Read Online On A Wicked Dawn by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online

to focus on you?”
    She caught his eye, thought the blue darkened, saw hisjaw set. He gave her no answer. Instead, one hand locking about hers, he towed her from the floor.
    Eyes widening, she saw the terrace doors approaching. They were open. The flagged terrace beyond was bathed in moonlight. “Where are we going?”
    â€œTo advance our script.”

Chapter 3
    He led her onto the terrace, where numerous couples were strolling, taking advantage of the mild night. The moon, a silver half disc, rode high, bathing the scene in shimmering light.
    Luc glanced around, then wound her arm in his and turned along the terrace. “It’s customary,” he said, as if in answer to the question in her mind, “for courting couples to spend time together in conducive surrounds.”
    Conducive to what? She glanced at him, but he said no more. She looked ahead. “Do you think anyone’s noticed yet?”
    â€œThey have, but it’ll take a few nights to convince them there’s more to our interaction than mere socializing.”
    â€œSo how do you propose advancing our script?”
    She felt his glance. “All we need do is follow the age-old plot. The gossips will wake up soon enough.”
    Age-old plot. She was perfectly certain his version would differ significantly from hers. Not that she intended arguing with what she hoped his plan would be—not when it bade fair to fall in so well with hers.
    They continued along the increasingly sparsely populated terrace; most couples remained within the area illuminated by the ballroom’s light. At the terrace’s end, Luc cast a swiftglance about, then closed his hand hard over hers; three long strides, drawing her with him, and they were around the side of the mansion. Shallow steps led down, then the terrace continued beneath a loggia supporting a rioting white rose.
    Once beneath it, they were screened from above, and from anyone on the terrace. The garden beyond the loggia was deserted, the room that gave onto it dark, not in use.
    They were alone. Private.
    Luc halted, drew her to face him. She looked up, caught only the briefest glimpse of his face as he bent his head and, one hand cradling her jaw, set his lips to hers.
    Gently.
    The fact penetrated her whirling mind; she’d braced for an assault. She’d been kissed before; in her experience all men were greedy.
    Not Luc.
    Not that she doubted, not for one instant, that he would want, and would take, more, but he didn’t grab, seize, demand. He lured.
    Touch by touch, caress by caress. It was she who moved into him, into the kiss. His hand shifted from her jaw to her nape, long fingers hard against her sensitive skin. His other hand still grasped hers, fingers twining, locking.
    His lips moved on hers, subtly shifting, encouraging . . . unthinking, she parted her own; he surged in. Not aggressively, yet powerfully. His habit of slow grace seemed even more pronounced in this arena. Every movement was unhurried, languid, yet laced with absolute mastery.
    She shivered, realized how completely he’d captured her—her wits, her senses. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear—was distant from the world and had no wish to go back, no wish to be distracted from the sheer wonder of the kiss. As if he understood, he angled his head and pressed deeper, drew her with him.
    Excitement shimmered through her. The intimacy touched her; she found herself eagerly, wantonly, surrendering her mouth—pleasure coursed through her when he took. Claimed.
    That was what he’d wanted, intended to achieve with hisadvancing of their “script.” He’d moved to set his mark on her, a first declaration, a preliminary statement of absolute intent.
    She was in absolute agreement. He’d set the scene, pledged his troth—now it was her turn. If she would.
    She wasn’t sure how to do it. Tentatively, she stepped nearer; her bodice brushed his coat. The