How had she come to be in this bed?
So many questions, so few answers. Only one man knew, and he was sleeping, holding her tight. He would never be able to anticipate what was coming to him.
Good. It would serve him right, the rotter.
Using her unbound arm, she sent her elbow into his solid midsection with as much force as she could muster. The breath fleeing his lungs was as hot as he was, coasting over her bare skin in a sudden rush.
He coughed into her back, sputtering awake. “What the devil?”
His arm tightened on her waist, dragging her backward, so that she was pressed against his frame. There was an unmistakable ridge prodding her lower back. Even as he cursed her and reacted to her abrupt attempt to sever their connection, he held her closer still.
She was not as innocent as some unwed ladies in her acquaintance were. She knew what portion of his anatomy was so rudely making itself known against her back. And she also knew why.
He desired her. His body was reacting to hers, the same way that hers had been affected by his proximity and warm strength radiating against her back. The same way her nipple had tightened when he had cupped her breast.
Instinct. Nothing more. Had not Aunt Fanchette said all men suffered similar maladies in the morning?
It mattered not. All that did matter was that Callie herself was not attracted to the odious Earl of Sinclair.
“Release me, you scoundrel,” she gritted, struggling to free herself of his grasp.
“Sheathe your claws, woman,” he ground out. “I told you last night, I have no intention of ravishing you.”
“You were kissing my shoulder and being crude in French,” she accused, wriggling to free herself.
Unfortunately, the action only served to wedge her backside more firmly against his manhood, which seemed to have grown even larger.Good heavens.Her cheeks went hot, and that alarming sensation between her thighs would not stop blossoming.
“I assure you, I am crude in every language.” He laughed then, the oaf, and the sound lacked the bitterness of the night before. “I can hardly be held responsible for imagining myself somewhere far more pleasant in my sleep, with a bedmate of my choosing.”
His implication nettled, she had to admit, in spite of herself. But then she remembered the mystery surrounding the manner in which she had wound up in the bed.
“I fell asleep on the floor,” she reminded him coolly. “How did I end up here?”
“Perhaps you wanted to be closer to me,” he suggested, his tone wry.
He was responsible for her presence in the bed, she was sure. “Never!”
She moved some more, but the devil was still disturbingly near. And firm. So very firm. She attempted to scoot from him, and he groaned.
“Devil take it, woman. Cease moving about.”
“Let me go, you vile wretch,” she returned, increasing her struggles.
“Stop wriggling,” he gritted in her ear. His hand had settled upon her hip. His manhood was still nestled against her bottom, firm and insistent and hot.
So hot.
So wrong.
She stilled, swallowing past a knot in her throat. The knowledge that he was affected by her proximity was unsettling. Displeasing, she told herself. Vexing. Horrifying.
Intriguing.
No!She struck the unwelcome notion from her mind. His desire for her was not what she wanted. He was an evil monster. His protestations of innocence aside, he was most definitely guilty of forcing his way into her carriage and spiriting her away. And he was also guilty of binding her. Of insisting upon a marriage between them…
“Mayhap I should ravish you after all, princess,” he suggested, tracing a lazy pattern on her hip.
His lips grazed her flesh as he spoke.
