. V. J. Banis

a faint smile she said, “Are you blackmailing me, Monsieur?”

      Raymond chuckled. “Of course. My price will be high.”

      “And if I don’t meet your price, you’ll reproduce the scent for Peter MacNair.”

      He shrugged. “Possibly.”

      Raymond simply extended his hand to her and instinctively she reached for it. A moment later, without her knowing quite how it happened, he was holding her hard against his chest. He felt the warmth of her breath on his cheek and when he turned her face to his, he tasted the sensual loveliness of her mouth.

      “You’re trembling,” he murmured.

      “I can’t help it. This isn’t exactly what I’d planned for our first meeting.” She tried to laugh but the moment was too important for levity.

      “Ravishing,” he whispered as he kissed her hair, her throat, her eyes.

      The intensity of her reaction startled her and she could feel it invoking a response in Raymond as he pulled her tighter against him and pressed his body harder against hers. Her lips parted, perhaps to protest, but in the next instant she was lost to him. She seemed to have lost her senses to everything else about her, even to where they were standing, and yet she was acutely aware of everything about this handsome Frenchman.

      She felt his hardness, the pulsing of his need for her as it pressed against her thigh. Suddenly a flash of memory blinded her—she saw Peter MacNair standing naked before her in a Chinese hut. He seemed to be beckoning to her, smiling encouragingly as she felt his hot, wet lips kissing her mouth, her face.

      Like lightning shattering the dark, suddenly it appeared to her as if all the secrets, all the wonderments were made clear and all problems resolved.

      Raymond moaned softly as he took his mouth from hers, bringing her back to the moment. “Forgive me, Lydia, I cannot help myself. You have blinded me to all reason,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

      Yes, she thought. Pray God forgive us both, for she knew that he was no more to blame than she. Some strange need was drawing them together, changing his hair to brown, his face to Peter’s face. Her body longed for his body as some suffocating sweetness robbed her of all rationality.

      She moved away from him slightly, keeping her eyelids lowered. As she undressed she didn’t want to look at him; she knew that this was not Peter MacNair. Suddenly she bit her lower lip. She didn’t want it to be Peter MacNair. She looked up sharply and stared into Raymond’s handsome face. Wantonly she stepped out of her clothes and opened her arms to him.

      A moment later naked flesh pressed hotly against naked flesh and Lydia whimpered with an almost delirious delight as Raymond’s hands moved down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, outlining the fullness of her hips, her buttocks and still lower. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. As he lowered himself on top of her Lydia felt his breath, urgent and hot with passion and desire.

      He ravaged her with his lips and tongue as she moaned softly and writhed against him. His hands fondled and cupped her breasts as he sucked the pouting nipples between his teeth, nipping them, causing tiny sparks to course through her.

      She loved the feel of his firmness, his strength, the mat of hair on his chest as he made hot, passionate love first to one breast then to the other. A moment later he moved downward, easing apart her thighs as he rained kisses on her middle, igniting her like a torch as he manipulated her from one height to another.

      When she felt the first scorching touch of his lips against the center of her being she was sure the world had stopped its rotation and that all life had ceased to be. He made love to her, first gently, tenderly, then pressing deeper, deeper, urgently, demanding. She knew it would be impossible for her to deny him anything.

      Wave after wave of delicious pleasure washed over her as the almost forgotten ecstasy of sexual passion blotted out everything but the sensuous delights of physical love. There was a strangely sweet aching inside her that was gradually increasing in its intensity. An instant later something far deep in her soul exploded like a huge skyrocket and she felt herself flying off into space, leaving everything mortal behind.

      Slowly she returned to the living and felt the tangle of bedclothes beneath her. She clung to him weakly, blissfully grateful for the fantastic pleasure that he’d given her. She sighed a deep sigh of relaxation and opened her eyes.

      It took a moment or two before his face came into focus. A tiny gasp caught in her throat as she turned her head on the pillow. She felt the stinging at the backs of her eyes as the pangs of disappointment wracked her brain. She shut her eyes and silently spoke his name.

      “Peter.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      “No, April,” David said as they walked along the low lying coastline. It was mid-afternoon and despite the fact that the sun had stayed stubbornly behind the bank of clouds, the day was warm. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought all week and I seriously think the right thing to do is for us to go to your mother. I’ve tried approaching the matter with Father but we never could communicate. He’s too busy to listen to me and Mother is visiting in Los Angeles.”

      “My mother doesn’t care what we do,” April complained. “She has a new employee, a man she is spending all her time with, Raymond Andrieux. He’s French,” she said, making a face.

      David shook his head. “I still think we would be making a mistake by eloping to China.”

      “You don’t love me,” she pouted.

      “You know that isn’t true. As much as I want to marry you and travel to your father’s home in Kalgan, I think I should at least meet your mother.”

      “She’d never permit us to run away together. She hates your father. You’re the last person she’d want me to marry.”

      “I am not my father,” he said stubbornly. “Once she gets to know me I know I can get her to like me.”

      April’s disappointment made her petulant. “I suppose all women swoon at your feet.”

      “Stop, April. You’re behaving like a child.”

      “Me?” she cried. “You’re the child, afraid to do anything without mama’s consent.”

      He stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. As usual, he felt a sort of shattering turmoil that affected every inch of him each time he looked deep into her lovely eyes. “We’re arguing,” he said giving her a gentle smile. “It’s our first.”

      April threw herself into his arms. “Oh, David, why do we have to have other people in our lives? Why weren’t we born alone on a deserted island where we’d have only each other?”

      He chuckled softly at her naiveté. “That sounds wonderful, but hardly realistic.”

      “Why do we have to be realistic? Why can’t everyone leave us alone?”

      “Because people weren’t meant to be left alone.” He held her quietly for a moment. “Come on, let’s go to your house and you can introduce me to your mother.” He saw her fear and added, “It’s only fair that she meet the man you are to marry, April. That way she won’t have to face a stranger when we bring her grandchildren to her.”

      April smiled at first, then laughed. She took his hand and started to run toward the hill.

      They found her mother sitting at the writing desk in the morning room. Lydia was engrossed in a letter and did not look up when they came to the doorway.

      “Mother,” April said, her voice tight. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

      Lydia stopped writing and raised her head. When she saw the handsome young man standing so tall and straight beside her daughter her breath caught in her throat. For a moment she thought she recognized Peter MacNair as she had seen him so many years before.

      “Mother,”