Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

Damn you for an idiot. Why didn’t you just let her ride away?

He quickly dismounted and walked toward her. She stared down at him, her eyes wide and wary on his face. “I’m not certain—” she began, and licked her lips.

His hands clasped her waist and easily lifted her off her mare’s back. He didn’t release her, but gently and slowly slid her down his body until her feet touched the sand. Blood drummed loudly in his ears. His body reacted instantly, and he didn’t deny himself. He pulled her against his chest and kissed her. The plume in her riding hat brushed his cheek.

Byrony struggled, pushing her fists against his chest. His arms only tightened around her back. “No, please, Brent, no.”

Her words brought his head up. “God, you’re so bloody beautiful. Why you, dammit?”

“I don’t know.” She slipped away from him, turning her back to him. She wasn’t frightened of him. She wanted him. It was the oddest feeling, one that she had never before experienced. Was this desire? She stared blindly at the crashing waves.

His lust calmed, and he said brutally, “You want me and Lord knows I want to bed you. Just once, and I imagine you would be out of my mind for all time.”

He saw her stiffen but she didn’t turn to face him.

“One more man wouldn’t make any difference. I won’t leave you unsatisfied, I promise you that. And I won’t get you pregnant.”

Slowly Byrony turned to face him. Her heart was beating wildly, and no matter how many deep breaths she’d taken, it wouldn’t calm. She wondered vaguely if he could hear it.

“I don’t understand,” she said, staring him full in the face. “Why do you want me? You don’t know me, not at all. You hate me, I’d say.”

He pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.

“It’s strange,” she continued after a moment of silence. “I really thought you different from other men when I met you in San Diego. But I guess that was foolish of me, wasn’t it? Mr. Hammond, the truth of the matter is that—”

“Is what?” His voice was harsh.

She cocked her head to one side, and she looked so innocent, so sweet with that damned little feather arching over her cheek, that he wanted for a brief instant to beg her forgiveness.

“If I did what you wished, would you stop hating me?”

He stared at her, no words coming to mind.

“Please, I’m only trying to understand. I cannot think why you feel it necessary to insult me every time we meet. I really don’t understand why you would want me to—that is, what you want is so intimate. Why would a man want intimacy with a woman he despises?”

“I don’t despise you.”

“You’ve a strange way of showing liking then, Mr. Hammond.”

“Brent.”

She sighed. “Very well, Brent.”

“I don’t dislike you,” he said, trying to get a grip on himself, but failing. “Dammit, I despise what you’ve done. You talk about not understanding. Well, I don’t understand why women sell themselves, and why they lie and cheat. Why they feel they must play games and tease men. Does it give you a sense of power to know that men desire you?”

“I have no power at all,” she said. “As for what I’ve done, I had no choice. It was out of my hands.”

“Ah, yes. Once his seed was planted in your belly, it certainly was.”

Slowly she said, “Mr. Hammond—Brent—please, no more. As you once said to me, I’ve made my bed and now must lie in it. I sincerely doubt that happiness has anything to do with real life, but I would like peace. Won’t you please just leave me alone?”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.” He raked his fingers through his hair, his frustration mounting. “You’re like a wretched sickness, and I doubt I can be cured until I’ve had you in every sense a man can possess a woman.”

“So,” she said slowly, “if I give myself to you, you will leave me alone?”

He wanted to fling her onto the sand and rip off her clothes. He wanted to shake her and tell her to stop acting like a wanton. He wanted—

“Brent?”