Rumours: The Dishonoured Copelands. Jane Porter

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      “And funny enough, I would rather have been your colleague than your wife. At least you would have talked to me!”

      “But then there would have been no lovemaking.”

      “Perhaps it will surprise you to know that I’m actually far more interested in what’s in your brain than what’s in your trousers.” She saw his incredulous expression and drew a ragged breath, horrified all over again that their entire relationship had been based on sex and chemistry. Horrified that she’d married a man who only wanted her for her body. “It’s true. Lovemaking is empty without friendship, and we had no friendship, Drakon. We just had sex—”

      “Not this again!”

      “Yes, this again.”

      “You’re being absurd.”

      “Thank God we’ll both soon be free so we can find someone that suits us both better. You can go get another pretty girl and give her an orgasm once or twice a day and feel like a real man, and I’ll find a man who has warmth and compassion, a man who cares about what I think and feel, a man who wants to know me, and not just my body!”

      He came up one step, and then another until they were on the same narrow stair, crowding her so that her back was against the plaster of the stairwell, and his big body was almost touching hers.

      A dangerous light shone in his eyes, making her blood hum in her veins and her nerves dance. “Is that all I’m interested in? Your body?” he growled, a small muscle popping in his jaw.

      She stared at his jaw, fascinated by that telling display of temper. He was angry and this was all so new … his temper and emotion. She’d always thought of him as supremely controlled but his tension was palpable now. He practically seethed with frustration and it made her skin tingle, particularly her lips, which suddenly felt unbearably sensitive. “Apparently so.”

      He stepped even closer, his eyes glittering down at her. “I wish I’d known that before I married you. It would have saved me half a billion dollars, never mind years of trouble.”

      “We all make mistakes,” she taunted, deliberately provoking him, but unable to help herself. Drakon Xanthis’s famous icy control was cracking and she wondered what would happen when it shattered completely. “Best thing you can do now is forgive yourself for making such a dreadful mistake and move forward.”

      Fire flashed in his eyes and he leaned in, closing the gap between them so that his broad chest just grazed the swell of her breasts and she could feel the tantalizing heat of his hips so close to hers.

      “Such an interesting way to view things,” he said, his head dropping, his voice deepening. “With you as my mistake.”

      His lips were so close now and her lower back tingled and her belly tightened, and desire coursed through her veins, making her ache everywhere.

      She could feel his need, feel the desire and her mouth dried, her heart hammering harder. He was going to kiss her. And she wanted the kiss, craved his kiss, even as a little voice of reason inside her head sounded the alarm….

      Stop. Wait. Think.

      She had to remember … remember the past … remember what had happened last time … this wasn’t just a kiss, but an inferno. If she gave in to this kiss, it’d be all over. Drakon was so dangerous for her. He did something to her. He, like his name, Drakon, Greek for dragon, was powerful and potent and destructive.

      But he was also beautiful and physical and sensual and he made her feel. My God, he made her feel and she wanted that intensity now. Wanted him now.

      “My beautiful, expensive mistake,” he murmured, his lips brushing across the shell of her ear, making her breath catch in her throat and sending hot darts of delicious sensation throughout her body, making her aware of every sensitive spot.

      “Next time, don’t marry the girl,” she said, trying to sound brazen and cavalier, but failing miserably as just then he pushed his thigh between her legs. The heat of his hard body scalded her, and the unexpected pressure and pleasure was so intense she gasped, making her head spin.

      “Would you have been happier just being my mistress?” he asked, his tongue tracing the curve of her ear even as his muscular thigh pressed up, his knee against her core, teasing her senses, making her shiver with need.

      She was wet and hot, too hot, and her skin felt too tight. She wanted relief, needed relief, and it didn’t help that she couldn’t catch her breath. She was breathing shallowly, her chest rising and falling while her mouth dried.

      “Would you have been able to let go more? Enjoyed the sex without guilt?” he added, biting her tender earlobe, his teeth sharp, even as he wedged his thigh deeper between her knees, parting her thighs wider so that she felt like a butterfly pinned against the wall.

      “There was no guilt,” she choked, eyes closing as he worked his thigh against her in a slow maddening circle. He was so warm and she was so wet and she knew it was wrong, but she wanted more, not less.

      His teeth scraped across that hollow beneath her ear and she shuddered against him, thinking he remembered how sensitive she was, how her body responded to every little touch and bite and caress.

      “Liar.” He leaned in closer, his knee grinding and his hips pressing down against her hips, making her pelvis feel hot and yet hollow, and the muscles inside her womb clench. “You liked it hot. You liked it when I made you fall apart.”

      And it was true, she thought, her body so tight and hot and aching that she arched against him, absolutely wanton. There was no satisfaction like this, though, and she wanted satisfaction. Wanted him. Wanted him here and now. Wanted him to lift her tunic and expose her breasts and knead and roll the tight, aching nipples between his fingers. He’d made her come that way before, just by playing with her nipples, and he’d watched her face as she came, watched every flicker of emotion that crossed her face as he broke her control….

      If only he’d peel her clothes off now, if only she could feel his skin on her skin, feel him in her, needing the heat and fullness of him inside her, craving the pleasure of being taken, owned, possessed—

      Morgan’s eyes flew open.

      Owned?

      Owned? My God. She was insane.

      Visions of her months at McLean Hospital filled her head and it dragged her abruptly back to reality. She had to be smart. Couldn’t destroy herself again. Never wanted to go back to McLean Hospital again.

      The very memory of McLean was enough for her to put her hands on his chest and push him back, and she pushed hard, but he didn’t budge and all she felt was the warm dense plane of muscle that banded his ribs, and the softness of his cashmere sweater over the dense carved muscle.

      “Get off,” she panted, pushing harder, putting all of her weight into the shove but Drakon was solid, immoveable. “I’m not a toy, Drakon, not here for your amusement.”

      His hand snaked into her hair, twisting the dark length around his fist, holding her face up to his. “Good, because I’m not amused.”

      “No, you’re just aroused,” she answered coldly, furious with herself for responding to him СКАЧАТЬ