A Dangerous Temptation

by L. R. Olson

  I slammed my fists against his chest. “I hate you!”

  With a growl, he gripped my wrists and jerked me up against his hard body, his cock straining boldly against his trousers and pressing intimately to my lower belly. “I despise you too, my dear.”

  He wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted. I had little time to protest as he tossed me to the bed. I landed with a muffled cry to the soft bedding, no worse for wear. As I lay there, horrified and angry, he finished undressing.

  He was as perfect and muscled as I’d remembered and his cock strained away from his body with an eagerness that terrified and fascinated me. Had he truly been that large the first time? The image of him sliding his shaft into my tight passage made me embarrassingly wet. And he would know…as soon as he touched me he would notice how wet he made me, and he would realize how very much I did want him.

  How could we hate each other, yet feel so much attraction? It made no bloody sense. How many nights I’d dreamt about his touch. How many days I’d cursed my dreams. And now…as terrified as I was, I couldn’t deny the throbbing ache that twisted and taunted between my thighs.

  Slowly, he scanned my body as if I was a piece of art and he was deciding if I was worth the money. His gaze rested on my breasts and then skimmed down to the nest of curls that shielded my femininity. I didn’t miss the way his cock pulsed, the thickened head glistening with his need. My breath hitched, my mouth going dry.

  He was a god. A Greek God. Hard planes of muscle coming together into perfection.

  Mother had always said I was too passionate. Too passionate in my love for art. Too passionate in my feelings. And apparently in the bedchamber things were not much different. My cheeks burned with utter humiliation. A true lady did not desire such relations. A true lady did her duty, but did not crave the temptation of male flesh. Apparently I was no true lady.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, determined not to react to him.

  The mattress shifted as he came near. Then he touched me. A light skim of his hands down my side, over my hip, down my thigh. Surprised, I jumped. But the surprise quickly fled as heat took its place. I had to resist the urge to strain up into his touch, to beg for more. Dear lord, my body remembered. My body wanted him, even if my mind didn’t.

  He leaned closer, the scent of his skin musky and temptingly male. The fact that his touch was gentle surprised me more than the actual deed itself. I peeked through my lashes just as he lowered his head to my breasts. My heart slammed wildly against my chest, pounding so fiercely I felt dizzy.

  I will not react.

  He took a hardened nipple between his lips. I gritted my teeth, as the ache between my legs flared. How badly I wanted to shift underneath him, to arch my back and urge him to take the breast fully into his warm mouth.

  I will not react.

  His lips covered the nipple, his tongue swirling around the hard bud. I whimpered, my fingers digging into the bedsheets. Although my hips naturally wanted to lift, and my body wanted to rock into him, I refused.

  As he sucked on my breast, his hand skimmed down my stomach toward that nest of curls. It was too much. Why? Why did he taunt me? Why did he give me pleasure when this was supposed to be about producing a child? Yes, I admit I’d imagined him slamming into me, spilling his seed and being done with the matter altogether. But instead he put me through this torture. Exquisite torture. Beautiful pain.

  “God, you taste good,” he muttered.

  I will not react.

  While he licked, sucked and swirled his tongue around my nipple, his fingers slid through the curls. I swallowed my cry. He paused, tormenting me. When I thought I might scream out in frustration, he slid his finger over the sensitive nub, farther through my wet folds. Heat infused my body and I groaned.

  He released my nipple, pulled his hand from my body and gripped my hips. I glared at the top of his head. He was torturing me on purpose, damn him. Slowly, he moved down my belly, pressing kisses over my stomach, farther, farther.

  “Wh…what are you doing?” I demanded.

  Sinful. I knew where he was going and my reserves began to crumble down around me. So much for not reacting. Hell, the man could make me come just by a mere glance. A sweep of his tongue. A brush of his fingers.

  “Open for me, Jules,” he growled, sending a shiver down my spine. “Now.”

  I should have refused. But I could no more refuse him than I could refuse to breathe.

  I felt intoxicated by his presence, no longer in control of my own body. I was wet, aching and flushed with a desire that I could not control. With a whimper, I spread my legs.

  When he lowered his head my hesitancy vanished into the night. His tongue delved into my sheath, torturing me with exquisite pleasure. I gripped the sheets, lifting my hips. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Never supposed to be like this.

  “James, please,” I whispered, although I wasn’t sure what I asked for. To stop? No, I didn’t want him to stop. To cease torturing me? Perhaps. To leave me in peace so that my aching heart could heal? Yes. Most certainly.

  My entire body tightened, that lust twisting almost painfully. It was coming…that sweet, sweet release. But before I could find fulfillment, he pulled away.

  Startled, I opened my eyes. He hovered over me, his breath harsh, his hair tousled and those dark eyes burning with a need that frightened me. Why had he stopped? Was this all a game? No, if he walked away now it would kill me, both physically and mentally.

  “Jamie, please,” I begged.

  His jaw clenched, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. “I will give you pleasure, Jules, I’m not so heartless as to leave you aching.”

  Good lord, he knew how much I needed him. He didn’t look pleased about the idea, and for a moment I almost thought about shoving him aside, telling him I didn’t want him, that he could go to hell for all I cared. But I did need him. I needed him so badly I felt ready to scream in frustration. He slid up my body, his intense gaze locked to mine. It was as if he dared me to push him away. But he knew…he knew he had captured my heart, my soul, my body.

  I felt the thick tip of his cock press to my core. “You are mine, Jules. Mine.”

  Before I could respond to his heated words, he surged forward.

  I gasped over the shocking intrusion.

  Arching my back, I threw my arms around his shoulders and dug my nails into his skin. He controlled me so thoroughly, so completely that it was terrifying. Yet, at the same time I wanted more.

  His heavy, muscled body pressed deeply into me, holding me captive. With is arms braced on either side of me he pulled out, only to thrust forward again, sending him deeper. So very deep.

  I cried out as a tingle of pleasure whispered through my body, promising more to come. The sense of intrusion I’d first experience eased as desire burned. Each stroke of his cock inside me sent the aching need twisting painfully, beautifully.

  Finally, I gave up. With a groan, I slid my hands down his shoulders, gripping his biceps. I wanted him. I could no longer deny it. I wrapped my legs around his muscled thighs and lifted my hips, rocking up as he came down into me.

  If I had to beg, so be it. “Please, Jamie, please.”

  He had won.

  ****

  James

  Her hands crept down my back toward my buttocks, her nails biting into my skin. Hell, I couldn’t take much more. I grabbed her wrists and jerked them up over her head, pinning them to the bed.

  Her surprised gaze met mine. She was flushed and nervous. Good. I wouldn’t let her touch me. I couldn’t. If she touched me I’d come too soon and I wasn’t ready for this to be over. I’d waited months for this night, I was determined to take my time.

  Held down by my weight, she struggled, trying to pull her hands free. I wouldn’t relent. “You are mine, Jules,” I demanded. “Mine.”

  Her gaze flashed with anger.

  Perhaps to punish her, or maybe to punish myself, I lifted my hips and surged into her. She gaspe
d, arching her back and taking me deeper. Her wet, heated sheath squeezed me tightly. It was heaven. It would be so damn easy to find my release, to be done with this and leave the room, leave her. But I knew as I pulled out and thrust deep within her again, that this one time wouldn’t be enough.

  For months I’d been waiting for her, wanting this, needing the release. I’d paced the floors at night, only to wake surly and bad-tempered in the morning, hard and wanting. Nothing and no one could appease me. Yes, I had suffered. Now I would savor the victory.

  “Please, James,” she murmured, half-gone with desire.

  I felt like a damn heathen. I wanted to mark her as mine. Claim her so that no other man would ever dare touch her. “You are mine, Jules,” I said fiercely. “Say it.”

  She squirmed under me, each lift of her hips taking me deeper, closer to heaven. Stubborn lass. I gripped her lush arse and pulled her up against me just as I pushed forward again...so deep, so blasted deep I could barely hold back. “Say it, you stubborn wench.”

  She merely whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “Damn you.” Angry, I pulled out of her, feeling the slightest bit of vindication when she cried out in frustration. Before she could question me, I gripped her hips and flipped her over onto her stomach.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, horrified.

  Ignoring her question, I shoved my knee between her thighs. Hell, her bottom was even better than I’d expected. I ran my hand down a smooth cheek, squeezing gently, before sliding my finger down around into her entrance. She sucked in a sharp breath.

  “You’re so damn ready.” I pulled my finger free, her dampness glistening against my skin. Unable to resist any longer, I gripped her hips and pressed the head of my cock into her tight body. Before she could protest I surged into her from behind.

  “James!” she cried out, arching beneath me.

  “Fuck,” I muttered. I’d never felt anything so good. “Hell.”

  I sank deeply into her as I drew my hand down the gentle curve of her back. The memories of that one time together had not done justice to how she felt. With every thrust forward, her sheath tightened around me, squeezing, pulling so I thought I’d die from the pleasure of it all. She quivered, her breath catching, and I knew she was close to finding her own release.

  “Jamie,” she whispered, her voice nervous. “We shouldn’t…this isn’t…”

  Damn, she might have kissed like a whore, but she was as nervous as a virgin. Fully embedded, I leaned over her, that rounded bottom pressing into my hips, and I nipped the back of her neck. “You can fuck many, many ways, Jules.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, her face pressed into the pillow. Her hands were curled at her sides, gripping the bedsheets tightly. There was no denying it…she was beautiful. Stunning. Her skin wore a healthy flushed glow of desire. Her breath came out in wanton gasps. She wanted me. She needed me as much as I needed her.

  Determined, I lifted my hips and pushed into her again. I couldn’t take it anymore. Could no longer hold back. As I thrust, I slid my hand around her body, down her flat stomach and found that nub between her folds. It was all she needed. Her cry came out muffled against the pillow, her entire body trembling around me as she let go.

  With a growl deep in my throat, I rocked into her one last time, finding my release. She drained me completely and utterly. I felt as if I hadn’t an ounce of feeling, of soul. Everything I was, I’d given to her. For a long, long moment I leaned against her, not wanting to pull out quite yet, savoring the feel of being connected to this woman.

  I knew my weight would crush her. Before moving, I breathed in her scent, resisting the urge to kiss her satiny skin. But it was all so intimate. Reluctantly, I pulled from her body and collapsed onto the bed beside her. It was too much. Too damn much. Panting, I waited for my body to relax, for my breathing to return to normal. Why her? Why the bloody hell did she make me feel this way?

  She didn’t move, merely lay there with her head turned away from me. Shite. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I wasn’t supposed to lose control. I raked my trembling hands through my hair, knowing I should leave. Instead, I had to fight the urge to pull her close and cradle her body to mine. To kiss and lick the sweat from her smooth skin. Hell, I wanted to breathe in her sweet scent and sleep in peaceful bliss for once.

  And that scared the hell out of me.

  She’d sucked the very life from me. Taken me for everything I had. “Every other day.”

  She rolled onto her side, her back to me. My chest grew tight with an emotion I didn’t dare dwell upon. What the hell did she expect? Roses? Poetry? I closed my eyes, a part of me desperately wanting to apologize. For what, I wasn’t even sure. But the words would not come. She needed to understand our relationship; I would not give her false hope.

  Quickly, I stood and dressed. Still she didn’t move, didn’t say a word. Her shame hung heavy in the air around us. And her shame made me feel as angry as it did guilty. She was doing her duty, doing exactly what she was supposed to do, what she’d been taught. How dare she make me feel as if I’d done something wrong.

  “I’ll be back in two days.” I paused at the door. “Order gowns, jewelry, visit the neighbors, do what you want until then.”

  Perhaps I was trying to buy her forgiveness, and the thought annoyed me. Still she didn’t speak, didn’t even flinch. If it wasn’t for the slight rise and fall of her shoulders I would have thought her dead. My fingers tightened around the door handle. I wanted to scream at her, or perhaps I merely wanted to fuck her again.

  Or maybe…just maybe, I wanted to apologize. Damn it all, I would not feel guilty.

  I had the oddest feeling she didn’t hate me because I had forced her to give in, but because she had enjoyed it. She’d insisted she wouldn’t react to my touch. She’d been wrong. Yet, I didn’t feel the need to gloat. I’d won this battle, yet didn’t feel like the victor.

  “Two days,” I said.

  Not bothering to wait for a reply, I tore open the door and moved into the hall, closing the door behind me. Rafe stood there flushed with fury, hands fisted at his sides. It was obvious he’d heard what I said to her, and most likely knew what I’d done. “Eavesdropping? Or is it some new sport of yours…listening to others fuck?”

  His lips lifted into a snarl. “Go to hell, I was merely passing by.”

  I shoved him out of the way and stormed down the hall. Passing by? His rooms were a good ten minutes from here. Hell, he probably believed himself half in love with the woman.

  No doubt she was falling for him. I didn’t miss their walks in the garden, the smiles she gifted him with. But she didn’t know the real Rafe. Did she not understand her life could be much worse than being married to me? And Rafe was worse. He might be all charm and debonair smiles, but he had a woman in just about every shire, and he sure as hell wouldn’t give them up merely because he’d fallen for yet another.

  “You’re a damn bastard, you know that?” Rafe said, following me down the stairs.

  I had half a mind to shove him, and hope he broke his neck. What was one more murder to add to my list? If he wanted to think that I’d forced her, that she hadn’t wanted me just as badly, let him. “That’s rich coming from you.”

  He trailed after me as I entered the study. “What the hell happened to you? You’ve turned into an arrogant, soulless bastard.”

  I moved to the side table, needing a drink to steady my nerves. The emotions swirling through me were unwelcome and unfamiliar. I thrived on being in control, damn it all. But the moment I’d slept with Jules those months ago, I lost all sense of who I’d been born to be, trained to be. “I’m exactly as I’ve always been.”

  I wanted to retire to my rooms, to be alone and wipe her from my mind. I wanted to bathe and scrub her scent from my body and maybe then…maybe I could find some damn peace in my own home.

  She had drawings of me in that sketch pad of hers. Drawing after drawing. What did it mean? Drawings
of me looking pensive, angry. A drawing of me as I’d bathed in that creek. A drawing of me after I’d sat beside her on the bank, looking relaxed, at ease. Had I truly been that happy those months ago?

  “What did she do that was so horrible?” he demanded. “Surely it can’t be worth the treatment you’ve given her thus far.”

  I poured myself a whiskey, cursing the tremble of my hands. What had she done? She’d given me hope, damn her. Hope that I could have a relationship with someone I could trust, hope that I could feel something other than cold emptiness. I would be insane to trust her, to trust these feelings. Wouldn’t I?

  “You could have wooed her. Picnics, flowers, walks across the moors. Hell, it doesn’t take much. It’s so bloody easy.”

  “Then you do it,” I snapped.

  “She’s not my wife!” The look of disappointment in his gaze was like a dagger that twisted painfully, slowly within my gut. We might have fought at times, but he’d always respected me. “You know, I remember the man who used to protect us from Father. The man who used to be loyal, caring…a fucking knight in shining armor.”

  I stared moodily into my glass. “Did that boy exist?”

  “He did.”

  I clenched my jaw and shifted my gaze to the fire. That lad was long dead, and I was too far gone. “That boy was weak.”

  “Not to me, not to Oliver or Will.”

  I slumped into the chair near the fireplace, wishing he’d leave me in peace. That boy was beat more times than he would care to count, or care to remember. Aye, I’d saved my brothers, but at what cost to my soul?

  “I can’t stand this anymore,” Rafe said. “God forgive me for taking the coward’s way out, but I can’t stand to stay here and see you crush that girl’s soul.”

  I tossed my glass into the fire, watching with some satisfaction as it exploded against the hearth and the flames roared in protest. “That girl is a woman who knew exactly what she was getting into!”