“There, I’ve said it,” he proclaimed bitterly. “And now, you have to go. You’ve awakened me from a night terror, you’ve compelled me to reveal my most horrible memory. I’m mortified, and there’s nothing left to say. Our discussion is over. I regret it already—one of an unrelenting pile of regrets when it comes to you. In the morning, I’ll leave here. We needn’t hash out anything more than the eventual annulment and the management of the house. Get up.” He held out his hand.
Danielle looked at it. She raised her eyes to his. Was he serious?
“Up,” he said. He raised his eyebrows.
Slowly, Dani shook her head.
“Danielle,”he warned.
Heart pounding, her mind a swirl of doubts and hopes and recriminations, she shook her head again. It was the smallest, little half revolution, back and forth, her eyes not leaving his.
Swearing under his breath, he grabbed her right hand and tugged. She slid from the covers like a leaf in a stream and landed solidly on two feet before him, her chemise swinging out.
“The dream is over,” he assured her. “Please go and try to sleep.” He pulled again on her hand. She did not budge.
He made a growling noise. He pulled a third time. Danielle stood her ground, feet planted—but she allowed her body to tip. She fell against him in a splash of fabric. He absorbed the contact with an agonized sound of frustration. She caught him around the waist, clasping the top of his breeches. For a long moment, they leaned together, breathing in and out. She felt his chest hair on her cheek; she heard his pounding heart. Slowly, she raised her chin. They locked eyes. She licked her lips.
“This is not what you want,” he rasped, staring at her mouth.
“Do not ever again tell me what I do or do not want,” she said softly.
“Danielle,”he warned.
“Bannock,” she replied.
“Say it, then,” he growled. “Tell me.”
Dani swallowed. She didn’t know what she wanted. She’d learned too much, too quickly. However, she knew what shedidn’twant.
“I don’t want to leave your bed,” she said.
“You don—”
She let out a frustrated cry and gave the waist of his breeches a jerk, yanking him to her. She dropped her face against his chest.
Bannock swore. With one hand, he palmed her bottom; with the other, he grabbed her braid and tugged. When her face went up, he descended on her mouth.
Chapter 21
The fever dream spiraled on; first the horror, then the heaven. She was here, she wasn’t angry—or if she was angry, the anger had not sharpened into hate. On the contrary, she was wrapped around Luke like a taut, wet rope. And oh, how he wanted to be bound.
He kissed her like he’d always kissed her, deep and ravaging. She returned the kiss in kind, clawing to get closer, making desperate little noises. They stood beside the bed; he clutched the voluminous fabric of the chemise in fistfuls. He was happy to keep his hands occupied, it prevented him from touching her body. She was rightthere. He could feel the warmth of her, trace the shape of her, absorb her as she pressed against him.
While held to her chemise, she held him. She gave a small hop, catching the arches of her feet on his legs and crawling up. Her eagerness brought him nearly to his knees. He released the fabric of her gown to catch her bottom in both hands. She was a delicious handful, and he staggered a little under the exhilaration of desire.
“I’m dreaming,” he mumbled against her mouth.
“You are not dreaming,” she rasped, “you are awake. You would never dream this.”
He laughed. “You’ve no idea of how vividly I’ve dreamed of this.”
“What did you dream?”
He moaned.
“Tell me your dream,” she insisted. “I don’t believe you.”
He hitched her higher, getting a better grip. They were half a step from the bed. “I dreamed we would be in this bedroom. I dreamed you would wear nothing. I dreamed I could see you—all of you.”
