She murmured something in reply and in a few minutes they were both asleep.
When Kenna woke it was still dark. She stretched slightly, feeling a confining ribbon of heat beneath her breasts. It took her a moment to understand it was Rhys’s arm that held her and that it was his bare leg that lay between her own. She was lying with her back against his chest, her hips cradled against his thighs. The warmth of him felt delicious next to her and she wondered if it was wicked to find it enjoyable.
She lifted her arm and laid it on his, matching the length and breadth of his hand with her own. Though her fingers were nearly as long as Rhys’s, her hand looked impossibly delicate against his. Very lightly she let the tips of her tapered nails trace the length of his lean fingers, drawing gently over his knuckles. Holding her breath, hardly believing the direction of her own thoughts, she lifted his hand and pressed it to her breast. She remembered how it felt when his hands had touched her breast of their own accord, the fine damp heat of his mouth when it replaced his hand and suckled her, arousing slender threads of fire that tugged at her loins. That memory, and the desire to make it more than a memory, gave Kenna courage.
Careful not to wake Rhys, Kenna turned in his arms. She listened to the sound of his even breathing, laid her palm against his chest and felt the steady beat of his heart. It did not matter that the room was dark or that she could only make out the curve of Rhys’s shoulder and the beautiful shape of his head. Even if her eyes had been closed she would have seen the firm thrust of his jaw and the hint of vulnerability in his chin. She knew the breadth of his shoulders, the strong column of his throat, the aquiline angle of his nose. These things she remembered in her mind’s eye.
While one of Rhys’s arms rested on the curve of her waist, the other supported his head. She realized that sometime during the night she had confiscated the pillow. Kenna raised her hand and touched Rhys’s forehead, brushing back a lock of his dark hair. Her fingers crept lower, caressing his temple and tracing the outline of his ear. The soft pad of her thumb touched his jaw.
She wondered what Rhys expected from her. How had he thought she would react to the news of their marriage? Had he anticipated she would be uncooperative of his plan, demand a divorce and return to Dunnelly? Had he believed she was so small-minded that she could not appreciate what Rhys was doing to protect her?
Kenna drew one fingertip along Rhys’s nose and smiled to herself when he wrinkled it. He was a kind man, she thought, and she had been perfectly horrid to him on more occasions than she could count. That he should want to help her in spite of all she had done to him moved her more deeply than she could express in mere words. She touched his lips, feeling the soft cadence of his breathing, and knew she wanted to feel his breath against her cheek as he whispered her name. No one had ever said her name the way Rhys did, invoking a specialness that often gave her pause. Kenna wondered if she loved him.
The sash that held Rhys’s robe together came undone beneath Kenna’s fingers. She edged the satin lapels apart, baring his chest. Her hand slipped inside and her palm stroked his warm skin. Nestling closer, she breathed in the clean scent of him, masculine and faintly musky. Kenna’s fingers trembled as they glided over the ridge of his ribs and dipped lower, fanning out over his hip. Her knee nudged his and she insinuated her calf between his legs, delighting in the texture of his skin flush to hers. Sighing softly, she wondered if she dared kiss him. Her mouth hovered near his chest but the fraction of an inch that she had to move to touch him seemed a distance too fraught with danger to risk.
Suddenly Rhys’s chest began to shake and before Kenna understood that he was laughing, she found herself turned on her back and pinned to the bed. Rhys’s hands snaked around Kenna’s wrists and held them above her head. Most of his weight lay against her, one thigh trapping both her legs and his chest flattening her breasts. She blinked up at him, eyes widening at the wicked grin that outlined two rows of even teeth.
“The truth, madam,” he said huskily. “Were you trying to seduce me?”
Kenna shook her head solemnly. “Torture could not wring an admission from me, sir.”
“I wasn’t thinking of using torture…exactly.” His lips brushed her mouth and his thighs pressed against her hip so she could not mistake his arousal. “Have you rethought your position?”
“I think my position speaks for itself,” she said cheekily though she blushed at her response.
Rhys growled, nipping her earlobe with his teeth. “Let me rephrase my question.”
“Please.”
“Do you want to make love with me, Kenna?” There was no smile in his voice now, no jest. The silence between them was thick and still as he waited for her reply.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Why?”
Kenna could only stare at him blankly.
“Is it because we’re married?”
She could answer that with some assurance. “No.”
“Then because I happen to be the man in your bed.”
Kenna bristled. Did he think she would behave so wantonly with any man? “No!”
His smile was bleak. “Good. I won’t be used again.”
Kenna had the grace to be ashamed. “The last time…those things I said…I didn’t mean—”
Rhys gave her a shake. “Don’t lie to me now. I found your honesty admirable. You meant what you said. You used me for your own purposes. You hated me, remember?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I did mean those things, but I don’t hate you now.”
“What do you feel, I wonder?”
The question defeated her. “I don’t know.”
He sighed, easing the grip on her wrists. “That, at least, is honest.”
