(unedited)

Chapter 1

London, 1897

"This was a mistake."

Constance Athelson, Viscountess Westbury, swallowed the knot lodged in her throat as she surveyed the crowded ballroom uneasily.

"Don't be ridiculous," Davinia Armstrong scoffed. "You look stunning, and no one is going to recognize you with the mask you're wearing. No queen of the Nile could look as mysterious and alluring as you do right now."

With a skeptical look at her friend from behind the gold- feathered mask she wore, Constance shivered. The filmy silk layers of her costume were designed for hotter climates than the Black Widows Ball. Hosted by a secret and select group of the Marlborough Set, the event's sole purpose was to celebrate one's freedom from mourning and the restrictive social customs that accompanied that state.

It was the first time she'd ever attended the annual ball, even though she'd been officially out of mourning for more than three years. With one more glance around the ballroom, she winced. She must have been out of her mind when she'd agreed to Davinia's suggestion. Even if she met the Earl of Lyndham tonight, she was hardly dressed for a professional interview.

No matter how well versed she was in ancient Egyptian antiquities, her costume did nothing to recommend her as a serious academician. In fact, it did just the opposite, given the way she was being ogled by several gentlemen. She must look like an odalisque ready to submit herself to Pharaoh's whim. Why on earth had she listened to Davinia when it came to her costume? Because her friend could be quite indomitable when she set her mind to it. She tightened her grip on the handle of her fan. A footman walked by with a tray of champagne glasses, and she took one of the flutes off the silver platter.

The moment her friend heard the earl was going to make an appearance at the ball, Davinia had pressed her to attend. Her friend knew how much she coveted the cataloger of antiquities position the earl had available. Although she'd tried to resist, in the end it had simply been easier to give in to her friend's tenacious wheedling.

No, that wasn't true. Davinia was the real reason she had agreed to come here tonight. Drinking deeply from the champagne glass she held, she swallowed the bubbly liquid in a quick gulp as Graham's face flitted into her head. She frowned and stirred the air in front of her with the large peacock feather she held. Her late husband would have heartily disapproved of her presence here. Not because of the venue's decadence, although she had no doubt he'd have been less than happy with her attending the ball under any condition. What he would have condemned was her using her gift to protect a friend. She frowned.

"There he is, Constance. Do you see him?" Davinia's fingers bit into the skin of her bare arm.

With a glance in the direction of Davinia's discreet nod, Constance spied the man with whom her friend had become enamored. From what she could see of the man's face beneath the slim black mask he wore, it was understandable why Davinia was so enthralled. Oliver Rawlings, Baronet, was a handsome man, but she was certain the man's heart was as black as they came. Just looking at him made her stomach roil.

"Davinia, I know this isn't the time or place, but there's something you need to know about Sir Oliver."

Curiosity darkened her friend's lovely green eyes as she tilted her head in a display of puzzlement. "Something I need to know?"

Uncertain exactly how to proceed, Constance frowned. If Graham were here, he'd be dragging her from the room. But he wasn't here, and she had to help her friend. Inhaling a deep breath, she took the plunge.

"Sir Oliver isn't what he seems."

"What on earth are you babbling about, Constance?" A derisive puff of air parted Davinia's lips.

"The man's drowning in debt, and he's looking for a wife with a substantial dowry." There, she'd managed to explain the problem without revealing every horrible detail. Surely, Davinia wouldn't waste her time on a ne'er do well.

"Really, Constance. I'm far from an ingénue. I know all that, but I also know he's in love with me."

Her heart sinking, Constance's fingers tightened on the handle of the peacock feather. Now what? Should she reveal the rest of what she'd seen? Her visions were far from exact depictions of the future. In fact, they were more often like a large puzzle with several pieces missing. Could it be she was wrong this time?

Davinia was one of only a handful of people outside her family who knew about her special talent. More importantly, she'd never actually seen something involving any of her closest friends. Seeing the excitement and hope on Davinia's sweet features made her hesitate. If she interfered now and was wrong…no, she couldn't say anything until she had something more noteworthy to offer up as evidence.

If she tried to explain how she'd seen her friend battered and bruised, Davinia would think her mad. And wasn't she? How could she be so sure it was Sir Oliver who had inflicted the damage? The man she'd seen in her vision had been faceless.

She forced a smile to her lips as she squeezed her friend's hand. "I only want you to be happy, Davinia."

"I am. I'm happier than I've ever been, and it's because of Oliver."

"Then go to him," Constance said quietly as she suppressed her misgivings. Her friend had already made up her mind. There was nothing else she could say to convince Davinia that Sir Oliver was in all likelihood a bad seed.

"Come with me. I want him to meet you." Davinia tugged at her arm with determination.

"Later perhaps. Since I'm here, I should at least make the attempt to discreetly learn if the earl is present and what he looks like."

Her stomach flipped as the words flew from her mouth. She had absolutely no intention of looking for the earl. It had been a grave mistake coming here, and she refused to compound the error by introducing herself to the earl tonight.

"Dear heaven, I can't believe I forgot about the earl." Davinia shook her head with regret.

The apologetic note in her voice made Constance smile. It was impossible to find fault with her friend given the happiness sparkling in Davinia's eyes. Perhaps she was wrong about Sir Oliver. She'd been wrong before—rarely. Quieting the small voice in the back of her head, she prayed this would be one of those rare instances.

"Obviously you're preoccupied," she said with a smile. "Go on. Off with you."

Not hesitating, Davinia squeezed her hand and crossed the room toward Sir Oliver. Left alone on the edge of the throng, Constance grimaced at the thought of Lord Lyndham. Ever since Percy had first mentioned the earl's need for a cataloger, she'd been obsessed with the idea of securing the position. Her brother had mentioned the opportunity simply to tease her, never realizing she'd summon up the courage to apply for the position. She'd even surprised herself with her daring. Although why she should be surprised was a mystery to her. The Rockwoods, by their very nature, were impetuous creatures.

At least she'd had the forethought to apply for the position under the pseudonym she used at the British Museum. Using her first initial and her mother's maiden name, C. Stewart sounded every bit the skilled academician she really was. Her skills he couldn't question, but her sex in all probability would preclude her from receiving the position. She knew in all likelihood the earl would find it difficult to accept a female as possessing the ability to catalog his antiquities. And meeting the man here—tonight—would most assuredly destroy any credibility she might have on her resume.

She heaved a sigh. Her desire to protect her friend had placed her in a precarious situation. She'd allowed Davinia to coerce her into attending the Black Widows Ball based on her premonitions about Sir Oliver. If not for that reason, she wouldn't be standing on the fringes of the Clarendon's ballroom floor dressed in a costume that was more revealing than most of her nightgowns. Her gaze flitted about the room, and heat suffused her body as she saw she was the subject of an increasing number of male stares.

Good Lord, if she didn't find a dark niche to hide in, she was apt to be accosted on several fronts. She'd been a fool to think coming here would keep Davinia safe. With a soft noise of disgust, she moved toward the doors that opened onto a large glass gallery. The long corridor was cooler than the ballroom, and another sound of irritation parted her lips. She might have been compelled to attend the Black Widows Ball, but giving in to Davinia's demands that she play the role of an ancient Egyptian queen for the night was her own lack of foresight.

The irony of the thought wasn't lost on her. Shivering with cold, she saw what appeared to be a salon at one end of the hallway. Shadows flickering on the partially opened doorway convinced her the room contained a fire burning in an open hearth. Warmth and sanctuary in one place. Not hesitating, she hurried forward, her gold sandals clicking against the marble floor.

Just outside the entrance to the room, a masked couple stood in the shadows, indulging in a passionate embrace. She tugged in a sharp breath as she saw the man suckling the woman's breast. The wickedness of the scene reinforced the decadence of the ball, and it sent a shiver through her. What would it be like to give herself over to a man for just this one night?

Appalled by her thoughts, she swallowed hard. Dear Lord, she should have gone straight home. She slipped quietly past the couple and entered the salon. Closing the door behind her, she locked herself in the room with a quick flip of the key. She'd heard more accounts of debauchery outside the well-lit ballroom during the Black Widows Ball than she cared to admit. The last thing she wanted was to find herself witness to a hedonistic act or worse yet, suffering the unwelcome attentions of a drunken boor. She'd wait here for an hour or two before attempting to leave the ball. By then most of the attendees would either have found suitable accommodations for their trysts or would be too drunk to notice her departure.

The quiet ticking of the mantle clock was soothing to her nerves, and she willed herself to relax as she moved to stand in front of the cheery fire. Hands outstretched to the flames, she closed her eyes for a brief moment as she enjoyed the warmth coating her skin.

Except for the fire, there was little light in the room, and the boisterous sound of the ball was a soft buzz beyond the salon's locked door. The fire crackled as the burning wood popped in response to the heat. From where he sat in the far corner of the room, Lucien Blakemore, Earl of Lyndham, watched the woman as she warmed herself in front of the hearth.

The fire threw her curvaceous figure into stark relief. The soft light passed through the thin silk of her costume to reveal lusty thighs and long legs. Legs that would easily wrap around a man in the midst of lovemaking. His body reacted to the vivid image in seconds. She would never be called a professional beauty, but there was an exotic quality about her that intrigued him. Exotic and original. Just the type of woman he enjoyed.

His musings made him grimace. Damnation, the old woman was up to her tricks again. Somehow, his grandmother had arranged the interception of Lady Billingsly this evening and sent this woman instead. No doubt another attempt to entice him into that damnable state of marriage. She harped on the subject in every single letter she sent him from the country. His grandmother's determination to succeed in marrying him off had placed him in some rather awkward situations in the months since he'd returned home from Egypt. In the past three weeks alone, the dowager countess had managed to thrust at least four potential candidates for the post of Lady Lyndham in front of him. All from her self-imposed exile at Lyndham Keep.

Unable to help himself, he grinned. She was amazing. Not even a military general could have managed a better- orchestrated campaign than his grandmother. But no matter how much her actions amused him, it didn't change anything. He wasn't about to satisfy his grandmother by playing her games. Marriage was far too deadly a proposition for him.

Clearing his throat, he watched the woman stiffen and whirl around to face him. When she turned, his groin tightened further. Good God, the woman was Isis in her most potent form. The gold silk of her enticing costume caressed every luscious curve of her body, revealing nothing, yet filling his head with all manner of arousing images.

Other than the silk knots holding her dress in place, her shoulders were bare. The soft silk of her bodice plunged downward in a vee accentuating the tops of her soft breasts, and he liked the way the gown flared out over her hips and fluttered around her long legs. Hers was a body for the most erotic of pleasures.

Voluptuous and tempting, her full breasts looked as though they'd fit into his palm quite nicely. What color were her nipples? The notion of parting her bodice to discover the answer sent blood surging through his veins until he was rock hard. Harder than he'd been in months. He wanted to see his hand caressing her breasts—watch her face as she responded to his touch. If he were to dip his fingers into her sweet core, would it be warm and sticky like the honey that flowed so sweetly for the pharaohs centuries ago? It was a tempting thought that tugged at him with relentless persistence. He wanted to plunge into her, feel her spasms as she climaxed over his cock.

Across from him, she stood immobile, assessing him with a wary look. Tension drifted through the air between them, the clock the only sound in the room.

What held her motionless, she wasn't certain. Any other time she would have quietly excused herself from a situation that could easily get out of hand. Especially with this man. Everything about him whispered danger, and her nerve endings sent a wicked frisson dancing across her skin.

Cool, cerulean eyes studied her quietly through a simple black strip of material. It was the mask of a highwayman. The thin, white scar curving its way across his cheek down to his jaw only enhanced the rakish air the mask gave him. The regal line of his nose emphasized the sharp, angular plane of his strong jaw, and there was just the hint of a smile tilting his sensual mouth.

She wasn't certain what historic highwayman he was supposed to be, but he played the role well as he sat there—watching her with a devil-may-care attitude. One boot-clad foot rested on the edge of his chair, his forearm balanced on top of his knee. His other leg was stretched out in front of him in a lazy display of masculine strength. There was a pure, raw sensuality about him that sent every one of her senses into flux. The aura of nonchalance he wore might have fooled others less observant, but she knew it was a deceptive picture. He was a tiger waiting for that exact moment when his unsuspecting prey came within striking distance.

"Isis herself could not have been more exquisite." The low cadence of his voice sent a disturbing shiver of excitement gliding across her skin.

Heat suffused her cheeks as she watched his gaze roam leisurely over her entire body. A flash of arousal flared in his startling blue eyes, and she struggled to swallow the knot swelling her throat. Not even Graham had ever eyed her with such unmitigated desire. In a fluid movement, he rose to his feet and she drew in a breath of surprise. He was as tall, if not taller, than all three of her brothers.

"So, my Egyptian beauty, how shall we pleasure each other this evening?" Again, the silky smoothness of his voice teased her senses.

She tensed. Beneath that seductive tone of his, there was a sardonic note. Dear Lord, did the man think she'd deliberately sought him out? She didn't even know who he was. The thought didn't stop her from imagining her mouth melding with his firm lips, which were now curled in a beguiling smile. With a slight shake of her head, she dismissed the notion.

The last thing she needed was to indulge in an affair. Besides, the man wouldn't last ten minutes when faced with the male members of the Rockwood clan. No, that wasn't true. There was something about him that said he'd be more than a match for her brothers. Butterflies stirred in her stomach as he slowly crossed the room toward her. He had almost reached her when she took a quick step back and raised her hand to keep him at arm's length. Her silent protest didn't stop his forward progression until her palm pressed into his chest.

The moment she touched him, she went rigid. Abrupt and swift, the surreal existence of her visions enveloped her. This time the world she entered was more arousing than anything she could have ever imagined. Erotic and vividly real, the image of her writhing eagerly beneath the stranger stole her breath away.

The moment exploded around her with intoxicating pleasure. Warm and spicy, his male scent flooded her senses as their bodies melded, and he thrust deep into her with a dark roar. Flexible steel shoulders shifted beneath her hands as she clung to him, her body moving with his as he filled her completely, withdrew, then buried himself inside her again. The intensity of the moment sent her mind reeling from the pleasure buffeting every part of her. His heat permeated her body as her pores rushed to absorb the very essence of him. Tantalized and devoured by his possession, her blood ran hot with need.

The suddenness with which she was thrown out of the surreal experience sent a jolt through her body. Muscles weak with reaction to the wicked imagery, she struggled to remain standing. She stared up at him, all too aware the vision she'd just seen would happen, and nothing she did could prevent it. The simplicity of the knowledge didn't startle her, but the anticipation skimming through her veins did. She wanted his heat burning through her, singeing her until the pleasure she'd just witnessed consumed her.

He studied her with an indescribable emotion glinting in the cerulean depths of his eyes. Slowly, he pulled her toward him, his gaze never leaving her face. A strong hand captured her chin and tilted her head back. Heart pounding with excitement, she waited for his mouth to warm hers.

The moment their lips touched, she melted into him, her eyes fluttering shut. Senses reeling from the pleasure of his touch, she gasped as his tongue laced seductively over her lips. In an instant, his tongue danced with hers in a tantalizing example of the intimacy her gift had shown her. The sharp bite of Cognac tickled the inside of her mouth as she molded herself to his hard, muscular body.

The chill that had encased her earlier was gone. In its place was a fire that stole her ability to think. Everything disappeared in a mist of passion and desire as his mouth teased and tempted her into a wild and abandoned response. Pressed into him so intimately, her body cried out with the need to be possessed by him. She'd never wanted anything so much in her entire life.

In the next moment, strong hands gripped her waist as he put space between them. All too aware of her accelerated pulse and the frantic breaths escaping her lips, she was startled to hear the harsh sound of his heavy breathing as well. His reaction made her believe he was just as affected as she was by their embrace. She watched in silence as he swallowed hard.

"My grandmother didn't send you. Who did? Standish?" The terse note in his voice made her frown.

"I don't understand." She shook her head in puzzlement. "No one sent me."

"Do you really expect me to believe you found me here simply by accident?" he scoffed.

"I do." Setting her chin at a defiant tilt, she sent him a haughty look.

"What woman in her right mind would venture away from the main ballroom dressed the way you are, unless she had every intention of being alone with a man?"

She stiffened at the chastising note in his voice, and heat warmed her cheeks. He was right. Her behavior announced her blatant disregard for propriety. Still, he didn't need to scold her like a child. She lifted her chin to a defiant angle.

"Do not flatter yourself, sir. I wanted to find a safe haven for just a short time. I am not in the habit of locking myself in a room with a total stranger."

"And yet you did just that," he responded softly.

Good heavens, but the man's voice had the ability to reduce her to the state of a tongue-tied debutante. And was that regret she saw in his dark eyes? Regret mixed with desire. Her throat tightened as she saw his gaze slide over her again. Heat returned to her cheeks, and she quickly looked away to prevent him from seeing how much his open admiration excited her. It was difficult to think straight when he looked at her like that.

"It was…it was not intentional, sir."

"Lucien," he murmured as he bent his head toward her. "You may call me Lucien."

"Lucien." She tested the name on her tongue.

She liked the way it sounded. Her eyes locked with his, and her heart skipped a beat at the open desire darkening his features. As his forefinger trailed its way down the side of her cheek, she tried to breathe normally. Impossible. Something about this man sent what little cautionary judgment she possessed dancing off into the wind.

Desire slid through her to coil in every part of her body. It warmed her and sent her blood pounding through her veins. The fierceness of the emotion took her by surprise. In an attempt to collect her wits, she drew in a deep breath. She realized her mistake the moment his spicy male scent flooded her senses.

She didn't move as he bent his head and brushed his mouth over hers. Was it the brandy on his lips or his kiss that warmed her blood? God, if she didn't leave the room right this minute, she might actually lose her head and do something rash and impulsive. She sighed as his mouth grazed her cheek then moved downward to nibble at her neck.

"I think I should go," she breathed.

"Would Isis deny a mere mortal the pleasure of her touch?" he whispered as he trailed his fingertips down her throat and across her bare shoulder.

He leaned into her again to capture her mouth in a hard kiss. Coherent thought deserted her as she melted into him. She knew doing so was a mistake, but she loved the way his hard body pressed into hers. He nipped at her lower lip, playfully tugging at it until she parted her lips to welcome his sensuous exploration of her mouth.

The bite of the brandy she'd tasted on his lips moments ago swept across her tongue and heightened the dangerous male essence of him. She needed to stop this madness. She was playing with fire. Deep inside a small voice encouraged her to linger. Just a few more minutes. Playing with fire didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the warmth of it for a few more moments.

His hand glided over her hip, and a tremor lashed through her. Oh God, she was enjoying this far too much. With a gentle tug, he pulled her tight against him. Through the thin silk of her gown she could feel his thick erection. The tip of it pressed against the apex of her thighs, and her heart thudded against her chest as she acknowledged how much she wanted him. Desire rushed through her as she burrowed deeper into his body. She wanted to feel more of him. It was wrong to want this, but something beyond reason held her in its grip. When his hands slid the knotted material off her shoulders, she didn't even think to protest, she simply gave herself up to the pleasure of his touch.

"Beautiful," he whispered as his tongue flicked out to circle her nipple. "Ra himself wouldn't be able to resist such a tempting sight."

The only response she could muster was a soft moan. Her blood grew thick in her veins as a lethargic heat spiraled through her. Once more, he circled her nipple with his tongue then blew across the dampness of her skin. The sensation made her cry out with pleasure.

Need in its rawest form slid through her, blinding her to anything but the pleasure of his touch. She arched her body backward as he closed his lips around a nipple and suckled her. Immediately, her legs grew wobbly.

Dear Lord, this was the most gloriously wicked thing she'd ever done. Wicked, sinful and decadent. She didn't want it to end. Her muscles were taut and achy, and she whimpered with the need to satisfy the primal longing holding her hostage. His mouth left her breast and slid up to her shoulder. As the remaining silk strap of her bodice fell down into the crook of her elbow, his thumbs rubbed over the pointed tips of her breasts.

Her mouth went dry as she realized she had reached the point of no return. She knew her behavior was appalling, but her vision made her wonder if this moment wasn't meant to be. Moreover, did she have the strength to deny herself something so exquisitely pleasurable? As his mouth covered hers once more, she reveled in the unadulterated pleasure his touch gave her. She'd never known how decadent and delicious Cognac could taste on a man's tongue. She wanted more.

She stroke his cheek, and beneath her fingertips, she felt the ridge of the long scar across his cheek. His hand caught hers, and he turned his head to press his lips into her palm. Passion blazed in his eyes as his gaze met hers.

"Give yourself to me, Isis." Desire made his voice raspy. "Let me show you what heaven can feel like."

The words sent her heart slamming into her chest as he proceeded to pull her finger into his mouth. Dear God, the man's touch was a heady summons to indulge in sin. And it was a wickedly tempting offer that promised a delirious passion. She knew leaving the room was the sane thing to do, and yet every part of her protested the idea of sanity.

"This is madness," she whispered as she looked away from him, struggling with her decision.

"If that's so, then I welcome it. That, and the pleasure I know we'll find in each other's arms."

His words reminded her of the image she'd seen—their bodies entwined together as they indulged in a sinful passion. The vision made her willing to cast all caution aside. In a supplicant gesture she pulled his head down and offered him her mouth.

Instantly, his lips seared hers with a demand she couldn't refuse even if she'd wanted to. Weak-kneed, she braced herself against his chest with her palms, the soft material against her hands a direct contrast to the hard muscles beneath his clothing. A sudden rush of liquid heat made her slick with desire, and she released a soft gasp. The speed with which her body was ready for him astonished her. Graham had never made her feel this way. Hot, needy and aching for release.

The hardness of his arousal pressed into her, and with another catlike stroke, she rubbed her hips against him. Her action ripped a deep groan from his throat, and the sound sent her pulse skidding along at a phenomenal rate. Dear Lord, she'd lost her mind to be acting in such a wanton manner.

Whether it was her vision driving her down this wild and wicked path or something else, she didn't know. Perhaps she was going mad, but she could not imagine a more delicious man to descend into madness with. She wanted to touch him—needed to feel the hot essence of him. Fingertips tingling, she unbuttoned his shirt while her tongue mated with his in a passionate kiss.

Seconds later, her palms pressed into his hard flesh. She breathed in the raw masculinity of him. It had been more than three years since she'd been this intimate with a man. Beneath her hands, his heat penetrated the pores of her skin until she wanted more. It wasn't enough just to have her hands skimming over the hard, sculptured muscles of his chest. She wanted nothing between them. She wanted to experience her vision. She wanted him inside her.

As if he could read her mind, he slowly dragged his mouth away from hers and lifted his head.

With the palm of his hand against her throat, he gently ran his hand downward until his fingers skimmed over a voluptuous breast. He swallowed hard at the desire glowing in her eyes. Their hazel color had changed to a sultry green, and the expression of hunger on her face was enough to drive him to drink.

He hadn't come here to bed a widow fresh out of mourning, but this one had made him forget any intentions he had, good or bad. Her soft flesh filled his hand as he cupped one luscious mound, with his thumb circling a hard peak. Damn, but she was a tempting morsel.

Desire pushed any thought of sanity out of his head, and he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the long divan that faced the fireplace. As he laid her on the backless furniture, the seductive pout of her soft mouth pulled the air from his lungs. Christ Jesus, he'd never seen a more alluring creature. But he wanted to see her without her mask.

He reached out to remove the gold-feathered disguise, but she caught his hand and raised it to her lips. The warmth of her delicate mouth sent need crashing through him the moment she started sucking on his finger. He growled from the pleasure of it. If she could suck his cock as skillfully as she did his finger, he'd find himself well sated. The image pulled another dark growl from him. Her gaze immediately dropped to his taut erection, and she sent him a provocative look as she released her grasp on his hand.

"Undress for me," she demanded in a throaty whisper.

He smiled slowly at the faint flush cresting over her cheeks. It appeared Isis wasn't used to making demands when it came to her pleasure. But she had with him, and her boldness pleased him. As he removed his clothing, he watched her do the same until the only thing she wore was her gold-feathered mask. Following her example, he didn't remove the black silk from his face.

As he studied her in the firelight, his gaze swept over voluptuous breasts down to a softly rounded stomach and then to the dark triangle at the apex of her thighs. Exquisite. He liked how she was curved in all the right places. Exploring every inch of her would be a pleasurable task.

One hand stretched out to him, she silently invited him to come to her. He accepted without hesitation and lowered himself onto the divan. Unable to keep from devouring her with his gaze, he ran his hand across the roundness of her belly. The tactile sensation was one of downy softness. The aroma of jasmine and lemongrass tantalized his senses. The exotic combination tugged at his groin as he pressed his mouth against her stomach, delighting in the fragrant softness of her. His hand caressed a long, shapely leg before his fingers brushed across the top of her lusty thigh. The quick breath she drew in was filled with a taut need.

"Please," she murmured.

"I have every intention of pleasing you, yâ sabaha."

The desire shimmering in her sultry gaze made his mouth go dry. His gaze not leaving her face, his fingers slipped through her nest of curls. He sucked in a quick breath of surprise as he encountered the slick heat of her passion. She was drenched in cream. Hot and wet, she arched her body upward against his hand with a soft mewl of pleasure. He rubbed the fleshy nub between her slick folds, and she writhed beneath the touch.

"Oh God, please."

Her soft plea tore at him. Damn, she was about to come apart in his arms, and he'd not had a chance to fully explore the delights of her body. But she wasn't the only one wanting immediate satisfaction. His cock jumped as he watched her pink tongue dart out to lick her lips.

Quickly he shifted his body to hover over her. With his erection pressing at the edge of her honeyed core, he reached for her mask. Once again she prevented him from removing the gold-feathered covering.

"No," she murmured. "Tonight belongs to Isis and her mortal lover, Lucien. No one else."

With a nod, he pressed his hips downward and buried himself in her slick heat. The pleasure of it forced a deep groan out of him. God, when was the last time he'd had such a delicious cunny wrapped this tightly around his cock? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember any woman except her. In the back of his head he heard the warning, but he ignored it. Sheathed inside her tight passage, he lowered his head to suckle on the stiff peak of her breast.

A soft moan broke over his head as his teeth lightly abraded her nipple. The small cry of delight escaping her pleased him. It pleased him more than he cared to admit. Slowly he shifted his hips and eased himself out of her snug sheath. At her murmur of protest, he slid back inside her. Expanding her until he filled her completely with his hard length.

Christ, but she felt good wrapped around him like a snug vise. As she shifted beneath him, he released a dark growl of pleasure. She responded by flexing her muscles around him again. If possible, his cock expanded and hardened against her tightness. God, he'd not enjoyed this kind of pleasure in a long time. Pulling out of her slightly, he kissed away her protest before plunging back into her. His mouth swallowed her cry of delight, and triumph raced through him as he increased the speed with which he plundered her heated core.

As she met his thrusts with equal fervor, he forgot everything but her. Isis was his for the taking, and their mating filled him with a primal need unlike anything he'd experienced before. He rocked his hips hard and fast against her as he stared down at the lushly curved body beneath him. Everything else receded from him except for his awareness of her. The soft cries of her desire as she bucked against him. The exotic floral scent mingling with the musk of her passion. The sweet taste of champagne on her tongue. There wasn't anything about her that he didn't want more of.

Her slick, creamy core tightened around his cock, and he groaned as his ballocks drew up taut at the base of his erection. The faster he drove into her, the more passionate her response. Fingertips digging into his hard shoulder muscles, she clung to him, answering his demand for complete surrender. Seconds later her body shattered around him, her muscles clenching him in hard, rhythmic spasms of intense pleasure. He wanted to prolong the moment, enjoy the sensation, but he couldn't. With a deep, primeval growl, he exploded inside her before slowly sinking down into her soft, full curves.

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