“That’s it,” he murmured, bending over her chest, kissing the scars that haunted him. His cheek brushed her nipple, and he turned and captured it in his mouth. He heard a low moan rumble inside her. She tasted like heaven, like woman. He’d keep her in bed night and day for a week just to satisfy this hunger that had been building up inside him.
When she was trembling beneath him, he rose up above her and gently slid out and in again. Her body stiffened, then relaxed. He moved inside her, faster, faster, until her gasps became cries of pleasure, and her body arched beneath him. She stiffened, then shuddered with her climax, and he let go everything he’d been holding back. He thrust hard against her, pouring himself into her. He came down on her body, whispering her name.
James felt pillowed on her breasts, held safe against her womb. His head rested beside hers. She was so tall, he hadn’t needed to hunch his back just to kiss her. But even she must feel the weight of his body after a while. He lifted his head, smiling in languid peace.
Isabel’s face was a cold mask of triumph. His smile died. What was her game now?
“You may have won in the tiltyard,” she said calmly, coldly, “but I have won here, where it counts, in this struggle between you and me.”
He searched her face in puzzlement, then rolled off her and fell back against the cushions, closing his eyes. “Angel, what are you talking about? Pleasure in bed is about sharing, not winning.”
“I humiliated you as the Black Angel, humiliated you as your wife. You were forced to take me until death, and I am nothing like you thought you wanted, like you thought youdeserved.”
He turned his head to look at her, frowning. She raised herself up on her elbow, and didn’t bother to cover her nakedness. The Mansfield ring dangled from its chain around her neck, and left an impression between her breasts.
“Yet you desire me,” she said. “You have succumbed to everything you hated.”
He gritted his teeth. “Isabel, do you have some point you are trying to make?”
“You have lost control.”
He heaved a sigh.
“You gave in to lust, the lust you feel for me, a thief, your family enemy, who refuses to dress or behave as a woman.”
“Believe what you will,” he said mildly. “But you just bedded your husband and youenjoyedit.”
He watched as she tried to hold onto her smile, and almost felt sorry for her. She quickly got out of bed. The sunlight through the shutters filtered over her body, patches of light and dark shading her skin. Regardless of her words, he wanted to take her again, now, but held himself in restraint.
After she’d gone, James realized that she was beginning to know him too well. Hehadn’twanted to desire her. He’d thought himself superior because she would not behave as he’d always expected a woman, his wife, to behave.
Shehadwon—he could no longer control the desire that ate its way from his dreams to every waking moment. He wanted her, savage woman that she was. But she, too, lusted—after a Bolton, her family enemy. She still had quite a shock awaiting her, once she realized it.
If it was necessary, he could resist her allure until she succumbed freely to the desire simmering between them. It was but a game, but the prize would be sweet. Free of the sexual frustration that had been haunting him, he dressed and went down to the tiltyard to train with his knights.
~oOo~
In her old bedchamber, Isabel paced for hours, until exhaustion swept over her. She could tell that Bolton took manly pride in bedding women, that it was some kind of need for him. Any female body would obviously do. But she could never be the kind of woman Bolton wanted. She was so tired of battles and arguments, of the misery of being alone, but she didn’t know any other way.
For a few moments, she had found peace in his arms, but she wouldn’t fool herself into thinking he felt anything more. What truly frightened her was how he made her feel deep inside. Could she be softening toward him? If she grew to care about him, would she lose all her strength, and be just another weak-hearted, foolish woman yearning for a man who would only use her?
She was determined that this would not be her lot in life. She would not accept an ordinary woman’s role—let Bolton just try to stop her. If he thought his marriage was a hell now, then he had no concept what she could truly do to him.
She marched down the stairs and across the great hall, only to step back as the doors were thrown open. Bolton entered, and for a moment Isabel felt an embarrassing languor move through her as she looked at his handsome face. She would not allow this—this feminine weakness to take hold. He was just a man.
Then she saw that he held one arm awkwardly. Galway trailed behind him and closed the door.
“Go back to the men,” Bolton said, giving his captain a dark look. “I told you it was nothing.”
“But milord?—”
“What happened?” Isabel demanded.
“He’s hurt,” Galway said.
“I am not hurt,” Bolton countered, motioning for a tankard of ale.
“He was thrown from his horse.”
