Rumours: The Dishonoured Copelands. Jane Porter

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СКАЧАТЬ like to see you. But I’m getting bored by all the discussion. Either we’re going to do this, or we’re not—”

      “Your shirt first.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “You want to do this? Then we’ll do this. But you’re not the boss and I’m not taking orders.” Her tone was defiant and her eyes flashed and she’d never been angry before when they’d played these games. She’d been shy and nervous, but also eager to please. She wasn’t eager to please now. “You don’t get to have all the power anymore.”

      “No?”

      “No. I’m not your servant or slave—”

      “Which is good, since I don’t make love with my servants, and I don’t have slaves.”

      “The point is, you might be able to bark orders at Bronwyn, but not at me.”

      “I had no idea you were so hung up on Bronwyn,” he drawled, liking this new feisty Morgan. She was a very different woman from the one he’d married and that intrigued him.

      “I wasn’t hung up on her. You were.”

      “Is that how it was?”

      “Yes.”

      “So are we going to talk about Bronwyn, or are we going to have sweet, safe missionary-position sex?”

      Her lips compressed primly. “You’re horrible. You know that, don’t you?”

      “Horribly good, and horribly hard, and horribly impatient. Now, are we, or aren’t we?” he asked, sauntering toward her, relaxed, easy, his arms loose at his sides. But it was a deceptive ease, and they both knew it as the temperature in the luxurious bedroom seemed to soar and the air sparked with heat and need, the tension between them thick and hot and electric.

      Closing the gap between them, Drakon could feel Morgan tense, her hands squeezing in convulsive fists, even as her eyes widened and her lips parted with each quick shallow breath.

      “You’re trembling,” he said, “but there’s no need for that. I won’t eat you. Not unless you want me to.”

      “Drakon.” Her voice sounded strangled and her cheeks were crimson, making her blue eyes darken and shimmer like the sapphire sea beyond the window.

      “I hope you’ll want me to. I love how you taste, and how soft you are in my mouth … so sweet. But is that too risky for you? Pushing the limits too much?”

      “You love to torment me.”

      “Yes, I do,” he agreed, circling her slowly, enjoying just looking at her, and watching the color come and go in her exquisite porcelain complexion, and listening to her soft desperate gasps of air. “But this is nothing, Morgan. I haven’t even gotten started.” He stopped in front of her, gazed down at her, thinking she looked very young and very uncertain and very shy, much like his virgin bride. “Now tell me, what should I do to you first?”

      Morgan’s heart was pounding so fast she couldn’t catch her breath, and she opened her mouth, lips parting, to gulp in shallow gasps of air. She felt as if she were balancing on the edge of a volcano while little voices inside her head demanded she throw herself in.

      She needed to leave, to escape the villa, to summon the helicopter and fly far, far away. Remaining here with Drakon was stupid and destructive. She might as well fling herself into that volcano … the outcome would be the same.

      And yet, wasn’t she already there, in the fiery pit? Because molten lava seemed to be seeping through her veins, melting her bones and muscles into mindless puddles of want and need.

      She actually felt sick with need right now. But could she do this … go through with this … knowing it would be just sex, not love? Knowing Drakon wanted her body but not her heart?

      “Are you crying?” he asked, his voice dropping, deepening with concern, as his hands wrapped around her arms, holding her up.

      She shook her head, unable to look him in the eye.

      “What’s wrong?” he asked.

      She swallowed hard, tried to speak, but no sound would come out. Not when her throat ached and her heart was still thundering in her chest.

      He reached up to smooth a dark tendril of hair back from her face. “Have I frightened you?” His deep voice was suddenly gentle, almost painfully tender.

      Hot tears scalded the back of her eyes. She bit hard into her lower lip so that it wouldn’t quiver.

      “I would never hurt you, Morgan,” he murmured, drawing her against him, holding her in his arms, holding her securely against his chest.

      She closed her eyes as the heat of his body seeped into her hands, warming her. He felt good. Too good. It was so confusing. This was confusing.

      She didn’t push him away, and yet she couldn’t relax, waiting for the moment he’d let her go. But she didn’t want him to let her go. She wanted him closer. Wanted to press her face to his chest and breathe him in. She could smell a hint of his spicy fragrance and loved that fragrance—his own scent, formulated just for him—and what it did to his skin. He smelled like heaven. Delicious and warm and good and intoxicating. He smelled like everything she wanted. He smelled like home. He was home. He was everything to her, but wasn’t that the problem? With him, she lost herself. With him, she lost her mind.

      With a strangled cry, Morgan slid a hand up across his chest, to push him back, and just like before, once she touched him, she couldn’t take her hand away. She stroked across the hard plane of muscle of his chest, learning again the shape of his body and how the dense smooth pectoral muscle curved and sloped beneath her palm. God, he was beautiful. And without his shirt, his skin would feel so good against hers. She loved the way his bare chest felt against her bare breasts, loved the friction and the heat and the delicious, addictive energy—

      “Can’t do this,” she choked, shaking her head. “We can’t, we can’t.”

      “Ssshh,” he murmured, cupping her face, his thumbs stroking lightly over her cheekbones, sweeping from the curve of the bone to her earlobes. “Nothing bad will happen—”

      “Everything bad will happen,” she protested, shivering with pleasure from the caress. She loved the way he touched her. He made her feel beautiful, inside and out, and she struggled to remember what bad things would happen if he touched her….

      “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, hands slipping from her face to tangle in her hair.

      “And mad, Drakon, certifiably insane—”

      “That’s okay.”

      “Drakon, I’m serious!”

      “I am, too.” His head dipped lower and his lips brushed hers, lightly, slowly, and she shuddered, pressed closer, a stinging sensation behind her eyes. One kiss … could it be so bad? One kiss … surely she could be forgiven that?

      His lips found hers again and the kiss was surprisingly gentle, the pressure of his mouth just enough to tease her, СКАЧАТЬ