“You are kind and courteous. You say that only now because you have so suddenly determined to be generous with the bed.”
“I don’t mind the floor.”
“I simply cannot throw you there. I’m afraid you’ve betrayed your true feelings on the matter.”
The green in his eyes remained wickedly glinting.
Dangerous.
Still afraid to move, she vowed to keep control of her temper. She was not going to allow the whirlwind of sensations ripping through her to overrule her pride, dignity, or courage. “Would you be going there, then?” she asked hopefully.
“I would not.”
“Then?” she inquired, the word scarcely a whisper.
“We will both sleep in comfort.”
“Here, together?”
“Ah, my lady, you are indeed blessed with keen powers of observation and comprehension.”
So much for carefully maintaining her temper and control. She had to escape him. With sudden, wild impetus, she attempted to leap free of his hold. Yet she could not, for he was as swift as a tiger, and apparently, he had been awaiting her attempted departure. In one smooth motion he seized her, drawing her against him hard, her back and derriere flush to his chest and loins, her right arm caught beneath her own weight, her left wrist captured firmly in his grasp.
“This seems comfortable enough,” he commented.
For him. He had the benefit of clothing. Her gown had risen surely with every twist and movement. She could feel the fabric of his linen shirt brushing her flesh through the thin material of her nightgown…and the coarser fabric of his form-hugging breeches lower against her where the gown had risen. She swallowed hard, remaining still as a statue. She could feel the moist heat of his breath against her nape, touching her earlobe. He held her wrist just below her breasts, and it seemed she could feel his fingers brushing against her flesh, though surely, she could not. To her incredible dismay, she became aware that her nipples had hardened and strained against her gown, that a sweeping rush of fevered heat raced through her veins.
She was so very afraid that he would touch her further.
And so terribly agonized that he might not.
“I—I really would enjoy the floor,” she stammered.
“I wouldn’t hear of it,” he insisted.
She held still. Then burst out with, “I’ve got to sleep on the floor!” And again, she desperately tried to pull free from his hold.
“I think not!”
And she found herself slammed back down into the softness of the bed, this time, with him atop her. She was imprisoned by the force of his body.
For brief seconds she met his eyes, and she tried not to breathe.
Then despite herself she inhaled and twisted. Her movement caused his fingers to brush against her breasts, knuckles riding softly against their swollen crests. She gasped at that contact and twisted further against it, only to realize that she had turned right into his touch, turned against him, into his body. His clothing did not feel like such a barrier then. His arousal was quite hard against her abdomen despite it, the muscled expanse of his chest and arms beneath linen seemed to be on fire. His eyes remained hard, green gems burning in the night as well. She opened her mouth to speak but never found words. He covered her lips with a hungry, bruising kiss.
And she quickly realized just how high her gown had risen for his hand was upon the dark triangle of her mound, fingers deftly delving within it, parting, stroking, thrusting. She wanted to push him away. Somewhere within her, she knew full well that sex could have very little to do with emotion. He had told her to find a husband and bear children, his suggestion surely being that the husband should be some man other than himself. Yet within her own heart and soul, loving David, Laird Douglas, and wanting him had been one and the same for most of her lifetime. Losing him had shattered her dreams and her desires.
And though she halfway hated him for his accusations against her and her family…
She wanted him still.
She was dimly aware that his mouth had left hers and had moved to kiss her throat, pausing at the thundering pulse there. She tried to speak, yet he continued to touch her, his fingers stroking within her.
“No” formed on her lips but found no substance.
And yet…
She wanted, oh god, she wanted, the scent of him was filling her, the feel of him…