Read Midsummer Moon for Free Online

magic. You'll think it's wonderful. Have you ever felt like this before?"
    "No, I—” She gave a little gasp as he circled her nipple with his thumb. Her gray eyes widened, and then she ducked her head against his shoulder.
    He chuckled and held her close. “Don't be shy, pretty Merlin. I want to see your face when I touch you."
    "Oh, my,” she said to the depths of his coat. “I do believe there was something in the salt."
    "Something in the salt—” He nipped at her neck with a playful growl. “Something in the salt, hmm? A love potion, Wiz?” He caught her face in his hands and tilted it up to him. “You don't need potions. I wanted you from the moment I saw you."
    He kissed the shocked “O” of her lips, slid his fingers into her hair, and held her hard against his mouth: a deep kiss, a man's kiss, to brand her his by force. He felt her resistance and then, slowly, her softening.
    It was enough, that small compliance, to make him sweep her up again and carry her to the bed. He yanked off his coat and bent over her among the pillows, grinning. He kissed her nose. “Do you know,” he murmured, “in London they say I'm not romantic. All those china-doll debutantes. I think I'm romantic. Don't you, Wiz?” He sat beside her, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers, letting them slide down to the buttons at her throat. “Has anyone ever been so romantic?"
    "I'm sure I can't say.” She wet her full lips. “I really don't go out much."
    He stroked her skin where he'd loosed the buttons. She wore no wealth of undergarments. Only a light camisole separated his palm from the soft offering of her breast. As he touched her, her body tightened. She stared into his eyes with dawning wonder, as if he were some magical beast that had just appeared for her perusal.
    "How do you feel?” he asked playfully as he traced an erotic pattern on the warm curve of her skin. “Do you like this?"
    "What?” Her intent gaze had gone unfocused as she gazed at the base of his throat. “Oh ... yes, I—oh, my. What are you doing?"
    "I'm going to love you, Wiz. I want you to feel"—he bent over her, just barely brushing her skin with his lips—"delicious."
    In fact, Merlin felt as if she were chocolate melting under a hot sun. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, wondering why, if this was what he meant by taking liberties with her person, anyone would ever object to such heady pleasure.
    He tugged her blouse free and spread warm fingers around her torso, sliding his hands upward, carrying the camisole along. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, then circled her nipples again. Merlin jumped and bit her lip, torn between shyness and delight. But there wasn't room for both in her mind—there wasn't room for anything but the stunning bloom of stimulation as his tongue washed across the tip of her breast.
    Small puppyish sounds came from her throat as he leaned over, pressing her into the goosedown with his weight. “Merlin,” he whispered: “Little bird, sweet sorceress ... Ouch!” He rolled suddenly to the middle of the bed, boots and all, clutching his ribs. “What the devil..."
    For a moment he frowned at her waist and then grabbed at the pocket of her apron, flipping it away from him so that the contents went spilling out onto the floor with a metallic ring. He grinned, leaning on his elbow and looking down at her. “Booby-trapped, are you?"
    Merlin just stared at him, lost in this new pleasure, fascinated by his nearness: the beguiling unfamiliar scent of him; the solid, warm feel of his body pressed against hers. She followed the line of his jaw and the laughing curve of his mouth with her eyes.
    "Ah, God,” he said. “When you look at me like that...” He made a low, velvety noise in his throat and bent over her again, his tongue a warm invasion in her mouth, his boot and thigh a hard pressure against her leg. With one hand he drew her skirt up around her waist, exposing the full length of her