He flinched, and she felt a wicked sense of feminine power surge through her. She leaned closer, until the hard tips of her breasts brushed against his chest.
He made a pained sound low in his throat. She felt the tension radiate around him like a drum as he fought for control. She sensed the danger but felt drunk, with a new kind of power. “At least when he kisses me, it makes me feel like a woman, not a nun.” The muscle below his jaw jumped. “Aye, there is nothing chaste about his kiss,” she added for good measure.
He moved so fast, she barely had time to process that she’d done the impossible: snapped the powerful bonds of his control. She was in his arms, breasts crushed against the muscular wall of his chest and hips plastered to his. And God, it felt incredible! Every nerve-ending in her body flared at the contact.
His mouth covered hers with a groan of pure primal satisfaction that drove her pleasure all the way to her toes. She could feel it pulsing through her, spreading over her limbs like a wave of pure molten heat.
His lips were soft but strong, his breath warm and spicy, as he crushed his mouth to hers.
His hand splayed against her back, possessively drawing her closer, bending her into the hard curve of his body.
For a moment she felt him yield. Felt his body envelop hers. His kiss grew more insistent. His lips dragging, kneading, opening her mouth.
Oh God.
She startled. Her heart fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. His tongue was inside her mouth, plunging, thrusting, circling. Tasting her deeper and deeper, as if he couldn’t get enough.
The sensation was incredible. She moaned and circled her arms around his neck, wanting to get closer. His chest was so hot. So hard. She wanted to melt against him. She could feel her body soften, and the heat between her legs start to pulse and dampen.
The explosion of passion was so intense, so sudden, that she barely had time to savor it before it was gone. He broke away with a harsh, guttural curse, thrusting her from him as if she were plagued.
But it was the look of loathing on his face that cut her to the quick.
He still blames me, she realized. For not marrying him, and for marrying his friend. And bound up with that blame was guilt. He thought his feelings for her were a betrayal of his friend’s memory. “Will you ever forgive me for what happened? I made a mistake, Magnus. I’m sorry. If I could go back and do it differently I would. I shouldn’t have refused you. I shouldn’t have agreed to the betrothal with William. But you left and never came back. Never sent word. I thought you’d forgotten all about me.” Her hands twisted furiously in her skirts. “And then at the wedding…” She gazed up at him, begging for understanding. “You said you didn’t care.”
“I don’t.”
He had that hard, stubborn look on his face that infuriated her. “How can you say that after what just happened?”
“Wanting is not the same thing as caring, Helen. Surely you know the difference?”
It horrified her to realize she didn’t. How would she? The only man she’d ever kissed was he—and William, but the chaste peck in the church didn’t seem to count.
No, she wouldn’t let him confuse her. She might be innocent, but she could tell when a man cared for her. And she’d seen his face at the wedding. The tic betrayed him. She thrust her chin up. “I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “I’ve never liked Munro. But marry him, if that’s what you wish.”
Her heart dropped. “You don’t mean that.” Her voice sounded raw and dry. It wasn’t just competitiveness that had made him jealous…was it?
“He can protect you.”
What did that have to do with anything? Why did she need protection?
“But I don’t love him. I love you.”
Magnus stilled, trying to not let himself react to her words, but feeling them reverberate inside him like a drum.
She didn’t mean it. And even if she did, it wasn’t enough. He’d traveled down this road before. He wouldn’t do it again.
She’d made her decision four years ago. She didn’t love him enough then; nothing had changed. Whatever chance they might have had died the day she married Gordon.
He was furious at himself for losing control and kissing her. But he’d been out of his mind with jealousy, and when she’d taunted him with her body and her words, he’d lost control—which around her was becoming an appallingly frequent occurrence. The temptation to take what she offered…
He needed to get the hell out of here.
I love you.
Damn it. He couldn’t stop hearing the words.
