The glancing touches should feel innocent. Of course they weren’t. They readied her for him, made her wet, beguiled her into a state of hazy arousal where she’d let him do whatever he wished. She wasn’t far from that state now. But she wasn’t yet ready to throw over ten years of circumspection without a safeguard or two.
“Yes.”
“Do you trust me to follow your rules?” The question was a whisper across her collarbone and she realized he’d pushed aside her sleeve so he could taste her shoulder. Another of those sensual shivers. Another welling of moisture between her legs. He drove her to the edge of madness. She should have started this conversation when he was ten feet away, not when he touched her and turned her mind to custard.
“I have to trust you,” she said grimly even as the needy ache in her sex intensified. “What choice do I have?”
“Poor Joan of Arc, so bravely going to the stake.” The hint of laughter shot another jolt of awareness through her.
She bolstered her failing determination. “You’ll never use me against Cassie, even if you publish my brazenness to the world.”
“What a nasty opinion you have of me, sweet Miss Smith. Do you consider me so manipulative?”
“Yes,” she admitted on a sigh as he bit down gently on a nerve in her neck. She rubbed her thighs together to ease the emptiness but the soft friction only built her craving. If she didn’t set her conditions quickly, she’d swoon in his arms.
“Wise woman.” He kissed the place he’d bitten. “Yet still you’re here.” He ran his hands up and down her ribs, stopping breathtakingly short of her breasts. Even through clothing, his touch trailed fire.
“I’m not wise.” She gathered her thoughts, difficult when her sex was molten with heat and her breasts ached for his hands.
“You have my word this is unrelated to my pursuit of Cassie.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, but he hadn’t finished speaking.
“However, nothing will deflect my interest from Miss Demarest.”
She stiffened. Where was her pride? She should march away when he refused to relinquish his pursuit of another woman. Pathetically she’d come too far for will to prevail over hunger. “I won’t let you hurt her.”
“You’ll do your best.” His hard tone contrasted with his languorous touch so near her swelling breasts. “Is that everything?”
Was that everything? She dredged elusive thought from the sea of sensual pleasure. “You have to protect me from conceiving a child.”
He drew back and his teasing caresses stilled. She felt him studying her through the darkness. “Yes.”
“That’s all?” Astonishment pierced the mists in her mind. “Just yes?”
“Well, I’ll do my best. Nothing is foolproof.” His hands tightened on her waist. The air prickled with anticipation. “More conditions? Perhaps you want assurances in writing?”
“This is such a game to you,” she said bitterly, gripping his forearms. She didn’t deceive herself that this man held to anything as inconvenient as a principle. At this blazing moment, she didn’t care.
His voice was ragged as he closed the distance between them. “This stopped being a game a long time ago.”
Chapter Twelve
Ranelaw gripped Antonia’s hips hard through the filmy dress and dragged her into his body. The scent of her arousal made his head swim. Ruthlessly he pressed against her belly, letting her feel how he wanted her, how she was in his power and he wasn’t letting her go.
She made a muffled protest when he crashed his mouth into hers. Her fingers formed talons on his forearms, digging into his skin through his thin cambric shirt. The sting fed the storm of passion inside him.
Ruthlessly he forced her lips apart, plundered the interior of her mouth with his tongue. Bit and licked and tasted. He treated her like the most experienced courtesan.
&
nbsp; A voice inside his head shouted for him to stop. She was an innocent. He should woo, coax, lure. But his hunger attained such a pitch, he, who prided himself on his control, couldn’t rein in his desire.
She stood stiff, trembling and unyielding, for all that she claimed to want him. His grip tightened. She’d stepped into this particular lion’s den of her own will. If he devoured her, she had only herself to blame.
Even unresponsive, she was delicious. The most delicious woman he’d ever kissed. The voice at the back of his mind screamed that she was untouched, a virgin, deserving of care. He’d frighten her.
To his shame, he frightened her now.