Wounds of Passion by Charlotte Lamb (primary phonics .TXT) 📕

But tonight you’re glittering, a mythical creature from fairy-tale, half-bird, half-woman.’

She froze, tranced by a vibration in his voice, a low, throaty sound, like the purr of a leopard.

He slowly put out a hand, delicately brushed the soft, downy silver-white feathers. ‘What sort of feathers are they? A dove’s? Not quite the right shade, though, for a dove; not white, more silver.’

‘We were told they were from a silver pheasant,’ she whispered.

‘Beautiful,’ Patrick said, his fingertips running down over the feathers to the filigree silver edge of the mask where it fitted over her cheekbones.

She quivered as she felt his fingers touching her warm skin, slipping downwards to her mouth, following the curve of it caressingly, sending a shudder of arousal through her entire body.

She was hypnotised, watching him through her mask, unable to move an inch, while inside her the successive waves came and went, desire making her shudder, fear making her stomach turn over.

‘If you were a bird, I’d want to catch you and put you in a cage,’ Patrick murmured. ‘If you were a woman, I’d lock myself in here with you, and make love to you for days.’ His smile was mocking, but his eyes had that dark, smoky heat in them, and she began to breathe very rapidly, her glossy black pupils dilating.

She tried pretending it was a joke, forced a shaky little laugh. ‘You have a weird sense of humour; I don’t think that’s funny!’

‘I wasn’t being funny,’ he said, suddenly catching hold of her arms and swivelling her round to face the mirror again. Patrick stood behind her, his chin on her shoulder, his hands sliding round her waist and cupping her lace-covered breasts, their soft fullness nesting in his warm palms. ‘Are you a woman, or aren’t you? Isn’t it time you made up your mind?’

‘Don’t!’ she groaned, trying to wrench herself away, but at once his arm tightened on her waist, pulled her backwards; his hard male body forced against her, making her very aware that he was aroused; his thigh pushed alongside hers. The contact completed the electrical circuit flowing between them, the power of his body throbbing along her veins, shocking her, weakening her.

‘Stop fighting, Antonia,’ he muttered, his mouth pressed down into her throat, his teeth gently grazing her skin. ‘Just relax and feel it.’

As if she didn’t feel it! She moved restlessly, so conscious of his body pressing into her that she shuddered with a tangled mix of pain and pleasure, the ebb and flow of those conflicting emotions turning her body into a battleground.

‘I can’t bear it! Please...don’t, Patrick, I can’t,’ she muttered, closing her eyes.

‘Don’t shut your eyes!’ Patrick fiercely said. ‘Don’t try to ignore it; look into the mirror, Antonia! Come on, open your eyes, and take an honest look at what scares you so much you keep running away from it!’

She shook her head, keeping her lids down, her heart hurting inside her.

‘If you keep on shutting your eyes and pretending it isn’t happening you’ll never face up to it!’ His voice was harsh now; she felt the anger beating inside him and shivered.

‘Don’t be angry with me,’ she pleaded. ‘He was angry, that other man... I hate it when you’re in a rage; it reminds me.’

‘Everything about me reminds you, doesn’t it? How do you think I feel about that? When you look at me sometimes your eyes cloud over and I see you shiver and I know what you’re thinking about, and I feel like hunting for that bastard and killing him!’

Her eyes flew open and she looked at him in the mirror, sea-blue gaze startled, wide, searching.

Patrick stared back into them. ‘Antonia, do you want to be maimed all your life? Sooner or later you’re going to have to admit you’re a woman, and you need love, and there’s nothing wrong or shameful in needing it; it’s the most natural thing in the world.’ He put his cheek against her own, rubbing his skin on hers, rocking her gently like a child, his arms around her. ‘I need it, too. We all do. Human beings need love like plants need rain. You had a bad experience, but if you’re ever going to be a whole, natural woman you’re going to have to put it all behind you and risk loving again.’

Antonia stared fixedly, saw them both in the mirror, intimately entwined, so close they might have been one, her body pulled back tightly against Patrick’s. Her fine, semi-transparent black silk slip hid very little. She was shocked to realise how much of her body was visible to him. She would have closed her eyes again, but Patrick’s gaze magnetised her; he refused to let her look away a second time. Holding her gaze, he deliberately began to explore her body. His lips lightly moved against her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder, the mothy kisses making her quiver with pleasure; meanwhile his hands were busy, too, one pulling down the straps of her slip, and then her bra, leaving her breasts naked, softly caressing the firm, pale flesh, the hardened pink nipple. She helplessly watched, trembling, breathing hoarsely, and Patrick watched her face while his hands were wandering, read her reactions.

‘There’s nothing terrifying about this, is there?’ he whispered, her earlobe softly held between his teeth, his words breathed warmly into her ear. ‘It isn’t scaring you; I’m not hurting you. You like it. Don’t pretend you don’t. You want me to touch you.’

She couldn’t find the breath to deny it, even if she had wanted to; she was having difficulty breathing at all.

‘You want me to touch you,’ he repeated huskily. ‘Like this...’ And he ran a hand tenderly down the feminine curve of her body, following her hipline, the warmth of his palm through the thin silk giving her intense pleasure.

‘And like this...’ he muttered as his hand found the hem of her slip, pushed the deep lace upwards, and slid underneath, stroking her warm, smooth inner thighs.

He had