She turned away angrily, but he caught her arm and yanked her hard against his chest. And then his mouth was showing her what she had made him feel, passion blistering hot, consuming. She clung to him as her limbs got weaker, clung to him because she could do naught else. And he was relentless in his assault, determined to make her feel what he felt, and God’s mercy, she did.
She nearly crumbled to the floor when he released her. He did not notice. He had moved away from her, his body taut with agitation. He sat down on his bed, running both hands so hard through his hair that Rowena winced in empathy for his scalp. But when his eyes lit on her again, she groaned inwardly. He wore his cruelest look now, the one she dreaded.
“Do you still maintain you want me, wench?”
If she said aye, he was going to make her suffer for it, she knew it, read it in his eyes. But if she said nay, he was likely to try and prove her a liar, and just now, with the taste of him still on her lips, she was not sure if a nay would be the truth. Either way she was going to lose—or win. But winning was going to cost her more of her pride, for ’twas a two-edged sword, her plan. She knew now that she was going to bleed a little from her part in it.
He waited patiently, giving her ample time to take the coward’s path. She stiffened her resolve. She would see it through, whatever the cost.
“I still want you, my lord.”
He did not answer for a moment. ’Twas almost as if he could not. And then his voice came out in a husky rasp. “I require proof. Show me.”
She had expected no less. She walked toward him slowly, unlacing her bliaut on the way. This she pulled over her head as she stopped within reach of him. The chemise she unlaced more slowly. In truth, she was mesmerized watching him watch her undress, for everything he felt was there for her to see, and that sense of power was back, giving her a boldness she would not have otherwise dared.
She let the chemise drop to the floor, leaving only her shift, stockings, and shoes. To untie a shoe, she did not bend over, but put her foot up on the bed next to Warrick’s thigh. ’Twas wantonly brazen, deliberately so, and it was his undoing. He groaned. His arm reached out to wrap around her bottom and pull her forward. She landed hard against him, her knees sliding on either side of his hips, her back bent awkwardly as he pressed his face into the soft mounds of her breasts.
’Twas an arousing embrace. It also struck a tender cord in her, for he did naught else, just held her like that for a time. She wrapped her own arms around his head, not sure anymore if she was playing a part or acting of her own accord, for it felt right to hold him like that.
And then he tilted his head back and told her “Kiss me.”
She did, placing her hands on his cheeks, a kiss void of passion, sweetly innocent—for all of the three seconds it took him to participate. His lips nudged hers open, his tongue licking the insides before thrusting deep into her mouth. For the first time she thrust back tentatively with her tongue and felt the thrill of aggression, then was overwhelmed by the passion her small response unleashed in him.
He dropped back on the bed, taking her with him, his mouth devouring hers now. But he quickly rolled over, pressing the hard bulge of his manroot between her legs, and her pulses leaped, her insides rolled, her heart slammed out of beat. Her fingers had worked their way into his hair and were gripping great handfuls. She needed that anchor, for her rioting senses were leaving her control.
She groaned when he left her, but it was only to straddle her thighs, and that to whisk the shift from her body, naked now before him. His eyes burned her, then his hands, bringing gasp after gasp as they slid slowly up her belly to cup her breasts. One he held captured for his mouth as he bent over to roll the tender bud on his tongue before he tried to draw the whole plump mound into his mouth.
She lost her breath with the next gasp, was unaware that she arched toward him, that she held his head in a viselike grip, unconsciously demanding more.
She actually cried out in protest when he stopped to lean back again. But he displayed no triumphant smile upon hearing it. His need was too great, leaving no room for petty revenge just now.
His breath came hard. His eyes would not leave her as he attempted to shed his clothing. The rich tunic was ripped in its removal. Rowena sat up to help, but her fingers trembled so, she only succeeded in knotting the laces on his chausses, and those were ripped, too, when he took over the task. And then his manroot was there between them, inflamed, velvet steel, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to wrap her hand around it.
He sucked in his breath before he groaned, “Nay,” and took her hand in his and held it to the bed. She whimpered at the restraint, but his mouth came down to take the sound, then his body came down to spread her thighs, and she cared about naught except the heat about to enter her. Her free hand she brought to his lower back, as far as she could reach, to urge him on. But he was holding himself back, and that hand found itself imprisoned also as he fought for control—only she could not wait any longer.
“Now—please, Warrick, now!” she begged, this time without his command, and this time with immediate compliance.
He plunged. She melted around him. He thrust hard and fast. She screamed in her climax, reached before him, continuing after him, so intense she nearly fainted.
She was floating in languid contentment when she heard him say a while later, “I wonder if I will ever have you at my leisure, wench, or will you always provoke me to such madness?”
Rowena merely smiled.
Chapter 30
Warrick was still there when Rowena awoke the next morn, still lying beside her in his big bed, but not still asleep. She had the feeling he had been watching her for some time without her knowing it, and the thought disturbed her, for he looked too serious by half this morn.
“You should have awakened me, my lord, and sent me about my duties.”
“Should I? Why, when one of your duties now, by your own behest, is right where you are?”
The blush spread across her cheeks with exceptional speed. “Does that mean I am to ignore my other duties?”
“Ah,” he said, as if in sudden understanding. “Now do we have a motive for why you sought my bed.”
“I did not—the labors that presently fill my day do not overtax me—as yet.”
“As yet?” He frowned, until his gaze dropped to her belly, and then those silver eyes were like shards of ice. And yet his voice continued mild, deceptively so. “I see. Once again you prove yourself incredibly stupid to remind me of the child you stole from me. But then, this is just another motive that can be attributed to your sudden passion for me, is it not? Or do you tell me now that you had no thought to bargain with me for the babe?”
