Chapter 3
Emily was stunned to find herself locked in an unbreakable embrace. It had been five years since a man had held her in this intimate fashion. And that it should be Simon, of all people, who was holding her this way now was almost beyond comprehension. Simon was her companion of the metaphysical realm, her noble, high-minded, sensitive friend, her intellectual soul mate.
Only in the darkest hours of the night and in her most secret dreams had she allowed herself to fantasize about him as a flesh and blood lover.
"Oh, Simon," she breathed, gazing up at him with a sense of wonder and longing that was so fierce it made her tremble in his arms.
He did not answer. His golden eyes were glittering with an intensity that in any other man would have been alarming. There seemed to be more annoyed impatience than sweet affection in his gaze, however. But perhaps that was just her imagination.
Without a word he removed her spectacles and bonnet and set them on the rock beside his hat. Then his mouth came slowly and deliberately down on hers and Emily forgot everything else except the hard, commanding heat of his kiss.
It was all she had ever dreamed his kiss would be during those still, dark hours in the middle of the night when she had allowed herself to dream hopeless dreams.
In truth, it was more than she had dreamed. She could never have fully imagined the feel of his mouth on hers because she had never experienced anything quite like it. This was nothing like those kisses she had received five years ago. The sensation of Simon's arms around her and the overwhelming intimacy of his mouth effectively shattered the fragile romantic illusions of a lifetime and taught her the true meaning of passion in one searing moment.
Simon's hand, which had been curved around her waist, began to slide up along her side toward her breast. Emily sensed dimly that she should call a halt at once but it seemed beyond her power to do so. This was S. A. Traherne, the man she had put on a pedestal, the man she had loved from afar with a pure and noble passion… the man of her dreams.
Now, in a blinding moment of sensual clarity, Emily realized that Simon reciprocated her love. The wonder of it was overpowering.
Simon's fingers continued upward over the bodice of the riding habit until the small, soft weight of Emily's breast was resting on the edge of his hand. Emily heard him groan as his thumb gently traced the outline of one soft curve. Her nipple was suddenly, achingly, taut under the heavy wool. Emily shivered and Simon's palm closed possessively over her breast.
"Come here, elf," Simon murmured in a rough, husky voice as he eased her across his thighs. He trapped her close to his chest with one bent knee and two iron-hard arms. The strength in him should have frightened Emily, but it did not. This was her dragon and she knew he would keep her safe.
Her fingers splayed across his chest, her nails digging urgently into the fabric of his coat. He smelled good, she thought. A combination of leather and horse and masculine heat. The scent of him was curiously intoxicating and she found herself burrowing closer into his warmth.
"Part your lips for me," Simon urged softly.
Emily obeyed instinctively. Without any warning, his tongue slid boldly into her mouth. The shock of it made Emily gasp and pull back. She was suddenly aware of the heavy bulge of his manhood under her thigh. She knew she was turning a bright pink.
"My God, Emily."
For a moment the world seemed to halt. She could barely breathe, let alone respond.
"Emily, open your eyes and look at me."
Dreamily, Emily lifted her lashes and looked up into Simon's harshly carved face. He was so close that she could see him without the aid of her spectacles. She was fascinated by the glittering heat that had washed away the coldness in his eyes. Fire lit the beautiful golden gaze now, a wild flame of masculine desire held under rigid control.
"Dragon," she whispered softly, touching his hard cheek with gentle fingers. "My very own golden-eyed dragon."
He narrowed his eyes as he stared down at her. "Dragons have a dangerous reputation around fair maidens."
She smiled softly up at him. " 'Tis no use breathing fire and smoke in an attempt to frighten me, my lord. I know I am quite safe with you."
"What makes you so certain of that?"
"I know you very well. I have read and reread every letter you have ever sent to me. Still, I must admit, I cannot quite believe this is happening."
"Nor can I." He shifted position abruptly, sliding her off his lap. He raked a hand through his dark hair. "Good God. I must have lost my wits."
"I know what you mean. I feel certain this is what the poets refer to as a wild, sweet excess of emotion. It is rather exciting, is it not?" Emily straightened, feeling a little shy and shaky, but otherwise wonderful.
"Exciting is one word for it. I can think of a few others."
"Such as?"
"Stupid."
Emily frowned at the sardonic tone. "Is something wrong, my lord?" She groped for her spectacles because he had moved too far away to enable her to see clearly the expression in his eyes.
"Here." Impatiently he thrust the spectacles into her hands and she put them on.
Emily saw at once that Simon was scowling fiercely. "There is something wrong. What is it, my lord?"
He gave her a derisive, sidelong glance. "You ask me that? After what almost happened a moment ago?"
Emily tilted her head to one side, studying him. "You kissed me. It was wonderful. The most wonderful experience of my life. Why should anything be wrong?"
"Damn it, woman, another five minutes and we would have been… Hell. Never mind."
"Another five minutes and we would have been cast adrift upon love's transcendent, golden shore, perhaps?"
"Good God. This is no time for poetic euphemisms." Simon glared at the quiet waters of the pond. He started to say something else and then his lips twitched. An instant later a wicked grin came and went on his hard mouth. "Cast adrift upon love's transcendent, golden shore? From whose works did you glean that line?'"
"I invented it myself," Emily told him, not without some pride. " 'Tis a line from the epic poem I told you I am currently working on, The Mysterious Lady. I am still searching for the proper rhyme for 'shore.' "
"Have you tried 'bore'?"
She grinned. "Now you are teasing me. Tell me the truth, sir. What do you think of the line?"
He glanced back at her over his shoulder, golden eyes gleaming with what should have been passion but which Emily was very much afraid was amusement. "It is most apt, Miss Faringdon. Come here."
She went willingly back into his embrace but this time he merely kissed her lightly on the forehead and then on the tip of her nose before setting her a short distance away from him again. "Now, pay attention, Miss Faringdon, for I have something extremely important to say to you."
"Yes, my lord?"
"Henceforth, whenever we are threatened with being cast adrift upon love's transcendent, golden shore, I want you to slap my face. Do you understand?"
She stared at him in shock. "I shall not do any such thing."
"Yes, you will, if you have any common sense at all."
"I am certain you would not go beyond the limits of what is proper, my lord."
"I have already gone beyond them," he said through gritted teeth, his amusement fading rapidly.
"The thing is, my lord," she said with a small, considering frown, "I am not at all certain we can rely upon my common sense in this sort of situation. I have been assured that in such matters, I do not have a great deal. Therefore, we must depend upon your sense of honor and propriety. Do not worry, my lord, I am certain you will know exactly how to go on."
"What in God's name do you mean, you don't have any common sense in this sort of thing?"