Page 110 of Harpy of the Ton
“If it’s warmth you’re wantin’,Ican take the bed upstairs,” he said, reaching for one of the blankets on the sofa. “I’ll give you what you want.”
“Oh,willyou?
“Here.” He handed the blanket to her, but she swept it aside.
“I don’t want a blanket!”
“Then what do you want?”
“Can’t you tell?”
He stepped toward her, a flicker of desire in his eyes. Then he hesitated.
“A good night’s sleep will see you right,” he said. “I knew you shouldn’t have taken that port.”
“Sweet heaven!” she cried. “Have you always found me repulsive—or is it only since my accident?”
“Repulsive?” He shook his head. “What nonsense you speak!”
“Then why won’t you touch me as a man touches his wife? That story you told me—of the ribbons, and owning your heart—was it a lie?”
He faltered and lowered his gaze, sending a spike of pain through her heart.
“I’m right,” she whispered. “You don’t want me—you feel nothing, while I—”
She broke off, unwilling to voice her need in the face of his indifference.
He shook his head. “No.”
Her gut contorted with pain, and she stepped back, her eyes stinging with tears. “N-no?”
He drew in a deep breath, then spoke, his voice a hoarse rasp. “No, Bella, you’re wrong—sowrong.”
Then he looked up and she caught her breath. His eyes glowered with a base, raw hunger, reflecting the primal need that throbbed deep inside her—his desire calling to hers.
“Iwantyou, woman,” he said. “Don’t say I feel nothin’ when, from the moment I saw you, my whole body’s beenburnin’with want.”
“Then why won’t you touch me?”
She stepped toward him, and the pain in his eyes intensified. Hands fisted at his sides, he stood stiff, trembling as if he fought to control a madness.
“Don’t come any closer,” he rasped. “I’ll not be able to control what happens if you do.”
She reached toward him.
“Sweet heaven!” he said. “I cannot… I willnotruin…”
“Where’s the ruination in an act between a man and his wife?”
He shook his head. “Bella, you know not what you offer.”
“I do,” she said, “and I offer it freely, willingly, and gladly.” She took his hand, curling her fingers around his fist. “An offering of love.”
Then he shuddered and let out a low cry. “May God forgive me.”
He pulled her close and claimed her mouth, plunging inside as if he were a man dying of thirst. He swept his tongue through her with hungry strokes, deepening the kiss as he shifted against her, igniting a flame of desire. She shifted her thighs apart where the flame swelled and roared, and he let out a primal growl—the call of a beast ready to claim his mate.
He arched his back, and she felt him against her thigh, a delicious hardness moving closer to the center of her need.
