She was going to be sick. Her suddenly leaden feet stumbled back. She clutched a hand to her stomach, bending over at the waist.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Cain’s movement toward her, but she shot out an arm, palm up in the age-old signal of stop. She couldn’t bear a touch. Not when she was so fragile. One gentle wisp of air would shatter her.
But he didn’t stop. He walked around her, and strong, muscular arms encircled her from behind, steadying her, holding her up when her legs threatened to give out. A rock-hard chest braced her while powerful thighs supported her. All that strength and brawn—for her, and she greedily, shamelessly, took advantage.
By sheer force of will, she swallowed and held off the overwhelming surge of nausea. But the effort left her trembling, shaking.
“I didn’t know,” she rasped, voice hoarse from the silent sobs that had torn at her throat. “I swear, I didn’t know.”
No wonder he hated her; in his eyes, she was complicit in the vile threat against his mother. To him, she was the selfish bitch who used any means necessary to marry a man for his connections. He couldn’t know she was as much a hostage to her father’s schemes as he was—and she couldn’t tell him.
But would it even matter? She was the daughter of the man who was blackmailing him. She was stealing his future with a woman he could truly love.
“Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. Follow me.” He bent his head over hers, his mouth brushing her cheek. “In and out. In. And out.” He inhaled and exhaled several slow, deep breaths. Without a conscious decision, she followed his lead. In. Out. In. Out. Eventually, her tempo matched his, and she calmed, relaxing back against him.
Only their breathing punctuated the air. Seconds passed into minutes. And at some point, as the back of her head rested against his collarbone, the cyclone of pain, anger and disillusionment segued into another kind of storm. One where she became aware of the carefully leashed power in the arm wrapped around her, just under her breasts.
One where she noticed how his long, hard legs surrounded hers. Where she noted how his chest rose and fell on a slightly faster rhythm, matching the hot blasts of air that grazed Devon’s cheek.
Where the steely length of his cock nudged the rise of her behind and small of her back.
Where she fought not to arch and rub against that length. Fought and failed.
Tempting the beast was an act of lunacy. And yet, as his low rumble vibrated in her ear and against her back, she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn.
The arm around her tightened and his free hand caressed her shoulder before trailing over her collarbone and then necklacing her throat. She gasped under the weight of that big palm and those long fingers, a thrill spiraling through her at the heaviness of his hold—at the possessiveness. He didn’t squeeze, but he didn’t have to. Soft pants broke on her lips as the flesh between her legs swelled, moistened, pulsed.
Like prey, she arched her neck, exposing her throat to him. Exposing her vulnerability to him.
Her lashes lifted and her eyes clashed with his sharp wolf’s gaze. Unmistakable lust burned bright and the hunger there stoked the needy flames leaping and dancing inside her. And when he leaned his head down, she tipped her head back farther, rising on her tiptoes to meet the carnal beauty of his mouth.
Unlike the kiss during the engagement shoot, this one lacked gentleness. It was fury. Wild. Raw. So wet. A clashing of tongues, teeth and wills. Though she’d surrendered, she was not meek.
With a lick against the roof of his mouth, she dared him to duel with her. With a thrust and slide of her tongue she ordered him to give her more. With a hard suck she showed him she could take all that he dished out. That shewantedto take it.
His long fingers splayed higher on her throat, tilting her head to the side so he could dive deeper, claim all of her. She opened wider, offered him...everything.
She lifted an arm, grabbed the nape of his neck even as she arched like a tightly strung bow and rubbed over the thick column of flesh branding her. In answer, his grip tightened a fraction and his hips ground into her, enflaming the hot, grasping need inside her. She whimpered into his mouth, and he swallowed it, exchanging it for a groan.
The arm banding her torso loosened, but before she could object, his hand cupped her breast, molding it, plumping it. The material of her dress proved an inadequate barrier to his bold, questing fingers, and when he pinched her nipple, the electrical current jolted from her breasts to her sex. Her whimper morphed into a cry. But not one of pain.God no. One of pleasure. So much pleasure. Almost too much. How was that possible? His thumb swept across the tip, circling, then tweaking. And as another bolt of ecstasy ripped through her, she didn’t care about the logistics of how and why. Just that he. Didn’t. Stop.
“Cain,” she gasped against his lips. “Please.”
He stiffened behind her, his hands on her, freezing. Silently, a wail of protest screamed in her head, momentarily deafening her. And she wanted to demand—hell, beg—that he continue what he’d started. To not leave her aching. Hurting.
But as if his name on her tongue had shattered their sensual haze, he snatched his arms away, leaving her adrift, confused by the sudden lack of contact. She shuddered, the cool air of the room reaching her now that the furnace of his body no longer surrounded her. In defense—in self-protection—she wrapped her arms around herself.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” he rumbled from behind her, and the words struck her like an icy blow. She should’ve expected his regret; she was the enemy, and unlike the engagement photo shoot, there were no witnesses here to convince. Of course, he wouldn’t be thrilled about kissing her, touching her. And yet... A wounded throb pounded inside her chest, her stomach.
What was it about her that made it so hard for others to want her? Made it so easy for them to reject her? To leave?
A sob lodged itself in the base of her throat, but she refused it passage. With that kiss, she might have betrayed her attraction to him, but damn if she would hand over her pride, too. If he could be unaffected, so could she.
Sowouldshe.
Schooling her expression into an aloof mask, she turned to face him.
“A mistake on both our parts,” she said, proud how her voice didn’t reflect the pain that still trembled inside her. “We’ll both make sure there’s not a repeat performance,” she added, beating him to the “this can’t happen again” speech.
