This is Jasce. Heir to House of Crimson.
He ignores me and carries me to the bed, where he drops me on the right side of the mattress. “I want my wife next to me when I sleep.”
My first thought is to leap to the floor and hurry back to my sofa, but he would likely just pick me up again. And I do not want his arms around me. So, as he settles on the opposite side of the bed, I sink into the soft mattress and decide to concede. But only to this.
However, I slide to the edge, keeping as much distance between myself and the man I have no business sharing a bed with.
“Do you think I bite?” he asks dryly.
“You might.”
“Only if you ask me to.”
I gasp and roll over to face him. He smiles, and my stomach flips.
I immediately frown. The last thing I want is for him to smile at me.
He’s roguishly handsome when he smiles. I think I read that word in one of my favorite books. Roguish.
Perhaps it is the way his black hair falls over his forehead, giving him an uncharacteristic air of carefree charm. Or maybe it’s the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, as if they hold a treasure trove of secrets. They probably do.
The kind of secrets a woman like me shouldn’t wonder about, but I do. Especially at night when I’m all alone. I think about those heroes in the books I read, and I wonder what it would be like to have someone want to touch me, kiss me, or bed me.
Of course, I always scold myself when the sun returns, and I’m reminded of who I am. Heroes do not want scarred heroines.
I blink, taking in Jasce, lying too close to me.
His words replay through my thoughts.“Only if you ask me to.”
“Why would I want you to bite me?”
“Because you would like what I would do next.” When I stare wide-eyed at him, he continues in a low, sensual voice. “I always kiss and lick every area I bite.”
“T-hat’s…” Warmth rushes to my cheeks as I jerk my bedcovers to my chin.
“I could bite you and show you.”
My mouth falls open as merriment twinkles in his eyes.
“I’m jesting with you. Well…sort of.”
I inch even further away from him…and promptly fall off the bed. My cotehardie billows around me as I land in a pitiful heap on the marble.
His laughter brings fire to my cheeks as I hurry to my feet and glare at him.
“It’s not funny. I could have been hurt.”
His mouth twitches, as if he’s resisting the urge to smile again. “But you’re not.”
“How would you know?” I frown and rub my hip.
“Would you like me to kiss it and make it all better?”
A huff escapes me as I lie back on the edge of the mattress. “Laugh all you want, and when you fall asleep, I will push you off.”
“I look forward to it.”
I roll onto my back, pinning my focus to the ceiling.
