Page 90 of Enticing the Devil

Still clutching her sketchbook to her breast, Anne straightened her spine, dropped her shoulders back, and started toward him. She’d have to pass by him to exit the barn and fully intended to do so without offering the slightest acknowledgement of his presence.

Let him see how it feels to be utterly ignored.

But with every purposeful step she took, her body became more tightly wound with awareness and expectation. Her nerves leapt and danced at his nearness and her heart raced wildly. And when she risked a flickering glance at his scowling glare, her belly gave a deep and lovely twist, releasing a flood of heat through her veins.

Damn him for ruining her resolve to remain cool and emotionless. Damn him for appearing just as she managed to stop wishing for him. Damn him for staring at her now as if she were a wicked enticement he wanted to consume in one swift bite.

Recognizing the fire in his gaze for what it was, Anne’s body hummed in response and her steps faltered. When she should’ve swept fiercely and proudly past him, she felt herself slowing.

And then, without warning, his arm swept out to curl around her waist and he pulled her roughly against him. Her sketchbook and pencil fell unheeded to the dirt as she lifted her hands to grasp his upper arms. The heat and muscled hardness beneath her palms sent tingles to her fingertips. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she struggled to claim a breath, let alone find words to question his intention.

He peered intently back at her, as though frozen in indecision. Then his gaze swept over her face to settle harshly on her mouth. The need hardening his expression was akin to fury.

She barely managed to draw in a swift breath before he was kissing her. Deeply. Hungrily. With the fervor and recklessness of a man starving. She recognized the taste of wild desperation on his tongue. She felt it too.

She wrapped her arms tight around his neck and gave as much in the kiss as she received. With a heavy sound, he hauled her up against him, taking her off her feet. Sucking on her tongue—a growl rolling through his throat—he carried her into a stall and lowered her to a mound of hay. Still kissing her as though he’d claim the very breath from her body, his movements were rough and almost frantic as he shoved her skirts up and parted her thighs with his knee.

Anne was frantic too. She sunk her teeth into his lower lip as she grasped and tugged at his shoulders, arching her spine to press her breasts to his chest. She needed more of him. The weight of his body pressing down on her and force of his desire fueling her own. The hunger arcing through her was intense and demanding. It blasted through her uncertainty and her anger.

Or maybe it simply transformed her anger into another type of fury. Furious desire.

Just as she felt she might go mad without some relief, he was there.

His heat. His hardness. Thrusting into her melting core.

The ferocity. The desperation. The heavy sound of pleasure vibrating in his chest. The texture of his beard against her sensitive skin. It unfurled something inside her. A deep, unfettered frenzy of desire and need. A primal demand.

Her hands fisted in his hair as she claimed his full bottom lip with her teeth. Tilting her pelvis, she met every merciless thrust of his hips with a silent demand for more. Harder. Faster.

Answering her plea, he lowered his chest over her, his weight crushing her in the most satisfying way, as he slid both hands beneath her buttocks and lifted her to take the full punishing rhythm of his plunging cock.

She surrendered. Giving herself over to the power in his body and the strength of their shared passion. Almost instantly, her body tightened in anticipation. Her muscles tensed and her heart seemed to stop. She gasped for breath and clung to him as the first delicate flutters began. But they did not remain delicate for long. Her next inhale caught and held as pleasure erupted with a force that nearly stole her consciousness.

Only the sound of his weighty groan and the punishing grip of his fingers on her bottom kept her tethered to earth. To him. He gave a final heartbreaking thrust then tensed and his pleasure pulsed into her—hot and slick and unrelenting.

As her body softened and his grew heavier, she held him in a sated embrace, reveling in his closeness, in the sound of his breath steadily slowing and his heart beating raggedly against hers.

But she wasn’t allowed to enjoy it for long. Before she was even close to being ready to release him, he shifted and abruptly shoved himself off of her.

The scents of hay and dirt and the essence of their lovemaking drifted around her as she slowly sat up. He was already standing, facing away from her as he closed his trousers. She could see the tension in his shoulders and what she hoped to God wasn’t regret bowing his head.

Ignoring the moisture seeping from her body, she roughly tossed her skirts over her legs and rather gracelessly pulled herself up to stand. Bits of hay had gotten tangled in her hair and were poking her scalp, but she ignored them. Despite the ache in her chest, she stood calm and quiet as she waited to see what he’d do.

She wasn’t asleep this time. Would he say something? Or just walk away?

Neither, it seemed, as the undeniable sound of children approaching forced a sudden end to the interlude.

He stiffened and glanced over his shoulder at her. The alarm in his fierce expression shifted swiftly to concern and then resolve as he took in her undoubtedly tousled appearance.

“I’ll intercept them,” he said gruffly as he tucked the tails of his shirt into his trousers.

Anne wanted desperately to argue. To insist he stay with her. To force him to acknowledge what had just happened.

But he was right. Now wasn’t the time.

She gave a short nod and a moment later he was gone. As she heard his low baritone addressing the children, she quickly shook out her skirts then did her best to remove the hay from her hair. After ensuring Beynon was still keeping the children occupied, she scooped up her dropped sketchbook and pencil then slipped from the barn. She skirted the yard, then reentered the house and made her way to the bedroom, where she finally released the pent-up breath that had been straining her lungs.

From the window, she watched as Beynon strolled with his brothers and youngest sister toward the creek, fishing poles in hand. Her stomach twisted as she felt the same deep sadness she’d known as a girl when her father had ordered a footman to take her fishing rather than take her himself.

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