And now he was carrying her to her bedroom. Little shivers chased across her skin.
Pleasure indeed. The feel of strong arms cradling her body, the beat of a heart against her chest, for without thinking she had curled her arm over his shoulder. To support herself, naturally. Her fingers itched to test the silkiness of the hair at his nape. Her head longed to lean against that powerful shoulder. Her body yearned to curl into him. All in the name of pleasure.
Little though she knew of it.
Too soon they arrived at her door and he set her down on her feet. Without a word, he reached around her and opened the door to her chamber. She fought the strange sense of disappointment as she turned to enter her room. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
He caught her arm, holding her back, and she looked up at him. There was a strange expression on his face. A sort of wry twist to his mouth as he trapped her against the doorframe with one hand above her head and the other resting on the wall beside her cheek.
‘My lord,’ she gasped.
In the light from the sconce, his face was all hard angles and smooth planes. There was a loneliness about him, she was sure of it this time. An impossible bleakness as he stared into her eyes. His lids lowered a fraction, his mouth softened and curved in a most decadent smile when she nervously licked her lips.
She intended to speak, to warn him off, to push him away, but her fingers curled around his lapel as her knees felt suddenly weak and the tightness in her throat made it impossible to do more than breathe shallow sips of air.
A flash of hunger flared in those storm-grey eyes.
An answering desire roared through her veins. Shocked, heart pounding, she stared into his lovely face, waiting, wondering.
Slowly he bent his head, as if daring her to meet him halfway. Unable to resist the challenge, she closed the distance and brushed her mouth against his. His hand came behind her nape and expertly steadied her as he angled his head and took her lips in a ravenous kiss.
Large warm hands held her steady, one at her waist, the other cradling her head. A storm of sensation swept through her: tingles in her breasts, flutters in her core and the silken slide of his tongue tangling with hers. Delicious. Decadent. Bone melting. Heart stopping.
Thrills chased along her veins, making her tremble and long for more.
A sort of wonder filled her as her fingers finally explored the hair at his nape and wandered the impossible width of those muscled shoulders. Conscious mind disappeared into the hot darkness of desire.
A heavy thigh pressed between her legs, a steady pressure that offered ease to a growing ache. She shifted, parting her thighs to that insistent pressure, only to feel the torture, the aching need for something more. She tilted her hips into him.
On a soft groan, he broke the kiss. His chest was rising and falling as rapidly as her own, his gaze molten. ‘Would it really be so bad to be married to me, Miss Wilding?’ he asked in a low seductive growl.
Blankly she stared at him, her mind dizzy from his sensual assault.
His short laugh was low and slightly incredulous as he swept her up and set her on the bed. He stood over her like some pillaging Viking.
Finally, some sense of preservation took control of her mind. ‘You must not do this.’
His silver eyes were cold. ‘Think about it, Miss Wilding. The alternative is not all that attractive.’
He turned on his heel and the door closed quietly behind him.
She swallowed. The alternative was death.
Shivering, she struggled to sit up, then pressed her fingers to her mouth, where just a few moments ago his kisses had wooed her to the point of insensibility. Had the unthinkable just happened? Had she practically given her virtue to this man? This stranger who to all intents and purposes, would be better off if she died? She gave a small moan as the delight of that moment echoed through her body and her feminine flesh gave a little pulse of pleasure.
Wanton female. Fool, more like.
Was he actually proposing marriage, or had he simply been carried away by the moment, by lust?
According to Sally, men promised many things in the throes of desire, only to go back on their word when they achieved their aim.
And he hadn’t asked her to marry him. He’d asked