Chapter 2 #2
Melissande twisted away from his whisper but glanced up. She was trapped then by the determination in his eyes. Despite herself, she recalled the brush of his lips over hers. Would he be gentle with her? Or did he seek only to disarm her? Her blood simmered, as if she was no better than a harlot.
“Scoundrel,” she whispered, hating how readily he fed such urges within her. “You care for only your own ends. I can see clearly that you are your father’s son.”
Quinn’s eyes flashed like lightning, but his grip did not tighten and his voice did not rise.
Again, she glimpsed the power of his restraint and had to admire it.
“My sire and I had naught in common,” he insisted.
“You, my lady, will be the first to learn the truth of that.” Their gazes held for a long moment and Melissande knew she had engaged an opponent who would not readily retreat.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. He smiled that slow smile again, the one that undermined her belief in all she knew to be true, and she could scarce draw a breath.
“Perhaps we should seal our pledge anew,” he suggested, a rogue to his marrow. The mischievous glint in his eyes was so beguiling that Melissande did not move away in time.
Then Quinn bent and his mouth slanted across hers.
His kiss was firm, his lips coaxing, the strength of his hand on the back of her waist before she guessed what he was about. He did not claim, he did not possess: he invited, and that so astonished her that Melissande did not even consider making a protest.
Indeed, she surrendered and it was bliss.
Quinn’s kiss was gentle and intimate, yet tempting all the same.
It hinted of greater pleasures to come and made her heart race.
He smelled of sun and leather and horses, but beneath it all was the heady scent of his own skin.
He made a sound of surrender that pleased her greatly, then locked his arm around her waist, drawing her to her toes.
Her breasts were crushed against his chest and his mouth opened, claiming her more boldly.
Nay, he feasted upon her, coaxing her response, and she let him.
Melissande was overwhelmed and awed—and more desirous of his touch than she could have believed possible.
She guessed that this was not the first time for Quinn to kiss like this, that he knew she was innocent in such matters and tempered his own desire for her, but that awareness still did not check her response.
When he deepened his kiss, that warmth spread within her, destroying her ability to deny him and feeding her own desire.
Melissande was aware of every fiber of her being; she tingled from head to toe; she burned for more of whatever he might give.
She found herself pressing herself against his strength, her eyes closed in pleasure.
His fingers fanned out against the back of her waist, holding her captive to the pleasure he was determined to give.
When her own fingers slid into his hair, pulling him closer, she realized her folly.
He was trying to disarm her.
He succeeded with great haste.
She would be valued for her beauty and her womb, for her ability to give him sons—if indeed she could—while her wits and skill would be ignored.
He would train her, claim all she possessed, and discard her.
Then he would sacrifice Annossy to Sayerne.
“Nay!” Melissande tore her lips from Quinn’s and laid her hands flat on his chest to push him away.
He obediently retreated, though he watched her closely.
“We are not wed yet, sir,” she repeated, hearing the tremble in her voice. She felt rumpled and flustered as she never had before. Her skin was flushed and she knew that her cheeks were stained crimson. Her lips throbbed and she felt a new heat in the depths of her belly.
“Yet I find more promise in our union than earlier,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. His eyes glinted and again, she was treacherously close to be being beguiled.
Melissande shook her head, her fear rising. How could she forget what she knew of his kin? She wagged one finger at him. “You will beat me, as your father beat his women.”
Quinn shook his head with reassuring resolve and propped his hands on his hips.
“I told you that we two were different,” he said with such conviction that even she was tempted to believe him.
There was something about this man that made his pledges weighty.
“I will never lay a hand upon you in violence. I will never compel you to welcome me to your bed.”
Did he speak the truth, or was she a fool to give his words any credit at all?
He was resolute, to be sure.
What did she know for certain? That he loved Sayerne as much as she loved Annossy. And in that was the trouble. Melissande did not wager that Quinn’s objectives would be readily put aside, for any reason.
“Even if I deny you this night?”
“I hope you will not,” he said solemnly, his gaze locked with hers. “For it will cost us both dearly.”
Melissande exhaled at the truth in that.
Then he smiled crookedly and reached to brush a finger gently across her cheek. “Be warned, my lady. I reserve the right to attempt to convince you to welcome me.”
Again, there was a playfulness in his manner, one that disarmed her for its unexpectedness.
And that intimate rumble of his voice when he murmured.
God in Heaven, the sound heated her to her toes!
Melissande struggled against the sense that she could rely upon Quinn, knowing full well that he was manipulating her.
And with ease.
She was a fool. Surely she could not abandon her suspicions that he was behind the raids on Annossy as readily as that? She would not have put it past Jerome to have arranged such attacks in order to see his goal achieved.
What of his son?
A year’s ride from Palestine? What if he had been returned for a month or two, yet had not declared his presence before?
“Nay, you will not,” she said. “Indeed, I must have your pledge before we wed this day.”
“What pledge?” he asked warily.
“I may be compelled to marry you, and I may be compelled to welcome you this night, but after this night, you will come to my bed only if you are invited. You said yourself that you would not force yourself upon me.”
Quinn’s voice dropped and already Melissande knew him well enough to be warned that his temper was thinning. “I do not intend to lose my estate,” he said. “Remember that Annossy also hangs in the balance, my lady.”
“I have already agreed to the consummation of our match, but that will be the sum of our intimacy, until I so choose.”
“Ever after you would deny me?”
“Aye.”
“You know Tulley will desire that we produce a son.”
“Then you had best make haste to win my trust, sir.” She shrugged. “Or perhaps that son will be conceived this very night.”
“Why?”
Melissande flung out her hands. “I know naught of you, sir, and what I suspect is not encouraging. I will not be reduced to chattel without a fight.”
Quinn eyed her for a moment, then stepped closer.
Melissande retreated from the resolve in his gaze, but Quinn did not halt.
He closed the distance until Melissande found herself backed into the wall.
Then he leaned over her and she closed her eyes that he might not see how keenly aware of his proximity she was.
“I offer that pledge, my lady, and I take your wager,” he whispered. “We both have need of a son and I intend to be...persuasive.” His lips brushed her cheek again and Melissande held herself taut.
Curse Tulley! Had she been a man, she would never have been in this position. Curse all men for their need to lord their power over women.
Curse Quinn for making her want to surrender.
The thought was so clear and the truth of it so resonant that Melissande clenched her fists.
“I will not be readily convinced,” she managed to say.
“I think otherwise,” he whispered, his breath fanning her cheek.
Melissande kept her eyes closed, knowing that if he was smiling slightly, she would be lost. “I shall make you shiver,” Quinn vowed softly and she knew it was true.
She felt his lips touch her cheek, as gentle as a butterfly, and it took all within her to keep from turning her head for another kiss.
“I shall make you moan and I shall make you beg me to touch you. You will not invite me to your bed; you will entreat me. And we will conceive a son.” He kissed her ear and she found her back arching toward him, her hunger for his touch making her burn. “And then, we shall conceive another.”
His lips touched her jaw, his kiss leaving a trail of fire that made Melissande gasp with need.
His power over her was terrifying.
She had to stop his assault, no matter what it took.
“Never!” she said with vehemence. “I will never yield willingly to your embrace and I will never entreat you, sir!”
Quinn, of course, smiled that wretched smile.
“I shall take this as a challenge, my lady,” he murmured. His gaze swept over her features, his eyes glowing with such heat that he did, in fact, make her shiver.
He leaned closer and Melissande knew his intent. Desperate to escape his kiss, she ducked beneath his arm and fled for the door.
“You were not invited,” she whispered and saw his eyes flash. She lunged for the doorway, certain that Quinn would catch her and take his vengeance.
To her relief, she safely gained the portal. She flung herself into the corridor without a backward glance, then ran down its length. What had she done? What was in her mind to taunt him? Within hours, they would be alone, and he would beat her, just as Jerome had beaten his women.
She might not see the morning.
Melissande’s heart nigh stopped when Quinn bellowed from behind her. “My lady! You would test the patience of a saint—and I have already told you, I am no saint!”
She had finally prompted him to lose his temper.
And it was as fearsome as she had thought.
She ran.