“But this is so pleasant. It brings to mind our night spent under the stars. Do you remember?”
“No.”
“Hmmm.”
He rubbed his hips back against hers and she flinched.
“Does that not feel good, Angel?”
She closed her eyes, reminding herself over and over to lie still, to submit. He would give in first and show his need of her. But her cheek was pressed to the warm flesh of his back, and with very little movement, she could turn her head and touch him with her lips. It was suddenly overwhelming and frightening, how much she wanted to touch him.
But she wouldn’t. She gritted her teeth, barely breathed, and waited.
“If you hold your breath deeper,” he murmured, “I’ll be better able to feel the shape of your breasts.”
She exhaled in a gasp and yanked her arm away, rolling to her side of the bed. Listening to Bolton chuckle, she fled the blankets and yanked down her shirt.
“Pity, that,” he said. “I think you should sleep naked from now on.”
She glared at him over her shoulder as she pulled on her tunic and hose. Of course he wanted her to sleep naked, so he could accuse her of desiring him.
“I’ll have a gown brought to you.”
“I am too famished to wait.”
But before she could open the door, Bolton was there, bracing both hands against the wood on either side of her. She kept her back turned, breathing rapidly, feeling him on either side of her, all around.
“Isabel, look at me.”
His voice was low, rumbling through her in a way that always made her shiver. She didn’t understand the feeling, but it drew her on. She found herself obeying, turning until her back was against the door, his arms braced near her shoulders. She stared directly at his chin.
“Look up, Angel.”
She slowly raised her gaze, past his well-formed lips, his narrow nose, into his brilliant blue eyes. Their color was vivid and shocking as he studied her face. In the cold room, he was the only source of heat, and she felt suffused with it.
“We cannot keep going on like this,” he said.
Her stomach twisted with sudden anxiety. He would send her away, now that he had all her lands and money. Once it had seemed appealing, now she was not so sure.
“Isabel, we are married. I am entitled to certain rights, which I have not claimed as of yet.”
She suddenly understood. She took a deep breath and once again boldly met his gaze. “I have not stopped you.”
He half-groaned, half-laughed, and began to play with a strand of her hair where it lay across her breast. The back of his hand slowly rubbed against her nipple. Her thoughts were fleeing her mind until only sensation was left. She wanted to lean into him, to feel more of this aching, painful pleasure that shot deep into her stomach, between her thighs. Instead she pressed her palms flat against the door behind her.
His lips just above hers, he whispered, “Every time I touch you, you stiffen as if I’m a demon. Afraid?”
“I was never afraid,” she answered. He taunted her, she knew. But his nearness, his breath, the back of his hand endlessly rubbing, all combined to seduce her, to woo away her instinctive fears. My God, she was such a fool. Let him bed her and get it over with.
But what if, once again, she wasn’t like other women? She didn’t even know what to do with a man. He would ridicule her—or pity her, which was even worse.
“You were afraid,” he murmured, lightly kissing her cheek, “I could see it in your eyes whenever I touched you. I want to touch you now.”
Isabel should feel triumphant. She was winning, he was demanding the physical intimacy he felt his due. Instead she wanted to melt at his feet, to lean into his embrace, and beg him to hold her.
A knock shook the door behind her.
“Lord Bolton, are ye in there?”
