Dance of Desire (21 page)

Stunned by the force behind her blow, he halted.

Another fig slammed into his shoulder, then an orange. He grunted, annoyance smothering a flare of amusement. "God's teeth."

"How dare you speak cruelly to me?" She grabbed more fruit from the table. "You mean, insolent —"

An orange smacked into his belly, shocking the breath from his lungs. "Ouch. Stop." He strode toward her.

"I think not." A fig whizzed past his ear, narrowly missing his head. Zounds. Did she try to injure him? With fruit?

Incredulous laughter rose in his throat.

She scowled. As she darted past the end of the table, she caught a fat orange. "You smile. You find my anger amusing? Unwise." Her gaze dropped to his tunic's hem. His groin. She held the orange as though it were a dangerous weapon, a determined smile curving her lips. "Beware. I am an excellent shot. I used to shoot targets with Rudd."

Before she took aim, he lunged. He caught her wrist and pried the orange from her fingers. She shrieked. Cursed. Fought like a wild creature while her free hand pummeled his chest. With a growl, he grabbed her other wrist. Raised both arms above her head. Propelled her backward.

"Release me," she spat, twisting in his hold.

"Not until you listen to me." Meeting her furious glare, he tightened his grip on her wrists, enough to secure them but not enough to hurt. She swore again, planted her feet firmly on the floorboards, and resisted the backward momentum. He leaned his body full against her. His legs tangled with her skirts. His belly pressed against her stomach. Her breasts crushed against his tunic until her spine arched. With a frustrated cry, she stumbled back.

One step. Two. She bumped against the wall.

Panting, Fane slid his palms up her wrists to lock his fingers through hers. He pinned her hands above her head, against the stone, and stared down into her face. Her hair snarled over her flushed cheeks and snagged in the stone. Her braid hung in a tangled mess. Her lashes flicked up, and she returned his gaze with icy resolve. Her blazing eyes told him what she wanted him to believe — she would never yield.

She lied.

As he flattened his body against her, she quivered. Her lips parted on a ragged gasp. Her eyelids drifted closed. He slowly shifted against her. Chest to chest. Belly to belly. Steel against womanly softness.

Her breath caught. "Fane —"

He covered her mouth with his own. Tasted her, as he had wanted. Ah, God. Naught compared to her velvety sweetness. To the essence of proud, fierce, desirable woman.

She sighed against his lips. As though the leashed passion inside her broke free, her mouth opened beneath his. Seeking. Hungry. He slid his tongue between her teeth. She nipped him, and he started with the unexpected pleasure. With the blinding surge of lust.

With a muffled cry, she strained against his imprisoning hold. He loosened his fingers. Her hands slid free and plowed into his hair. She held his head firm, kissing him back.

He met her kiss, thrust for thrust, gasp for gasp. She molded against him as though wanting more. Needing more. She smelled incredibly,
arousingly
good. A possessive groan tore from his lips. Heat seared through him. Tore at his loins. Devoured his thoughts.

He wanted her. Now.

Why deny what they both desired?

With a gentle shove, he pushed her back against the wall.
Here,
his mind screamed.
Lift her skirts. Take her as she begs to be taken.
He squeezed his eyes tight to shut out the nagging voice. Later, he would show her the exciting and creative variations on lovemaking. The first time as his wife, she would have the tender seduction he planned.

Sliding one arm behind her shoulders, the other under her trembling knees, he lifted her into his arms. She fitted easily. Perfectly. Careful not to stumble on her gown's flowing drape, he strode toward the bed. His body tightened with anticipation of their joining. He could scarce wait to see her naked body. To slide into her softness. To feel her arching and moaning against him.

"Fane," she said thickly. Through the haze of lust, he sensed her hand pressed against his chest.

Resistance. Again.

He stifled the groan rising in his throat. Tenderness mingled with his frustration. Of course. She was virgin. She had uncertainties.

As he approached the violet-strewn bed, he pressed a kiss to her brow. "Hush, love. 'Twill be all right."

She pushed more firmly, then kicked her legs. He could scarce see past the froth of pale skin and silk.

"Zounds, woman." His knees hit the oak bed frame. Before he could regain his balance, he dropped her onto the mattress' edge. The bed ropes creaked in protest.

Scooting sideways, she tried to rise. He braced his hands on the coverlet, either side of her hips, curtailing her progress. As her eyes glinted with warning, he pressed a bold, open kiss to her mouth. With a low moan, she melted into his touch, and his right hand fumbled for the ties securing her gown.

Before he had unfastened the first one, she caught his wrist. "Fane, stop."

"I am sorry for my bitter words," he said against her lips, his words punctuated by kisses and nibbles. "I would never take you in anger. Please, believe me."

She drew back, her mouth swollen and red. Tears glistened along her lashes.

"I love you, Rexana."

Confusion and disbelief darkened her eyes. "How can you? We have known one another but a few days."

"My heart and soul belong to you. They have from the moment you first danced for me."

"Nay," she whispered.

His fingers curled into the embroidered coverlet, the silk as soft as a woman's bare thigh. "Make love with me, Rexana. Let us share our passion."

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. Misery lined her beautiful face. "I cannot."

"You mean,
will
not." The wilting violets strewn on the linens mocked him, as did her scent. She did not want his seduction. She did not want
him.

As though sensing his thoughts, she shivered a sigh. "From the time I was a young girl, I studied to be wife and chatelaine." She returned his stare with one of fierce intensity, while her voice roughened. "My father told me I would wed a nobleman of compassion and honor. A man who would trust me. A man who would love me, and whom I would trust and love in return. Into our loving home, we would bring children."

"What are you saying? I am not noble enough for you?" Fane bit out the words. "Have I not treated you with compassion and honor?"

He leaned forward to brush his cheek against hers. He crowded her with his body. A shameless coaxing, but he could not resist. He needed her. Desperately.

Her fingers knotted in her lap. Her hands almost touched his loins, the hard place that throbbed for her. The place that consumed his focus. He groaned inwardly. If she touched him there . . . Barely able to leash his lust, he forced himself to inhale slowly.

"You ask me to couple with you, to commit an act of love and trust." Her voice quavered. "Yet, I do not trust you. I do not love you."

How can I? You will persecute my brother,
his mind finished for her. Her earlier words rang sharp in his mind.
I cannot love you. I never will.

He snorted. "You believe all men and women fornicate for love? Some want only the pleasure." He forced the urgency from his tone, fought the sensation of falling into a deep pool with no way out. "I can give you pleasure. I am not unskilled in the arts of pleasuring a woman." As he spoke, he slid his fingers up into her hair to tip her head back for his kiss.

"To lie with you this way mocks all I have been taught, all that I believe." She turned her face away so his kiss landed on her cheek. "Will you ask it of me?"

He growled against her skin. "Once you have experienced pleasure, you will feel differently." He set his hand on her shoulder, and began to press her back on the bed.

"If you believe so, then you do not love me after all."

He stared at her pale face and the proud line of her jaw. As her words infiltrated his lust-hazed brain, shock and crushing disappointment followed. "You expect me to refrain from my marital rights."

She swallowed, then looked away. "Aye."

The enormity of her demand blasted through him. His blood cried with the injustice. His mind howled. His loins cooled slowly. Painfully.

He released her shoulder and dropped his head. He stared down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap. Her knuckles were white. She sat in stiff silence, as though she were a bow drawn tight and at the slightest provocation she would snap.

Shaking with need, he breathed in the tantalizing scent of violets and woman. He could continue his seduction, woo her passion-drugged senses until she was too aroused to stop him. He could overpower her and force her to spread her thighs, as was his right by law. Yet, the pleasure would be temporary. Afterward, she would hate him.

His eyes closed on a groan. He could never, ever disrespect or force her. He would not mistreat her, as General
Gazir
had mistreated all the pretty virgins sold into his bed.

Spitting an oath, Fane straightened. He righted his tunic and turned from the bed. Away from her, before the last thread of his control frayed.

Behind him, the mattress groaned. Silk whispered. He imagined Rexana smoothing her bliaut over her shapely legs. He tried to squash the lascivious images romping through his mind. Her naked, laughing, and rolling beneath him. Him suckling one of her incredible, pink-tipped breasts while his hand —