it as her own diary. Lifting both books to desk level, he tipped the cover of the manual in her direction. “The employee manual. Thanks for recommending it. It looks interesting.”
She merely rolled eyes that glinted with amusement and began working again. Relaxing, Edison glanced down and realized the diary had a title: Night Pleasures. Not exactly what he’d expected. Frowning, he drew a sharp breath as his eye caught a sentence fragment in midparagraph: “…she panted softly, breathlessly, as she ran through the near dark.” His body tensed. What was going on here? His heartbeat quickened as he scanned the rest of the page.
…her body ached, swelling with awareness and burning with fire as her eyes flitted over the floor-to-ceiling mirrored walls. Long-handled torches lined the smoky, scented passageway, and sensuous tongues of flame licked the mirrors. That same fire stroked inside her, but she knew the burning heat was nothing compared to what she’d experience when she felt the warm, sometimes gentle, hands of the man she sought, the Marquis de Lancroix.
Where was he?
She’d been in this otherworldly place for so long, suppressing shudders of anticipation, struggling for a glimpse of his long, wild raven mane and sleek, muscled body. Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, she prayed her heart would stop racing, but it only beat faster, because she was about to be seduced in this pleasure palace. Only the wealthiest man in France could afford such a sensual private playhouse, with its maze of mirrored halls and air scented with incense….
She gasped. There he was! Pressing a hand to her heart, she whirled and stared into a room. But he’d vanished! What was happening? she wondered in confusion, her mind reeling. Was the marquis playing tricks on her? Had he drugged her with a potion at the masked ball? Was that why she felt so lost? So aroused? So disoriented?
And hadn’t she just seen him? She could swear he’d been reflected in the mirrors in one of the rooms, reclining on a bed, everything about him bespeaking excess: his bold, unapologetic nakedness, the thrust of his sex, the fiery flames prancing on a body that looked like sculpted bronze. She spun around again. And again. She spun until she swore she saw him everywhere. Then she moved forward, inhaling sharply as she skated her fingertips along the mirrors.
“There!” Her voice suddenly hitched as she passed another room. “I’ve found you!” But when she reached out, her palm hit a mirror, and she found herself peering into yet another sensuous room, staring at where crystal-blue waters tumbled into a pool, gushing around the mural painted on the bottom. Her eyes became riveted on nude sea nymphs and mermaids pleasuring proudly aroused men, and she suddenly admitted she shouldn’t have sneaked away from the ball to meet Lancroix. She’d allowed the marquis to love her body before now, of course, but never in his private playhouse made for sin. Tonight she’d lied to her mama and attendants, and now she’d be wise to find her way out of this place. A footstep sounded! Had Lancroix followed her, after all?
“Lancroix?”
She gasped, suddenly startled by her own reflection. Tugging the glittering silver mask from her dark eyes, she threw it to the stone floor. There. Let him find her clothes scattered in the hallway. It would serve him right for not meeting her as he’d promised. Yes, she should leave. He’d find scraps of costume—the chain around her waist, her mask. He’d be so frustrated, filled with want for a naked woman—for her—but she’d be gone.
And yet it was a shame. She had dressed for him tonight—in sensual, near-transparent silver silk scarves that draped over her breasts and lower body, but left her belly bare. She’d already felt his hands…already knew that a flick of his practiced wrist could send the fabric flying. “Marquis de Lancroix?” she called abruptly. “Is that you, sir?”
She never knew, because the man came too quickly, grabbing her from behind, his strong arms seizing her waist without warning. The hard, heated impact of his naked body took her breath away, just as a wind gusted down the passageway, extinguishing the torches.
His breath came then, warm on her cheeks, his low, seductive growl eliciting shivers from the deepest recesses of her being. “Lover,” he whispered.
The word she’d hoped to hear from Lancroix warmed her, but did the rough stubble teasing her neck really belong to the marquis? Were these his bare thighs, braced against the backs of hers? In the darkness, an eye mask grazed her cheek, which meant that whoever he was, he’d come from the ball.
“Who are you?” she croaked. “The man who’s been lusting for you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“But I do, Mademoiselle Duclaire.”
He knew her name! Before she could decide whether or not to struggle, he was dragging her backward, the strength of his embrace so sensually possessive that her knees buckled. “Sir, I demand you identify yourself!” she managed to exclaim as bold hands slid upward—tracing her bare ribs, then suddenly, swiftly, curling over her breasts in a first touch that left her reeling and took her breath. Her heart beat out of control. The man definitely knew what he was doing.
His voice was as dangerously silky as the hands that cupped and squeezed. “I’ll make the demands.”
“Lancroix?” she murmured faintly. “Is that you?” Or was her body aching for a stranger?
“Do you really care?”
No, she admitted to herself, not when his mouth descended with the verve of a savage. His tongue plunged, driving silkenly inside her mouth as surely as a warrior’s lance, while magic fingers began stroking her peaking nipples. She knew it was Lancroix—it had to be—and with his every touch, she realized she loved him. As fiery hands melted away her costume, making every erogenous inch of her burn, she knew she’d give this man anything.
“Ah…” he murmured, dropping scalding kisses along her neck as he dispensed with her skirt and slid a finger between her buttocks, gently lifting the strap of the thong. “Nice, Mademoiselle Duclaire. Very nice.”
A cry was torn from her as he continued tugging the leather, slowly working the strap, making it pull in front until she squirmed, about to burst. Vaguely, sucking a breath between her teeth, she wondered how he’d undressed her so quickly. “Yes,” she whispered simply, nonsensically, her heart hammering as she felt his hard length graze her flesh. “Yes.” There was simply no other word she could offer him….
“It’s good you don’t intend to fight me,” he stated, the urgency in his words as seductive as his body. “It’s no use.”
And he was right, she realized as he toyed with the waist chain she wore, suddenly tightening it, making her skin quiver and her nerves dance. “Nice,” he murmured throatily. “So very nice.” Silken chest hairs flattened against her back as he embraced her more tightly from behind, holding her to the hard, muscled wall of his chest, his palms thrusting upward once more, lifting her breasts, holding them high as if he were making an offering to a goddess.
“Bring the salts,” she whispered, feeling the lights in her mind extinguishing as she arched against him, pleasure arrowing to the juncture of her thighs. “I’m going to faint.”
“You will,” he promised, cupping where she felt so swollen. “From the pleasure.”
And then he turned her head, kissing her until everything inside her became as darkly sensuous as the mirrored passageway, as liquid and hot as the summer night. Thumbs and fingers teased her taut nipples, roughening and pinching, making her whimper from the torment. “Good,” he praised softly
