Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“Let me go.”

“Now, that would seem more than careless of me,” Brent said. “I suppose I should be thankful that you didn’t kick me in the crotch. That would have brought me to my knees, as I’m certain you remember well.”

“I will, if you don’t let me go.”

“That,” he said, “makes not one whit of sense. If I hold you, you won’t be able to. Hush now and stop digging in your heels.”

“I want to talk to you, Brent.”

“And I, my dear, want to strip you to your beautiful skin.

Will I still be an unacceptable husband when you’re whimpering with pleasure?”

She closed her eyes a moment, aware that the house slaves were witnessing the master dragging the mistress up the stairs. “I’ll make you sorry for this, Brent. Damn you, if you want to be a rutting pig, go back to your dear Laurel.”

“You’ve made me quite sorry innumerable times during the past months. And now I’m a ‘rutting pig.’ Why don’t you forget your jealousy and think about what I’m going to do to you?”

Byrony jabbed him in the ribs. In the next moment he’d pushed her into the bedroom and locked the door. “Now,” he said, and walked toward her.

“No.”

She was still yelling at him when she was wearing only her white cotton chemise.

Brent, who hadn’t said a word, stepped back and began to stroke his jaw. “Very nice,” he said at last. “Why don’t you strike a seductive pose on the bed? Given your present attitude, it might help my interest.”

“I hope you rot.”

“I have no intention of looking to see where your eyes are fastened, Byrony,” he said as he stripped off his clothes.

“You’re a man, and always interested, no matter who the woman. It doesn’t matter one whit to you.”

“Oh yes it does. Come now, let?

?s get on with it. The sooner I have you yelling with pleasure, the more quickly you’ll forget your grievances.”

“I find you making love to another woman—your stepmother—and you have the gall—”

In the next instant she was on her back, her chemise yanked up to her waist, her husband lying his full length on top of her.

Very gently he drew her arms above her head. “I’ve been quite distracted lately, love,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “A husband should keep his wife dreamy-eyed and sated. So many responsibilities.”

“Don’t you dare force me.”

He sat back on his haunches and very calmly tore her chemise apart. “Very nice,” he said, staring a moment at her breasts. He eased off her, pulled off the torn chemise, and lowered one hand to stroke her breasts. “Our baby is filling you out quite nicely.”

“Don’t, Brent.”

“Don’t what? You know, Byrony, if you but learned to trust your husband a bit more, you’d save yourself a lot of wasted energy.”

“Trust you? I saw what you were doing. But you don’t even care, do you?”

He paused a moment, and she would have sworn that she saw a flash of anger in his eyes, but it was gone quickly.

His long fingers moved down her belly to find her and stroke her. She tried to jerk away from him, but he only laughed. “You said something about forcing you, love? I believe it’s your heat that’s causing this delightful wetness, not the weather.”

“It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Oh?”