What the hell was he doing? She was a nun, for Christ’s sake! The immensity of his sin took him aback.
He released her so suddenly, she swayed, and he had to reach out to catch her before she fell to the ground.
One moment Janet was climbing the gates of heaven toward a beautiful sea of light, and the next she was flailing in darkness, trying to catch herself from falling on the cold, hard ground of reality.
The swift curtailment of the most incredible sensations she’d ever experienced left her yearning, aching, and confused. When the arms that had been holding her so tightly suddenly closed around her again, she gasped with relief and clutched him like a lifeline.
Don’t stop, she wanted to say.Please don’t stop. It feels so good.
But then she looked into his eyes and the coldness—the disgust—was like a drench of icy water, shocking her back to reality.
She jerked away from him, but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his. Why was he looking at her like that? What had she done?
And then she remembered. The look wasn’t directed at her.
They stared at each other in a moment of mute horror. Hers for how easily she’d succumbed, and his with the shame and guilt of what he’d done. Or rather, what hethoughthe’d done.
Were she really a nun, kissing her would be a grave sin indeed, and from the sickened look on his face, the realization was hitting him hard. Seeing the depth of his torment, Janet felt something in her chest grow tight and hot.
She wanted to tell him the truth—and for one moment she almost did—but then sanity returned. Right now, her habit was the only thing that was keeping them apart. Were she to remove it—figuratively—it could very well lead to having it removed literally.
After that kiss, she didn’t trust herself.
She’d never imagined…
Never thought…
Never realized it could be likethat.
She’d never thought she could be capable of such madness. For surely it was madness when the feeling of his mouth moving over hers, the wicked sensation of his tongue flicking against hers, the heat of his hands on her body, could obliterate all rational thought and make her forget everything that was important to her?
She didn’t want anything to interfere with her work for Bruce and Lamberton, and instinctively she realized that this man could threaten that.
Her gaze slid to his mouth. For lips that were often thinned and pulled in a rather grim line, they were certainly soft and smooth as honey when he wanted them to be. For that matter, she would never have expected such a rough and uncouth warrior to kiss with such skill and tenderness.
Obviously, those “hundreds” had not been without effect.
Why did that realization make her chest ache?
It wasn’t that she cared who he’d been with, she told herself, it was just that she didn’t like surprises. Especially ones that were so devastating. And that kiss certainly qualified.
Mother Mary, she’d nearly let him take her innocence! Indeed, she’d practically handed it to him with no more inducement than a skilled kiss and a few heated caresses.
Her cheeks burned. Well, maybe more than a few. She had to force herself not to drop her gaze further, remembering the incredible sensation of the thick column of his manhood riding against her. She’d wanted him even closer. She’d wanted him—her cheeks burned—insideher. Wanted it so intensely that she would have thrown away everything—her virtue, her morals, her honor. She’d been brought up a lady, never allowed either of her betrotheds even a chaste kiss, but with one press of his lips he’d turned her into a wanton.
The charged silence stretched on until finally, he broke it. “That should never have happened.”
For once they were in agreement.
His gaze had shuttered, and once again she found herself looking at the hard, implacable warrior.
“I hope you will accept my apology, but”—he should have stopped there—“you made me angry.”
Janet was aghast. “So this is my fault for not meekly following along and doing your bidding?”
His eyes narrowed at her sarcasm. “Meek and biddable might help to remind me that you are a nun. And pious and serene, for that matter. You don’t act like any woman of the cloth I’ve ever met.”
“And have you had ‘hundreds’ of them with whom to compare me as well?”
