The Marquess Who Loved Me - By Sara Ramsey Page 0,86
was hard to keep from breaking when she didn’t know what she wanted, but when her mind couldn’t work, ten years of habit took over. She shrugged. “It’s your affair, not mine. But I’ve guests to see to in the morning, so I hope you don’t take long.”
His restraint was admirable — so calm she almost hated him for it. “I have changed my mind about my revenge.”
Her stomach dropped. Her jaw dropped with it. “Are you letting me go?”
His smile was just as grim as anything she’d seen from him. “Never. But I thought the idea of sharing a bed with me would upset you. It only seems to excite you.”
Ellie still gaped. “I’m not excited. I’m pragmatic. You bought your way into my bed. I may as well enjoy it.”
“That takes the shine off my revenge, doesn’t it?”
“What is your plan, then? Make it so bad I don’t enjoy it?“
He smirked. “It is impossible for me to be that bad.”
“Insufferable,” she muttered.
“Call me any name you like. But every time I take you, you are going to feel something. Pleasure, hatred, ecstasy, regret, joy — feel whatever you want. But you will feel. And in my bed, you won’t be the icy queen you play for everyone else.”
She did hate him then. “That wasn’t part of our agreement.”
“I believe it falls under ‘you will do anything I ask in bed or outside it.’ Or was that not comprehensive enough?”
She suddenly wanted to run. She had thought their first two nights had been an anomaly, with a depth of feeling that was inevitable on their first couplings. Surely by now she should be able to stay disengaged.
But if he saw that her behavior was an anomaly — if he recognized that she never shared herself like that — he was determined to make it a habit.
“You cannot control my feelings, Nick.”
“I won’t tell you what to feel — but you will feel. Now come here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
She wanted to run. He saw it in the way she came up on the balls of her feet — in the way her eyes widened, then narrowed, shock followed by the need to act.
He was the worst sort of cad. But he had dreamed of her like this for so long, spent so many nights wishing for her. Now that he had her…
He wasn’t a hero. And he wouldn’t let her go.
But he didn’t want a pliant, thoughtless thing in his arms. He wanted her alive — as awakened by the possibilities between them as he was. He held out his hand. “Come to me, Ellie.” His voice was softer than it had been. He couldn’t seem to keep an edge to it when her kohl-rimmed eyes were so stark. “I vow I won’t hurt you.”
“No one can keep such a promise.”
But she reached out her hand and let him pull her into his lap. Her veil fell away, revealing her hair — the same red waves he’d dreamed of any number of times.
He couldn’t resist her — couldn’t help himself when her lips were so close to his and the blood rushing from his head to his cock made it so damned hard to remember what he had planned for her. He kissed her. He swore she kissed him back. Her hands roved over his shoulders. Her lips opened for him, and he heard her approving moan as he claimed her.
Suddenly he didn’t want what he had planned for her. He didn’t want a slow, devastating seduction; didn’t want to play the patient lover until she finally admitted that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He still wanted to hear her need for him, but at this point, he would take what he could get.
He knew, somehow, in a dim corner of his mind that hadn’t quite flickered out, that these were the ravings of an addict. One more card, one more glass, one more pipe — one more time sinking into her, and surely he could save them both. It was madness — but it was no madness he wanted rescued from.
He stopped kissing her long enough to stand up. She didn’t say a word as he pulled her up with him. He pushed her hair back on both sides of her face, brushing her temples with his thumbs. He kissed the top of her head and breathed in her scent. It fired his pulse — gave him the final spur to overwhelm his control and give in