Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)
Jules played her ace. “Please don’t leave me alone, Michael. It’s nightmares . . . and I’m frightened.” Please forgive me for the fib.
She thought she heard him curse very softly, and kept firm control over the smile that threatened to break free. “Very well,” he said, and his voice sounded like a condemned man’s.
He turned off all the lights and undressed in the dark. Jules didn’t mind. She rather hoped he wouldn’t wear one of those ridiculous nightshirts. But he did.
“Good night, Jules,” he said as he slipped in beside her, hugging the far side of the bed.
“Good night,” she said softly, and prepared to wait. Not too long, just enough time for him to relax.
“Michael?” she said finally, not moving.
“Yes?”
He sounded too alert, she thought. Well, there was no help for it. “What do you think of celibacy?”
She heard him suck in his breath. “Go to sleep, Jules,” he said, his voice harsh.
“Do you think it’s more difficult for a man to be celibate than a woman?”
She was going to drive him crazy, he thought, inching even closer to the far side of the bed. She was so bloody innocent, so guileless . . .
“I don’t like being celibate.”
Guileless, hell! “All right, Jules,” he said, turning toward her, “what the devil is going on?”
She said very calmly, “Aren’t we married?”
“I repeat, what the devil is going on?”
She sought the word Del Saxton has used. “I think we should consummate our marriage.”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Jules, please, no. I am not such a monster, and you are hurt, and I won’t add to it, do you hear me?”
He continued, his voice jerky, about how he didn’t want her to be afraid of him. She said nothing, merely waited until he had gotten it all out of his system.
When at last he fell silent, she smiled into the darkness and squirmed over to him. She took his face between her hands and kissed him. She missed at first because it was so dark, but then she felt his mouth beneath hers. “No,” he said, trying to shove her away.
She clung like a leech. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but knew that he didn’t want to hear that. It would make him feel guilty because he didn’t love her. She said in the most seductive voice she could manage, “I want you, Michael. You are my husband. I am a woman, not a child. Please.”
Saint felt her words crash through him. His body was taut, on fire. Lust, you damned bastard! “Jules,” he began, “I will not hurt you.”
“Why would you hurt me?”
He’d turned to face her, his strong hands clasping her shoulders. “Any man would hurt you—if not physically, then . . .”
“You think my weak woman’s mind would snap or something?”
She managed to slip one hand free, and with unerring instinct let her fingers rove down his belly. He gasped, now trying to escape her. “Stop it,” he moaned.
Her fingers found him, hard and throbbing through the nightshirt. “No,” she said, “I won’t stop. You are my husband, and you owe me certain things. You keep telling me that I’m your responsibility. Well, be responsible.”
“Get your hand off me, Jules, or I won’t be responsible for—”
She laughed.