Chapter Fifteen #4
“No. I only wore it because there was nothing else.” And she was shivering because he was in her bed and making her feel things. Things she didn’t want to feel.
“Mm-hmm,” he said as if didn’t believe a word. “That’s a good description for a garment like that, ‘nothing else.’ Not quite nude, not quite clothed. Not that I have any objection to it, far from it. What I saw of it was stunning. You’ll have to show it to me properly one day.”
“I won’t.”
“It feels like silk. Is it silk? They say silk should be so fine it could pass through a wedding ring. Do you think it would pass through your wedding ring? You could slip it off and see. It wouldn’t make any difference to me.”
“Stop it. I have no intention of taking it off. You said this marriage was to be—” She couldn’t think of the word. “—like chess!” she hissed.
“Fine game, chess,” he murmured in her ear. His breath was warm on her skin.
“Let me go.” She tried to push him away.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he told her. “I’m not going to do anything. But you were lying there like a corpse all laid out with your arms crossed over your chest, and shivering, and you won’t get a wink of sleep like that.”
“Do you think I’ll sleep like this?” she demanded.
“Perhaps not, but it will be much more comfortable than lying like a corpse.” He squeezed her. “Isn’t that nice?”
“No,” she lied. “I am very uncomfortable.”
It was a mistake, for he used it as an excuse to wriggle closer and pull her more firmly into the curve of his body. “Now go to sleep.”
She lay there stiffly, crossly, knowing she’d never sleep, not with him in the bed making her all hot and tingly and aching and unsettled.
If this was how he started a marriage, she would have no chance at all of protecting her heart from him. He was that sort of man. She doubted any woman could resist him.
But it wasn’t serious for him. He lived in the moment—he’d said that once, told her it was a soldier’s habit, to seize the moment and live it to the full while there was life in you.
She couldn’t live like that. Not anymore. She didn’t take things lightly, like he did.
He’d found her on a cliff top and with no more thought than you’d give to rescuing a stray cat, picked her and Nicky up, took them home, protected them, and even married her, all without hesitation, and apparently without the endless worry that came with every decision she’d ever made.
So here he was, and here she was in bed with him, his powerful arms wrapped around her, his heat soaking into her. And as usual, he was seizing the moment—and her—and she was fretting about imaginary consequences.
He desired her—the hard, blunt evidence of that was pressing insistently against her body—and she knew he could simply take her if he wanted. He was very strong and they were alone, and legally he had the right. And of course he would want a reward for all his trouble. He deserved it.
Yet he’d made no attempt to take her, or even press her to change her mind. He was a man of his word. She respected that, even if right now, she was finding his rectitude irritating and inconvenient.
He’d made no secret of what he wanted from her all along. He’d been quite open and blatant, from the very first day when he’d suggested she become his mistress.
Probably once he bedded her, he’d lose interest. That was what she wanted. It was.
She moistened her lips, thinking about it. Ever since she’d met him she hadn’t been able to stop wondering what it might be like with him. It meant nothing, she reminded herself. It was simply a matter of normal feminine curiosity.
The hard relaxed power of his big body lying against her was so tempting. She would love to explore it. She was aware of every single place they touched, and where skin touched skin and where skin and skin were separated by the merest whisper of silk.
His breathing was deep and even, but he wasn’t asleep, she was sure. He was too aroused to sleep. So was she.
They’d made a paper marriage, a chess maneuver: he’d walk away one day. As soon as she and Nicky were safe from Count Anton, his commitment would be over. Then she’d be alone.
For the rest of her life.
If she didn’t do this now, she would always wonder what she had missed.
Rupert had always been very predictable. In the early days she’d enjoyed it, but once she’d realized what a fool she’d made of herself it had become more of a ritual, not unpleasant, but without the warmth she’d imagined had accompanied the act in the first part of her marriage.
With Gabriel it wouldn’t be a ritual. He wasn’t at all predictable, not to her. Even when he’d just been flirting he’d aroused her with the wicked, exciting images he’d planted in her mind. Even his kisses brought her to the brink. He was warm, exciting…terrifying.
If she let him take her, the only consequences would be to her heart.
She was barren. Something must have happened to her when Nicky was born, because despite Rupert’s regular monthly visits, she’d never quickened since.
Not that she’d mind if Gabriel gave her a child.
She would love it and love having a small part of him.
Oh God, even considering this was playing with fire. But if she didn’t, she would spend the rest of her life regretting it. So, yes, she was going to let him take her.
But how? She couldn’t just ask.
She gave a small experimental wiggle, moving her backside against his aroused male member. He tensed. That was promising. She wiggled again.
“Keep still, won’t you?” he muttered, tightening his grip on her.
For answer she wriggled some more, rubbing her bottom provocatively back and forth against his arousal. She kept her eyes closed, pretending to be half asleep and unaware of her actions.
“If you don’t keep still, I won’t be responsible for the consequences,” he growled.
She wiggled again and waited.
“You’re doing this deliberately, aren’t you?” he murmured.
She didn’t answer.
Without warning he flipped her over in the bed and looked her full in the face. “I gave you my word. If you’ve changed your mind, you need to say so.”
She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Not directly. Not out loud. After a moment she said, “You say I’m a really bad liar.”
He frowned at the apparent irrelevance of the remark. “Yes, you are.”
“So what if I messed it up—with the judge or the government man or whoever it is who might ask?”
“Messed up what?”
“The—the chess maneuver. Saying we’d consummated the marriage when we hadn’t.”
His eyes bored into her. “What are you saying?”
She stared at a point over his shoulder, took a deep breath and said, “I think perhaps we should consummate it.”
One dark brow rose. “For the sake of the chess maneuver?”
“Yes.” She was on firmer ground here. It was just a matter of legalities, not anything that she needed, or that made her ache and yearn. She was simply offering to do her duty. Dispassionately.
“Because you wouldn’t want to lie.”
“That’s right.”
“So, Princess, are you saying you wish to consummate this marriage?” he asked softly.
She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”
“Oh, I don’t mind.”
She closed her eyes and waited. Nothing happened. He didn’t move a single muscle. She knew; she was achingly aware of every one of them.
She opened her eyes and found him watching her with an enigmatic expression. “Well?” she demanded.
He smiled that slow, crooked smile of his that turned her bones to honey. “You start.”