Chapter Five
Sleep proved impossible.
And Annabelle had tried. She had closed her eyes.
She had turned onto her left side, then her right.
She had fluffed the pillow twice and dragged the covers up to her chin and back down again.
Every time she drifted toward sleep, she felt it again—the press of his mouth, the heat of his hands, his body pushing into hers.
And then the infuriating indifference he’d worn at dinner.
Pretending as though nothing had happened between them at all.
Blazing man.
Urgh.
Three soft raps sounded on her door.
Annabelle’s brow furrowed as she sat upright.
Who would disturb her in the middle of the night?
Alyssia? She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet sinking into the thick carpet, and she rose at once.
She quickly crossed the room in the dark, opening the door a crack.
Butterflies erupted all over.
Knox stood there, without any expression on his face, simply . . . staring.
She considered slamming the door in his face.
Her fingers even tightened on the knob to do just that.
He’d pretended she didn’t exist at dinner, making her not only feel, but live, the very thing she avoided at all costs.
The very thing that had made her turn down the most eligible bachelors who wished to court her.
And this man before her, to be noted once again, was the exact opposite of eligible.
He was wicked.
Sinful.
Startling handsome, but still a rogue. And she’d finally come to understand the whispers of caution about him.
His roguishness was subtle, but it was there, nonetheless.
She should protect herself. Curse him. Certainly not kiss him.
And continue to fight the urge to slide the door open to allow him entry even though he’d not uttered a word.
Annabelle girded her loins. “Leave.”
His eyes stayed on hers, dark and steady.
“Do you not understand commands?” Annabelle demanded. “It’s a rather simple one.”
“Not this one.”
Blazes.
She shut the door, only to be met with resistance when his foot wedged between the narrow gap of the door and the frame.
“Knox!”
He cursed roughly. “Don’t send me away, Annabelle. Please.”
“Why not?” she challenged. In fact, lift your brow, Duke. Give me a reason to shut you out. “You expect me to allow you in my room after being reduced to an ant at dinner? Do you relish in acknowledging my existence only when it suits you?”
Something dark flared in his eyes. “I was an arse, I know. But, Christ, I could not look at you. If I had, I’d have ravaged you on the table right before our friends.”
Annabelle’s lips parted. No, that couldn’t be right. “You . . . what?”
Those gray eyes flashed, his arm coming up to the doorframe as he leaned forward. “You know you wanted to do exactly the same thing. I couldn’t keep my eyes on you, you couldn’t keep yours off me.”
Her hand slipped from the knob. “I . . .”
He pushed into the room, his tall frame towering over her, heel nudging the door closed behind him.
“What—?”
He didn’t allow her to finish, stealing her question with a kiss.
Annabelle’s mind sparked with a brief, dying flash of logic—this is ruin, this is madness—but then his tongue swept against hers, and the logic dissolved to ash. Her hands, which should have been shoving him away, climbed the collar of his shirt, her fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.
A point of no return.
She’d heard the term a few times, understood its meaning, but never really grasped it until this moment.
Not even in the cottage had the phrase occurred to her.
But this was so different from what happened earlier today.
This was the moment everything changed. For better or worse, she didn’t care. She had no desire to stop.
His hands slid to the backs of her thighs, lifting her up against him.
Annabelle wrapped her legs around his waist, her nightgown drawing up to her hips.
The rasp of his rough trousers brushing her bare skin sent a jolt of pure heat through her as he carried her toward the bed without once breaking the seal of their mouths.
The vexing rogue lowered her onto the mattress and followed her down, his heavy, solid weight settling between her legs, pinning her into the soft covers.
Stars.
She should have felt shame. She did feel a pinch, a pinch thoroughly overpowered by excitement. Grievances? Enemies? Consequences? They did not live in this moment. Oh, no—the only thing that existed here was wild, untamed desire.
She arched against him, her teeth grazing his lower lip, a low sound of want escaping her throat that she didn’t even recognize as her own.
Knox’s hands were everywhere, mapping her body, cupping her face, all of him damn near trembling with urgency.
Hers were no better either. The kiss at the cottage had sparked an ember, and that ember was well on its way to being a blaze.
“Annabelle,” he murmured roughly, his mouth moving to push against the pulse of her neck, his breath scalding.
I know.
But words refused to form on her lips.
Then, there was no more space between them, and he pushed into her, past resistance, and filled her fully.
They were one.
Her eyes shut at the invading sensation. All the months of bickering seemed to have fatefully led them here. The palpable tension, the endless annoyance, had hidden a simmering attraction.
“Christ, you must be a bloody siren,” he breathed into her collarbone, thrusting hard. “You feel so good.”
“You’re the siren,” she accused right back, her legs locking more securely around his back.
He chuckled. “Men can’t be sirens.”
She wiggled against him. “You can be the first.”
He cursed, giving a shallow thrust. “No one makes me burn as hot as you.”
She burned as hot as him.
Everything melted into sensation. Pure lust and urgency drove her as she challenged him without words, her body a brazen answer to his every move.
This was the “ravaging” he had promised, and she wouldn’t trade this moment for anything else.
Every thrust was a reminder that he was here, he was real, and he was hers.
Even if only in the dark. Even if daylight made no promises.
Annabelle let go of the shore and let the storm take her completely.
*
Knox collapsed on the siren beneath him, his heartbeat, his breathing, his damn soul out of control. Bloody hell. He could stay here forever. Her skin was scorching against his, her scent wrapping around his senses and making home there.
“Are you . . . all right?” Annabelle asked softly, her voice causing ripples to crawl along his skin.
He lifted his head enough to meet her gaze. “I should be asking you that.”
She grinned up at him. “Well, you might not have noticed, but I love stealing lines as much as you.”
She stole far more than lines.
He slipped from her body, the loss so intolerable that he settled in beside her and immediately gathered her back into his arms. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply. God, he loved her scent.
Her chin settled on his head, chuckling.
“What about you,” he murmured, “Are you all right?”
“At this particular moment, I’ve never been better.”
What then about the next moment? He sure as hell was not fine.
Mere hours ago, he’d been intent on keeping a safe, respectable distance from this woman.
But what do you know? Perhaps he was his father’s son after all.
He hadn’t been able to resist. Knox was also at a loss as to what to do.
He’d lost all sense of propriety. Of course, he, himself, even with his title, was no gentleman.
He knew better than anyone that the title didn’t make the man, and she merited better than him.
Knox inwardly cursed and tightened his embrace, pushing those thoughts aside. They had no place in this bed with her.
She responded by nestling deeper into him. “Have you always flipped between frost and fire?”
The corner of his lips lifted. “Only with you.”
A snort came as her instant response. “I don’t know whether to find that comforting or disturbing.”
“How about you find it endearing?” Knox suggested.
A small scoff. “I suppose I haven’t been the best either.”
“A most annoying creature.”
She pinched his waist. “Take care, sir, and mind your tongue.”
He chuckled before sobering. “Do you wish to talk about what happened here?” This was what one did, correct?
“Will you treat me as though I don’t exist tomorrow?”
Knox groaned. “Rest assured, I’ll never be such an arse again.”
He felt her smile against his chest.
“Then I don’t wish to talk about what happened right now.”
He caught himself from raising a brow even though her eyes weren’t on his face. “I thought any woman would snatch up a chance to talk about matters of entanglements.”
“Well, I’m not any woman.”
Correct.
She was also one of the most fortifying women he’d ever met. Which begged the question, “Why do you dislike feeling foolish so much?”
She sighed, taking a moment to answer. “Because when a woman is being ‘foolish,’ she ceases to be treated as one whose opinions matter. Not that men take women seriously all that much, but there is a difference between being listened to and being humored.”
“And when a man lifts a brow you feel humored?” Understandable.
Her small shoulders lifted slightly. “I mean, I can read a brow, you know. But for the majority of the time, yes.”
He had never once found her foolish. Maddening, yes. Sharp-tongued, absolutely. But foolish? Never. If anything, he was the one who felt outmatched. “You are not foolish, Annabelle.”
“Oh? Truly?”
He caught the amusement. “The ones who make you feel foolish are the fools.”
“Even you?” she teased.
“Even me.”
“You do know I shall remind you of this every time you arch your brow?”
He very much believed her. She would take inventory of each brow like evidence collected for a trial. He could already picture her, chin tipped in triumph, eyes bright with delight, pointing at his incompetent brow. Hah. The siren might even keep score in a journal.
Nevertheless. “Feel free to remind me of anything you like, sweetheart.”
As long as she never reminded him of what he could never give her. That would be more than he could bear.