mattered to either of them now but pleasuring each other. And Lyon gave Silke pleasure as she had never known before, time after time, until she quivered with her need for his full possession, so desperately wanted him inside her, where she knew instinctively he belonged.
‘Touch me, Silke,’ he encouraged achingly. ‘Help me. Guide me.’
He felt like velvet, and as he shuddered beneath her touch she knew they both wanted that velvet hardness inside her, sheathed inside her silky warmth, giving them both even more pleasure, pleasure undreamt of. And so she did as he asked, guiding him, groaning her protest as he would have stopped at the barrier that suddenly halted his progress.
‘Silke?’ He looked down at her with stunned disbelief.
‘Don’t go, Lyon,’ she pleaded as he would have pulled away from her.
He shook his head. ‘But you’re a—’
‘Not any more.’ She took the initiative, arching up against him, looking up into his eyes as he breached that barrier, knowing only a brief moment of pain, and then that overwhelming pleasure returned as Lyon joined totally with her.
‘You—oh, God...!’ He ceased even trying to remain controlled as their bodies moved instinctively together in total harmony, bending his head so that his lips could claim a pouting breast.
And at the first touch of his mouth against her hardened nipple Silke felt the shudderings of an ecstasy she had never known before, wave after wave of pleasure taking her away from any reality but Lyon and their mutual lovemaking. Because Lyon was just as out of control as she was, tried desperately to be gentle still, but finally gave in to the primitive urge that was even stronger than he was, his mouth claiming hers even as he moved rhythmically inside her. And Silke knew that earth-shattering ecstasy once more before Lyon groaned his own pleasure, filling her, engulfing her.
* * *
Silke had often wondered how she would feel after making love for the first time. And now she knew. Awkward. Embarrassed. Apprehensive... Maybe if it hadn’t been Lyon who had made love to her she wouldn’t have felt any of those things, certainly not the latter. But it was Lyon, a man she really hadn’t known for very long, a man whom she loved but who didn’t love her. A man who had been shocked by her virginity...
She had loved James, but, as they had always known they were going to marry, the question of their becoming lovers before that marriage hadn’t really arisen. She had often asked herself, after James had gone off and married someone else, whether their lack of a physical relationship might have contributed to his going. Maybe it had. Although she doubted she would have known the ecstasy with him that she had just experienced. Lyon had known exactly how to make love to her to give her the ultimate in pleasure. And she hated the women who had given him that knowledge.
He lay on his back on the bed beside her, not touching her, not looking at her, staring up at the ceiling. Silke watched him beneath lowered lashes, wondering what he was thinking, but as usual his expression gave away none of his thoughts.
What happened now? How was she supposed to get through the next few minutes with any of her dignity intact? Or maybe she wasn’t. This should never have happened—
‘This should never have happened,’ Lyon harshly echoed her thoughts even as he swung his legs off the bed to stand up and begin pulling on his clothes—clothes that had been strewn about the room in their haste to feel flesh against flesh. ‘You should have told me,’ he added accusingly once he had his trousers on and was tucking his shirt into the waistband with savage movements. ‘This makes absolutely no difference to my dislike of your mother marrying my uncle, you know,’ he told her coldly. ‘I still—’
‘Don’t!’ she warned harshly, all awkwardness and embarrassment gone. As for apprehension...! ‘Get out of here, Lyon,’ she instructed coldly, getting up herself to pull on her grey silky robe to firmly tie the belt about her waist. ‘And don’t come back!’ Her eyes flashed a warning at him not even to mention her mother and Henry again in connection with what had just happened.
He was fully dressed now, looking at her with narrowed steely grey eyes—looking nothing at all like the passionate, consumed man who had just made love to her! Maybe that was something else she had learnt today—you didn’t have to be in love with the person you went to bed with. Because although she might have realised she was in love with Lyon, he certainly wasn’t in love with her! How naïve she had been all these years to believe you actually had to love the person you made love with. But then it obviously hadn’t been making love for Lyon but something much more ugly...
‘I asked you to go,’ she told him in a controlled voice. She just wanted to be alone, to try to salvage something from this situation. Starting with her pride.
‘I still can’t believe—’ He gave a perplexed shake of his head. ‘Silke, you and Cameron—’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she snapped dismissively. ‘My relationship with James is nothing to do with you.’
‘But you were going to marry the man.’ Lyon frowned.
She looked at him challengingly. ‘Yes?’
His frown deepened, and Silke could only imagine how she must look, her hair a blonde tangle about her face, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly swollen from the passion of their kisses. Just the thought of it made her face fill with heated colour and she could no longer meet his gaze.
‘Never mind,’ Lyon rasped harshly. ‘Obviously, whatever happened—or didn’t happen—between you in the past, Cameron has decided to renew the relationship!’
Silke’s eyes widened. She had no idea why James had contacted her after all this time, but she certainly didn’t believe it was for the reason Lyon did; James was married, and he had to know her at least well enough, after all this time, to realise she would never become involved with him again while he was a married man. She would never become involved with him again anyway!
Especially now... She had just made love with Lyon Buchanan, of all people!
‘James can decide what he pleases; it really doesn’t affect me,’ Silke dismissed, walking to the bedroom door. ‘I believe you were leaving,’ she said again pointedly.
Lyon didn’t move, fully dressed now, his dark hair slightly ruffled. From her fingers running through its silky thickness, Silke realised with an inward lurch of her stomach.
‘We have to talk about what happened just now—’
‘We don’t have to talk about anything,’ she cut in forcefully, wishing he would just leave so that she could lick her wounds in private. And she did feel very emotionally bruised, still couldn’t quite believe what had happened between the two of them only minutes ago in this bedroom. She couldn’t even look at the bed, didn’t know how she was ever going to be able to sleep in it again without remembering Lyon being there. She didn’t know how she was ever going to be able to sleep again anyway! ‘We both know that—just now, was a mistake,’ she added awkwardly.
‘Maybe more of one than either of us realises. Yet,’ Lyon concluded grimly.
Silke looked at him with puzzled eyes. How could it be more of a mistake than it already was? What—oh, no! She paled as she realised Lyon was referring to the possible consequences of what had just happened between them. But she couldn’t be pregnant just from... Of course she could; she wasn’t
