“Your comb,” he repeated. “Give it to me.”
“I am perfectly capable of combing my own hair myself, my lord.”
“It is Sin.” He stalked past her then, and retrieved her comb himself.
She held herself stiffly as he returned, eying him warily.
“Justin,” she said, hating the way the name Sin felt upon her lips, the way it made her tingle all over. Here was a victory she refused to give him. “Return to your chamber, if you please. You may visit me for your husbandly duties when I am ready.”
“Is that how you imagined our union would be?” he asked, sounding amused as he stood behind her and began gently running the comb through her wet locks. “That you would snap your pretty fingers, and I would do whatever you wished of me?”
Of course that was not how she imagined their union would be. Nothing about the Earl of Sinclair suggested he was a man who would do her bidding. She maintained her silence as he worked, trying to ignore the unsettled way his commanding presence felt at her back.
When he finished his task, he brushed her hair over her left shoulder, and then his hands settled upon her. His fingers found her muscles, massaging.Good heavens, it was as if he knew inherently how to find all the places where her tension dwelled.
“You never answered my question, princess.” Knowingly, he kneaded the tautness from her flesh. “Is it?”
She had forgotten what he had asked.
“Go away,” she said without heat. In truth, his ministrations felt delicious. She was conflicted and confused and so very aware of him. Of his masculinity, his intensity, his sensuality.
This was all new. So very,verynew.
“I am not going anywhere, darling,” he warned, but there was no threat in his voice now. Only pure, wicked seduction. “You seem to be confused, so allow me to enlighten you. You are mine now. You are no longer Lady Calliope Manning. You are Calliope, the Countess of Sinclair. If I want to play lady’s maid for you, I will. If I want you to call me Sin, you shall. From this day forward, your life changes, wife.”
It already had. From the moment he had first stolen into her carriage, her life had changed. It would never be the same. Nor, she suspected, would she. He expected her surrender, utterly and completely. She was going to fight him. Shehadto fight him. But she also had to fight herself.
“I am not so easily commanded,” she warned him on a gasp as his fingers found a particularly sensitive place near her neck.
“We will see about that,” he promised. “Bow your head.”
She obeyed, because she did not want to forego his hands upon her. Because she was weak. Her head tipped forward. He continued working the muscles of her neck in slow, steady motions. His long fingers upon her felt good. So good.
Too good.
“Stop fretting,” he crooned. “Give yourself over to me, princess.”
“How can I?” she shot back, even as she allowed him free reign of her body.
What was the point of denying him? His touch was not at all unwanted, much to her everlasting shame. He worked his way over her shoulders once more with skilled caresses. She found herself exhaling, some of the tension leaving her body. For a long time, there was no sound save her own, relaxed breaths mingling with his. No sensation but his touch.
“You see?” His mouth was devastatingly near to her ear. His lips grazed her as he spoke. “It is easy to give yourself to me. I have no wish to hurt you. Contrary to what you think about me, I am not a beast.”
He kissed her ear, and then there was the hot, wet glide of his tongue over her. Dipping behind her ear, to a place she had not even known could appreciate touch. The mellow glow of pleasant sensation hovering over her vanished. Instead, a white-hot rush of longing shot to her core. The place between her thighs ached with unanswered longing. Her breaths emerged in heavy pants.
“I do not trust you,” she said.
“Does it feel like I will hurt you, Calliope?” he asked.
She did not dare answer him, lest he stop. Lest she reveal too much. If she had been conflicted before, she was even more hopelessly confused now.
His hands traveled down her upper arms, and then, abruptly, his touch left her momentarily before returning somewhere else. Somewhere far more intimate. He cupped her breasts in both hands. His fingers found her nipples, rolling and plucking through the thin fabric of her dressing gown.
Pleasure washed over her.
“You are going too far,” she forced herself to warn.
But she made no move to halt him. Her eyes slid closed once more. She surrendered to feeling. To his masterful touch. He pulled on her nipples and nuzzled her neck. Instinctively, she tilted her head to the side, giving him better access. He required no prodding. In an instant, his mouth was upon the tender cords of her throat, feasting. Kissing, sucking, nibbling.
