Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Evelyn Starr
Word Count :72500
Publication Date :2010-08-25
Series : #
Heat Level :
- Product Code: 978-1-55487-428-6
It’s supposed to be five weeks of bliss and work in the deep forest. One more film that might be the one, could be the one, to propel independent film maker Lisette Price from the small time to the big time. Until everything goes wrong. Until she finds herself plunged into a seething cauldron of mysterious rituals jealously guarded by dark strangers. Until she finds herself so deeply enmeshed in the most secret rituals of the most mysterious of all the strangers, that she wonders if she’ll ever want to find her way back.
Lisette smiled at him again. Twirling a gemlike strand of topaz hair around the length of one white and slender finger, she turned her head slightly away from him in an ages-old posture of coyness and sudden shyness. And with the other hand, as he watched, she reached for him. Reached to touch him with the equally slender and sensual fingers of that hand. Reached to catch the collar of his light summer shirt and tug a little upon it as she slipped seeking fingers beneath the edge of it. Against the startled skin beneath the edge of it.
He bit back a cry. Of agony and anticipation. Of excitement at the amount of passion Lisette aroused, the kind she could arouse even with such a slight brushing of fingers across skin that prickled suddenly. Skin that began to tingle as if someone pressed a low-voltage electrical wire, the very tiniest live electrical wire, against it for a hundredth of a thousandth of an instant.
Seizing his new chance, Gar stroked her hair again. The way he'd stroked it before. Almost as if in afterthought. He allowed his fingertips to drift aimlessly, idly, through sun-drenched strands of verging-on-platinum silk to find their ends. To twist them exactly as she had. Delighting in the strong silk, the prickle-tickle of the ends, the smooth sweetness of scent that wafted from it when he stroked. When he deepened his stroking to take in more of the roots now than the ends.
Lisette dropped her hands to her sides. She returned to the attitude of impatient breathlessness that he'd found so enticing before…so utterly, unequivocally charming. Making no effort now to sway toward him, she leaned back against the rough-barked tree that made such a startling contrast to the alabaster-smoothness of her face, her hair, her voluptuously carved and sleek body. Pressing herself tightly back against its roughness, she seemed incapable of swaying again. In any way.
She seemed to lose much of her definition. Seemed to tell him she was ready.
Cupping her face in his hands, Gar stopped long enough to take in its loveliness. Long enough to gaze down into eyes that gleamed duskier now, smoky rather than brilliant emerald, liquid rather than any solid, definite thing of the real, the outside, world.
So it was he who leaned forward. Toward her. He who moved to kiss her as he had before. Dwelling on her cheek, lingering there until she caught her breath in a sharp and startled gasp. And then at once he moved on. Very quickly and steadily moved toward lips she turned up to him…up for his convenience and ease. Lips, he saw, that were swollen. Rounded far beyond their usual pouty ripeness. Lips that invited as much with their raspberry-apple richness as with their pressed, taut, waiting position. Lips that invited even more than the shuddering heave of breath that shook her entire body, or the distinct prick of engorged nipples against the inside of her thin scarlet blouse, or the way her eyes began to slip shut. Slowly at first and then faster, faster, faster as the shuddering quality of her shaken breathing increased.
Gar made sure he caressed her face with a rain of kisses at the same time that he caressed her body, every sweet-succulent curve of her body, with his hands. And then, moving closer still, with a sway of his hips and everything associated with his hips.