A Daring Passion

She shivered beneath his caress. “I suppose all this land now belongs to you?”

His lips and teeth continued their assault upon her neck, his hands pulling her sharply against his hardening arousal.

“Not all, but certainly as far as your eye can see. Upon those distant hills are my vineyards,” he murmured.

Her eyes slid closed as her hands clung helplessly to the arms that surrounded her. “Ah, the famous Madeira wines?”

“Precisely.” He trailed his tongue up her neck. “Although Prince Henry no doubt introduced the first vineyards, it was the Jesuit priests who began the wine-trading industry. They once held large tracts of land and their power was quite formidable upon the island.”

“As yours is now?”

“True enough,” he admittedly absently, his mouth now exploring the line of her jaw.

Against her will her head dropped back onto his chest, her body clenching with aching need. Gad, but she wanted him to tug off the blanket and run his warm hands over her quivering body. She wanted him to spread her legs and enter her with a slow, powerful thrust.

She sucked in a deep breath as her entire body shuddered with longing. “I have never understood why the wine is so sought-after,” she said, her voice thick with need.

Philippe chuckled softly, perfectly aware of the havoc he was creating. “It begins with the grapes, of course. The climate and richness of the soil provide the finest vineyards. And then the wines are fortified with brandy and the casks of wine are heated to help preserve them during the long voyages. The process gives the wine a unique flavor. Later I will show you the wine houses, but for this morning I believe you would prefer to prepare for our guest.”

Raine stiffened, the haze of sensual delight disrupted as a chill inched down her spine.

“Guest?”

Easily sensing her abrupt tension, Philippe grudgingly removed his arms and stepped back so she could turn to regard him with a wary gaze.

“The local priest, Father Tomas, will be taking luncheon with us,” he said carefully.

Raine clutched the blanket about her as she glared into his impassive expression. “Do you often share luncheon with your priest?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He met her gaze squarely. “However, he was invited today to begin planning our wedding.”

Her heart lodged in her throat as she gave a shake of her head. “No, Philippe.”

His hand reached out with an impatient motion, sending Raine hastily stepping back to avoid his touch. Unfortunately, she had forgotten the trailing blanket and with a small cry she felt herself plunging back toward the low railing.

With a curse, Philippe moved to sweep her into his arms, carrying her back into the bedchamber and dumping her onto the vast bed.

“Damn you, Raine, I will endure no more of your impulsive foolishness,” he growled as he stood glaring down at her, his face pale as if she had truly frightened him.

She cringed against the force of his furious tone, her eyes wide. “It was an accident.”

His harsh expression did not ease. “An accident that nearly broke your bloody neck. When you are my wife you will exercise a good deal more self-control to overcome your rash habits, is that understood?”

Her own temper snapped as she lifted herself to a seated position and thrust out her chin.

“Perhaps the thought of breaking my bloody neck is preferable to that of marriage to you.”

A dangerous silence entered the room as he slowly bent down until they were nose to nose.

“As soon as your trunks are brought to the room, Miss Wimbourne, you will attire yourself as befits the mistress of this house and present yourself in the drawing room.” His hand lifted to cup the back of her neck, yanking her to meet his lips in a brief, possessive kiss. “Do not even think of keeping me waiting.”

With his threat delivered, Philippe stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Left on her own, Raine buried her face in her hands.

Dear God, she had to stop this.

PHILIPPE RESTLESSLY PROWLED the drawing room, his temper still frayed and his mood foul. For once the elegant room with its satinwood furnishings and long row of windows that offered a view of the distant cove failed to soothe him. Not even his collection of rare Roman coins offered a distraction.