Page 35
He lunged and, seizing her wrist, wrenched the knife from her hand. He flung it across the room. After bouncing against the wall, it thudded to the floor then skidded several feet before disappearing beneath the armoire.
She tottered and would’ve fallen had Ian not caught her in his strong embrace, pinning her arms to her sides. Without preamble, he scooped her up, then strode to the bed, holding her gaze and arms captive.
Now she’d done it. She’d threatened her husband with a knife on their wedding night. Panic, mixed with a good portion of rage engulfed her. “Let me go, you filthy bostaris!”
He smiled, a slow, taunting curling of his lips. “Not likely.”
Ian stared at Vangie, taking in her high color, her heaving breasts, the breathtaking body her nightclothes did little to hide. And he grinned. A grin of pure delight. He rather liked this side of his wife. She possessed a feisty spirit, and at this moment, her eyes snapped blue fire.
His attention rested on the subtle shadows her gown hinted at. They were his to explore.
“I’ll scream, Ian.”
He laughed in genuine amusement. “No, you won’t. You would’ve done so by now.”
“I shall too.” She wiggled, attempting to free herself, but only succeeded in loosening his banyan and causing her gown to slide off one creamy shoulder. “I’ll screech like a banshee from hell.”
“The servants will only think me a skilled lover, sweeting.” He dropped a swift kiss to the silky flesh at the juncture of her throat and shoulder. “And that I have successfully introduced you to the pleasures of the flesh.”
Cheeks blooming with high color, she broke eye contact. She bent her head and pleaded, her voice quivering. “Do not do this, Ian, I beg you.”
She pressed her head into his chest, her warm breath caressing his naked flesh. The intuitive gesture roused Ian’s protective instinct. She’d not meant to seek comfort from him, had done so unawares, he’d bet Somersfield.
“Sweeting, look at me.”
Vangie shook her dark head, her silky hair swinging across his arms as he held her trembling form.
Shaking her gently, his voice a low rumble, he insisted, “Vangie, look at me.”
She lifted tormented eyes, the luminous sapphire pools shimmered with uncertainty and fear.
A man could drown in the depth of her eyes. “Have you been ill-treated by the men you’ve taken to your bed thus far?”
Her eyes grew huge, and her mouth fell open before snapping closed. Twice. Yet she said nothing. Perhaps that’s why she discarded men like used tea leaves. She’d become bitter—cynical. What a shame for one so young, and one who possessed such a passionate nature.
“I’ll never intentionally hurt you. I swear.” He gave her a reassuring smile and feathered his finger across the swell of her breasts. “What’s come before us matters naught. I forgive you.”
Even as he uttered the words, Ian recognized them as truth. He should be furious that she’d threatened him. Instead, she intrigued him all the more. Confound it all, when had she crept beneath his skin? How had she managed to in such a short period of time?
He forgives me? Is he serious? For what?
Like a dimwit, Vangie gawked at Ian dumbfounded.
He who covers and forgives an offense seeks love.
This was not the time for Puri Daj’s misplaced wisdom. Vangie was quite sure she was about to be ravished by her husband, and she was equally as certain, that while she feared the unknown, she was also very curious and not a little tantalized.
His caressing voice brought her hurtling back to the present. “We’ll consummate this marriage tonight. I promise to be gentle.” Eyeing her tenderly, Ian asked, his concern apparent, “Were your other lovers rough and selfish? Is that why you’re so skittish?”
Did he think he was being noble, voicing concern over her past unpleasant experiences— nonexistent experiences. Incapable of speech, she gaped. This was outside of enough. It was simply too much to bear. He was mad. Cork-brained. He truly was. She was married to a man who believed her a sexually-frustrated wanton.
In a move so swift, she’d no time to protest, Ian set her on her feet then adroitly tugged her nightclothes off over her head. Mortified, eyes squeezed shut, she stood before him naked, desperately trying to cover her womanly places. Any thought of reprieve flitted away. Her protests had been for naught. He would have his way with her, as was his husbandly right. She could only pray he’d be as gentle as he’d promised.
Her body had responded to him since their first encounter, and she was honest enough to admit she wanted to explore the sensations he aroused further. She’d just hoped for more time.
He swept her into his arms, laying her on the bed’s silky sheets. Lying nude on the turned-down, rose-scented bed, Vangie’s thoughts tripped over one another. Shouldn’t she be screaming for all she was worth, doing everything within her power to escape?
Wasn’t that what she’d vowed? Wasn’t that what she wanted?
