Page 50 of The Knight Who Loved Me
She dropped her gaze. She had told him she knew what he’d done to his betrothed. She remembered his surprise, and had thought it was because she’d known his secret. Now, she didn’t know what to think. Was Bolton a rapist? Her father’s words had to be true—or had he been lied to by someone? She could not imagine this man forcing a woman into his bed—or evenneedingforce.
She thought of the girl, Agnes, with her bright smile and cheerful conversation for her master. If he were a rapist, wouldn’t Agnes have heard? Wouldn’t every woman be frightened of him?
But her father had sworn it was the truth, and he’d never once lied.That you know of, whispered a quiet voice inside her head. She thought of Bolton’s villagers, running out onto the road to greet him. She couldn’t remember a peasant happy to see her father.
“Isabel, my former betrothed is no concern of yours.” He looked into the fire, his face hard and angry. “Let the past rest. ’Tis something your father should have done.”
She glared at him. Was he keeping more secrets than she knew about? He picked up a blanket, wrapped it about his shoulders, and lay on his side. She did the same, warily keeping from touching him. She took the dagger out of its sheath and laid it near her head.
Sometime during the night, an early frost settled in and Isabel awoke on her side to find only low embers left of the fire. Cold moisture had settled on her face and worked its way deep into her clothes. She trembled and clutched the blanket tighter about her.
Suddenly she felt a solid warmth press itself along her back. She stiffened as Bolton slid an arm around her waist.
“Peace, Angel,” he whispered, tucking his knees behind hers. “We’re both cold.”
“I am no man’s bedwarmer,” she said, trying to push him away.
“Shh.”
His breath tickled the back of her neck, and his palm slid across her stomach. She felt surrounded by him, frightened of her conflicting feelings—and protected. His chest expanded with each breath, pressing against her back. He was long and solid, and fit against her so well. Her trembling continued, but it was not from the weather.
He whispered, “I can spread another blanket over us.”
“I am not cold,” she said, then winced at her thoughtless words.
A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Not cold, Angel? Then whatever could cause such a reaction in you?”
His head rested behind hers, pillowed on his arm. With his hand he began to comb through her hair.
“Stop that!” she said.
“Shh, do not wake Riley,” he murmured. “He needs his sleep—and he’ll only feel the cold more.”
She bit her lip and closed her eyes, trying to pretend he was not touching her. Wasn’t this what she wanted? Didn’t she want his control to weaken, to throw that back in his face? But this did not seem weak to her. His hands held all the power. She was afraid that if he continued to touch her, she’d feel again the pleasure that haunted her darkest dreams. He had worked magic on her body, and she knew her taunts only brought that closer.
“Please—” she whispered, as his other hand began to trail across her stomach.
“Please don’t stop?”
He spoke directly into her ear, then nibbled the lobe itself. Her body jerked in response. She could barely remember to breathe, she was so lost in the sensations blazing across her skin, heating her blood. The back of her was flush against him, the front of her was vulnerable to his touch. And he took advantage. Beneath the blanket, his hand slid up to cup her breast and softly knead it.
“I want to bury my face right here,” he murmured. His tongue licked along her ear.
Isabel held in a groan. She forgot everything when his hands touched her, forgot that they were enemies, that he withheld secrets from her. She felt the laces of her doublet and shirt loosen. He pulled them down, baring her shoulder, and then began to kiss the exposed skin. The air was cold, his mouth was hot. She should stop him, she should scream, but the sight of his face just above her skin froze her.
His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted as they trailed a wet path to her neck. She felt the sudden roughness of the blanket on her breasts, and knew that her garments sagged almost to her waist. His fingers teased her nipples ever so lightly and she gasped. Pleasure was like a bolt of lightning through her body, and her skin burned as she writhed against him.
“Shhh.”
“I cannot!” she whispered fiercely. “Don’t make me feel?—”
Bolton came up on his elbow and pressed her onto her back. He held the blanket close about his shoulders, draped over her. He pressed his mouth to hers, stopping her protests. Who was winning in this little game they played, she thought wildly. Weren’t they both losing control?
James fell back in amazement as Isabel rolled above him. Her hair cascaded in wild abandon, and her naked breasts hung full to tempt him. Somehow he remembered to keep the blanket from sliding down her back. Firelight played across the strong bones of her face, and her full mouth was moist from his kiss. When she looked like this, all feminine and soft, everything she’d done to him fled his mind. He was only aware of his need. He wanted to fling off all his clothes and take her now, on the forest floor. Why did Riley have to be nearby, the one time James could have actually had his wife?
He gripped her shoulders to pull her closer but she resisted. She reached over his head. With only a little more effort, he could have had her breast in his mouth. She pulled her hand back and something glittered.
“Did you forget you gave me a dagger?” she whispered, resting on her elbows, her breasts flattened against his chest.
