Seven Nights In A Rogue's Bed. Anna Campbell

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СКАЧАТЬ He rose to fill a plate from the sideboard and top up his wine.

      “I’ve had enough,” she said quickly, but Merrick ignored her and filled her glass.

      “Try this.” He fell to his knees before her and between thumb and forefinger lifted a small square of nuts and pastry shiny with syrup.

      The couch was so low, when he kneeled in front of her they were eye to eye. She retreated against the sofa. “Move away.”

      “So nervous, tesoro.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “And me on my best behavior. If I promise not to kiss you, will you stop worrying?”

      “I—”

      He smiled and pressed the pastry between her lips. She struggled to articulate a protest, then shut her eyes on a low moan of approval. “Goodness, what is that?”

      “Something I discovered in Greece. I insisted Mrs. Bevan learn how to make it.” Gently he tipped Sidonie’s glass against her lips until she drank.

      She opened her eyes. He leaned near, too near.

      “Something that good must be sinful.”

      “Sidonie, Sidonie, such a little puritan.”

      Shakily she took another pastry between her fingers. Eating from his hand made her feel like his lapdog.

      “You were in Greece?” She nibbled at the pastry. The spicy sweetness no longer astonished, but it was just as delicious.

      “You think polite conversation will keep me in line?”

      To her regret, learning about him was more tempting than any bonbon. “One lives in hope.”

      Slowly he drew away. “My motto.”

      She inhaled, filling lungs starved of air. Her relief evaporated when he lifted one of her feet across his bent knees. “What are you doing?”

      His hold turned ruthless before she could jerk free. “Making you comfortable, cara.” A few flicks of skillful fingers and he’d removed her scuffed half-boot.

      “That’s not a good idea,” she said, even as he slid the second boot away and set it down on the carpet beside its mate.

      From his kneeling position, he regarded her darned cotton stockings with unmistakable disapproval. Stupid to mind, but shame at this evidence of poverty rose like bile. With shaking hands she tugged her skirts down to cover her feet. “I suppose you’re used to painted harlots flaunting themselves in silk and lace.”

      His lips twitched. “Painted harlots? Your imagination runs amok.” He inched her skirts up past her ankles.

      Lurching forward, she slammed her hand down upon his. She realized her mistake when the heat of his palm radiated over her shin. “Mr. Merrick! You have no right to undress me.”

      “Only your stockings, cara. ”

      “Permitting the removal of my undergarments exceeds our bargain.” She wriggled free and struggled to stand. The squashy sofa proved appallingly difficult to escape. When finally she rose as clumsily as a drunken bear, it did her no good. Merrick caught her hand and tugged sharply. With an undignified bounce, she collapsed back onto the cushions.

      “Do you play the lawyer again, dolcissima?” he asked over her gasp.

      “Pretty Italian blandishments don’t disguise ugly intentions.” She hated how priggish she sounded.

      She expected more mockery but he merely leaned back on his heels and caught her foot again. He stroked her leg up to the knee and back. “Not ugly, surely.”

      The heat of his touch penetrated her threadbare stockings and made her toes curl. She’d never considered her feet and ankles particularly sensitive until Merrick launched his gentle exploration. Her skin burned. Her heart raced with a dizzying mixture of fear and excitement. Her hand lifted to unbutton her jacket before she recalled that he’d misinterpret any removal of clothing.

      He might be on his knees on the floor, but his assessing gaze held no hint of the supplicant. Instead he challenged her to throw caution to the winds and discover what he knew and what she didn’t. “Take it off.”

      “You move too fast, Mr. Merrick.”

      His fingers drew another elaborate pattern from ankle to knee. “We have a mere week, Miss Forsythe. Time’s wingéd chariot and all that.”

      Suddenly the relentless push and pull he practiced upon her was unendurable. Merrick lured her to deny everything she believed in return for the sheer pleasure of his touch. And for the sake of that half-smile tilting his mouth. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Please stop.” She hardly recognized the choked voice. “For pity’s sake, please stop.”

      He frowned and lifted his hand. “Sidonie, I won’t take it further.”

      “You say that but you don’t mean it.” Hurriedly she shoved her skirt down. “And I fall for your tricks like the veriest moonling.”

      In helpless frustration, Jonas stared up at Sidonie from where he kneeled. Every second in her company stoked his arousal. He wasn’t fool enough to imagine the fascination one-sided. She might say no, but her cheeks flushed with excitement and he couldn’t forget how only hours ago she’d kissed him. Now that her backbone lost its forbidding rigidity, she reclined against the sofa like an odalisque. An odalisque in a superfine hacking jacket.

      She should look ludicrous. What she looked was irresistible.

      He gritted his teeth and struggled for self-control. The urge to trail his fingers up those slender legs to the treasure at their apex beat like a tattoo. But with every step she took toward surrender, her uncertainty grew. If he pushed her too far, she’d run. Roberta or no Roberta.

      The promise of the greater prize made him set her foot down. Immediately she lifted her legs and curled them under her, out of reach.

      “You know I mean to seduce you.”

      “I know,” she said in a raw voice, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. He tried to tell himself he was too old and cynical to find the childish gesture touching. “I’ve always rather despised people who allowed passion to lead them astray.”

      He shifted to lean against the sofa, his shoulders resting near her bent knees. “Now you find passion is a ruthless master.”

      Her delicate scent wafted out to torment him. He couldn’t sit this close without touching her. He twisted, leaning an elbow on the couch, and caught her hand. To his surprise, she didn’t jerk away.

      “Fit punishment for assuming myself immune.” Her voice lowered. “Every man I’ve known has been contemptible. My father was weak and greedy and unable to countenance a contrary opinion. He was incapable of kindness or affection. While he didn’t hit my mother, his tyranny turned her into a cypher until she just faded away and died when I was twelve.”

      “I’m sorry.” He was. The Forsythe women had appalling luck with the men in their lives. And it wasn’t as if Sidonie’s entanglement with Jonas Merrick would do her any good.

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