Punctuating each sentence with a series of sensuous kisses, he went on, ‘I want to watch your face while I wring every last ounce of pleasure from your body... I want to feel the shudders of ecstasy running through you... I want to hear your little gasps and moans... And finally, when you can’t bear any more of such exquisite torture, I want to hear you beg...’
Raine’s heart beat so suffocatingly fast that she found it hard to breathe—and even harder to subdue her treacherous body’s yearnings and awakening hunger.
Somehow, she said, ‘If you’d like to hear me beg, I’ll do it now. Please let me go, Nick. I should never have agreed to this marriage. I don’t want you to make love to me...’
Even before she’d finished speaking she knew it was futile. There was no compassion, no hint of softening in that hard, arrogantly handsome face.
‘Then, my darling, I must decide how best to change your mind. It’s high time you were my wife in the fullest sense of the word.’
Through stiff lips, she said, ‘I’d find being your wife degrading.’
She saw the sudden flare of anger in those midnight-blue eyes and knew that the word ‘degrading’ had struck home.
Smiling like a tiger, he said silkily, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you enjoy your degradation.’
One hand moved to support the back of her head while the other curved itself around her throat and stroked gently up and down. Staring at him like a mesmerised rabbit, she swallowed convulsively.
Holding her eyes, he followed the elegant length of her throat with a fingertip before slipping his hand into the boat-neck of her jumper.
The muscular wrist, with its sprinkling of golden hair, rested against the top button and exerted just enough pressure to make the pearl stud pull out of the buttonhole.
His fingers slid into her low-cut bra, splaying over the warm curve of her breast, stroking lightly, feeling her nipple grow firm in response to his touch.
Desire kicked low in her stomach, and she sucked air into her lungs like a swimmer who had been under water too long.
He smiled, and his little finger and thumb spanned from nipple to nipple. The second stud pulled free. Bending his head, he touched his lips to the hammering pulse at the base of her throat while his fingers dealt with the remaining buttons and the front fastening of her flimsy bra. In a moment he had deftly slipped both garments from her shoulders and tossed them aside.
She felt his lips on the pale satiny skin of her breast, and then the dampness of his tongue circling the dusky peak, and she shuddered in anticipation.
But, instead of the promised delight, all at once he was drawing away, pulling his black sweater over his head and discarding it.
Her eyes were riveted to the masculine perfection of his naked torso, the strong column of his throat, the sculptured grace of wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and lean hips.
His chest was broad, the clear, healthy skin like oiled silk over the plates of muscle layering the ribcage. He was carrying not an ounce of spare fresh, and the bunched power of his shoulders and biceps told of his superb fitness and strength. A fine sprinkle of golden hair arrowed in a V towards the waistband of his trousers.
‘Touch me,’ he suggested softly. ‘You know you want to.’
Last time a certain shyness had inhibited her, but now she wanted more than anything in the world to touch him. But once she did she would be lost...
As she stared, dry-mouthed, he took her hands and placed the palms against his chest, imprisoning them there when a reflex action would have made her snatch them away.
When he released his hold for a moment she stood quite still, then, with a revealing little sigh, closed her eyes and began a tactile journey.
Lack of vision concentrated and intensified the pleasure, and she found a sensual delight in the crisp whorls of hair beneath her fingertips, the exciting prickle against her palms.
She stroked across the silken skin of his shoulders and exulted in the smooth ripple of muscles as his hands went out to span her slim waist. Discovering the small flat nipples, she allowed her tongue to explore their leathery texture.
Her breath was warm and damp against his chest, and fine strands of silky black hair clung like a spider’s web. She bit him delicately, and in response to the shudder that shook him felt a quick surge of triumph at knowing how strongly she could affect him.
His skin tasted faintly salty, and the scent of spruce and fresh perspiration proved to be a potent aphrodisiac.
So intent was she that she scarcely noticed when he undid her trousers and eased them over the swell of her hips. A second later her dainty panties followed. At his urging she stepped forward, leaving the garments and her slippers behind.
Cupping her bare buttocks, he pressed the lower half of her body firmly to his. Her breasts brushed against his hair-roughened chest and her nipples sprang into aching life.
She made a small, inarticulate sound, and as if in answer he guided her hands to the clip on the waistband of his trousers.
Her unfed sensual hunger was so urgent, so demanding that her fingers fumbled, hardly able to perform their task.
Refusing to give her any further help, he waited until she’d unfastened the zip and slid both trousers and briefs down over his lean hips. Then, pulling off his shoes and socks, he pushed the small pile of clothing aside.
Just for a moment he allowed her to touch and stroke the firm flesh she had freed, then, sweeping her off her feet, he pulled a cushion from the settee for her head to rest on and, as he had done once before, laid her on the thick bearskin rug in front of the stove.
Standing looking down, he let his gaze travel slowly over her. She lay with her eyes closed, her black hair spilling over the bright cushion. Her beautifully shaped breasts were high and firm, her creamy skin—made rosy by the firelight—flawless, her slender body long-legged and graceful.
‘You’re even lovelier than I remember,’ he murmured huskily. Stretching out beside her, propped on one elbow, he put a palm against her cheek and ordered, ‘Look at me, Raine.’
Long black lashes flickered, and she stared up into his hard-boned face, her eyes still molten with sensual feeling.
Softly, he said, ‘I’ve been under your spell from the first moment I saw you...’
But the spell was mutual...
‘I couldn’t get you out of my mind.’ He ran a thumb over the lovely curve of her lips. ‘You completely enchanted me...’
But he’d still gone ahead and married another woman... The thought formed in her mind, clear and cold as ice crystals.
‘My green-eyed witch...’ His voice sank to a whisper. Lifting her hands, he kissed each palm. ‘Tell me you want me as much as I want you...’
She tried to deny that she wanted him, but her body was on fire, as though with fever, and her throat was so dry she couldn’t speak.
Her eyes dropped to the firm line of his lips. He bent his head and kissed her. As though there was no help for it, her mouth opened to the demand of his.
While he deepened the kiss he began to caress her, feather-light touches that brought to life every sensor in her skin.
He was a gentle, unhurried lover, his hands tantalising and tormenting her, learning every quivering inch, driving her slowly wild, making her his before he actually took her.
When his mouth followed his hands down to her breasts and he began to tease the eager nipples with lips and teeth and tongue, the needle-sharp sensations were so piercingly sweet that she gasped and moaned, unsure how much she could bear of such exquisite torment.
While he suckled at one breast and his thumb delicately stimulated the other rosy peak his free hand roved over the silken skin of her inner thigh. Finding its goal unerringly, the pressure of a single finger evoked such an explosion of feeling that she bucked and writhed and whimpered.
Withdrawing a little, he asked softly, ‘Do you want me to make love to you, Raine?’
Her arms went around his neck to pull him
to her with a wordless, hungry passion that told him all he needed to know.
Still he held back. ‘Say it,’ he ordered. ‘I want to hear you say it.’
‘Yes—yes, I want you to make love to me,’ she cried hoarsely, and again tried to pull him to her.
He laughed softly, mocking her eagerness. ‘Gently, darling. There’s no hurry. We’ve got all the night before us, and there are a lot of exquisite sensations you still haven’t experienced...’
When Raine awoke she was snuggled in a comfortable cocoon of warmth and darkness broken only by a faint red glow from the stove on the far side of the room.
Her body felt vital and alive, yet full of a languorous lethargy, while her mind was stupefied, dazed and disorientated, as though she was a survivor of some disaster.
It was a moment or two before her head cleared and recollection came flooding back like a tide, carrying with it memories of lovemaking that made her whole body flush with heat.
They were in bed now, lying spoon-fashion, Nick’s hard length at her back, the weight of his arm across her ribcage and his hand cupped possessively around her breast. She could just make out his quiet, even breathing.
Oh, but his strategy had been brilliant! Looking back, she could see how he had led her every step of the way. And she had gone like a lamb to the slaughter.
He had done everything that he’d said he wanted to do. Including making her beg. Although his domination had been a silken one, he had proved himself her master from start to finish—treating her, playing with her as though she was a toy.
All memory of the pleasure he had given her was wiped out. Bitterly she cursed her own lack of self-control. Despite repeated warnings to herself, in the end she had made no attempt either to struggle or to freeze him off. And she hadn’t only submitted, she had been willing, eager...
She felt desperately ashamed and humiliated. If only she’d put up a fight, made it necessary for him to use force, then at least she could have faced him with her head held high and lived with herself.
Now she could do neither. She had allowed herself to be the plaything of a man who had no feelings for her except anger and lust.
Lust... An ugly word for a powerful emotion. An emotion which a year ago, in her innocence, she had believed to be love. That mistake had made her subsequent disillusionment all the harder to bear.
If she had been a more sophisticated woman, or if she hadn’t loved him so very much, she might have been able to look on their brief liaison as a pleasurable interlude and put the whole thing down to experience, rather than allowing pain and anger to stampede her into running away.
But she hadn’t. And, in its own way, Nick’s reaction had proved to be as extreme as her own.
Because of her flight, her refusal to see or listen to him—and in spite of being engaged to a woman he loved—he had become obsessed with her.
It was an obsession which, though he’d gone to extreme lengths to gratify it, he obviously resented as bitterly as she resented the hold he had over her.
So where did that leave them?
Presumably he expected them to stay married until his obsession was cured—an open-ended sentence, she’d called it—and then he would let her go. But by that time she could be destroyed, burnt out...
A kind of panicky nausea gripped her.
Nick was still breathing with the shallow evenness of sleep as, her empty stomach churning, she carefully eased herself free of his imprisoning arm and crept across the darkened room to the bathroom.
The stove had been closed up for the night, and as soon as Raine left the warmth of the bed the cold air wrapped around her like an invisible shroud, goose-fleshing her bare skin.
Taut and shivering, she leaned over the sink and waited until the nausea had subsided. Then, clenching her teeth to stop them chattering, she tiptoed back through the darkness to huddle by the stove, legs drawn up, arms hugging them, cheek resting against her knees.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ She hadn’t heard him coming, and the savage question startled her, jerking her head up.
In the faint glow from the stove she saw he was standing over her, naked and furious. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold, you silly little fool.’
‘I—I felt a bit sick.’
His voice softened with what sounded like concern. ‘It’s probably lack of food. I’ll get you some biscuits and hot chocolate.’
Her stomach kicked at the thought. ‘No, no... I don’t want anything.’
‘Then come back to bed.’
When she made no move to obey he stooped and, gathering her into his arms, carried her back to the bed. Slipping in beside her, he drew her against his chest, holding her protectively, warming her shivering body with his own.
Soon the shaking stopped and a comforting warmth began to steal over her, but, telling herself how much she hated the contact, she made an effort to stay rigid. Before long, however, her spine began to protest at the unnatural strain, and she was forced to let herself relax against him.
‘That’s better,’ he said softly, and, turning a little, so that she was sprawled half across his chest, settled his chin on top of her head.
Beneath her cheek his heartbeat was strong and steady, oddly reassuring. Moments later she was asleep.
She awoke to find daylight poking fingers through slight gaps in the curtains and Nick propped on one elbow, his thickly-lashed midnight-blue eyes smiling down at her. His wheat-coloured hair was rumpled, and a silvery-gold stubble adorned his strong jaw.
He was so attractive, so irresistible when he smiled like that, that her heart gave a queer little lurch and began to flap about like a stranded fish.
Perhaps something of what she was feeling showed in her face, because his smile deepened, grew satisfied.
He bent and touched his lips to hers, his breath warm and sweet. ‘Last night—the way you responded to me—was everything I could have wished for...’ He kissed her again. ‘It convinced me that you must have felt something other than hatred...’
Her defence mechanism sprang into action. ‘Oh, I did,’ she said quickly. ‘Lust.’ She almost laughed at his expression. ‘Lust isn’t just a male prerogative. Women feel it too—or didn’t you know?’
He answered obliquely. ‘I’ve nothing against good honest passion, but in your case I thought your feelings went deeper than that?’
As she began to shake her head he said positively, ‘You loved me once, otherwise you would never have dropped all your defences like you did...’
Unable to deny that, she looked at him dumbly.
‘I wondered if by any chance you still loved me?’
The question was like a knife thrust into her heart and twisted. Conscious only of the pain, she hit back blindly, wanting to hurt him. ‘What makes you think I could love a man who’s made me into a whore?’
He flinched, and she laughed bitterly. ‘Too crude for you? But that’s what it amounts to.’
‘Don’t be foolish, Raine—’
‘But perhaps a whore’s better off,’ she broke in heedlessly. ‘At least she can choose who she sells her body to.’
‘We’re married,’ he pointed out tightly, ‘with all that implies. You’re my wife.’
‘Under duress.’ Her green eyes blazed. ‘You once said that all you wanted from me was the use of my body, and that’s all you’ll ever get! Not comfort or concern if you’re injured or ill, not help and support when you’re tired and you need a shoulder to lean on, not compassion if your world falls apart, not even true companionship...
‘Love you?’ She laughed scornfully. ‘I loathe you! If you were up to your neck in quicksand I wouldn’t lift a finger to help—in fact I’d stand and cheer while you went under.’
His face a stony mask, a white line around his mouth, he said, ‘There’s no need to say any more. You’ve made your feelings abundantly clear. And if all I’m to ever get is the use of your body—’ his words dropped into the silence like slivers of ice ‘—t
hen I’ll have to make the most of it.’
His mouth a thin, cruel line, he put his hand on her breast and fingered the nipple with cool insolence, before running the hand down her body to find an even more sensitive spot.
There was no tenderness in his touch, no passion, even. He was treating her with studied contempt, waiting for her to react, she thought bitterly, hoping she would struggle so he could hurt her.
Breathing with slow, deliberate care, she lay quite still, her face deathly pale and calm, her teeth clenched on the soft ski of her inner lip to stop it trembling. Aided by a kind of icy despair, she struggled to show no reaction, to allow no flicker of emotion to break through that unresponsive mask.
Watching him from beneath thick lashes, she saw, first with wonder then with a feeling of triumph, that of the two of them he was growing more aroused.
A flicker of angry impatience showed briefly in his dark eyes, and he took her hand and placed it on his firm flesh.
She let it stay there, limp and unmoving, with a mute unconcern that was in itself an insult, a blow to his manhood.
His lips twisted. ‘If you’re going to liken yourself to a bought woman, darling, you’ll have to make more effort to please.’ Savagely, derisively, he added, ‘Somersby would no doubt have been satisfied with making love to someone who lay there like a corpse, but—’
For some reason his jeer got through her guard, and with no thought for the possible consequences she lashed out, the palm of her hand cracking against his cheek with a force that made him blink.
Unbelievably, he laughed.
That mocking laughter made her see red. Hands curved into claws, she went for him like a tigress, scratching and biting with a primitive fury that later she would be ashamed of.
‘Ouch! You little hellcat!’ he exclaimed as she sank her teeth into his shoulder. His attention distracted, she scrambled for the opposite edge of the bed, and had almost reached it when he seized her and dragged her back, struggling furiously.
As he attempted to restrain her her flailing fist caught him a glance blow on the cheek, and she heard his little grunt of pain with fierce satisfaction.
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