Captive Of Sin Part 26

She drew a harsh breath. "I want you with me, Gideon."

"No."

"All right. I'll sleep in the parlor." She folded her arms and stared at him implacably.

"Don't be absurd," he said with the beginnings of real anger. She realized until now he hadn't taken her seriously.

Of course he didn't. He thought she was a fragile young thing who needed protecting. Before they were done, he'd learn his wife possessed a will at least as strong as his. And a heart as valiant. She meant to fight for her marriage. She meant to fight for his future.

"Get into that bed now," he growled.

She s.h.i.+vered although the room wasn't cold. "Make me."

He straightened, and she watched rage war with frustration on his face. "You're acting like a child."

She shrugged and scooped the shawl from where it lay at her feet. "Shall I take the chair tonight?" She spoke with a nonchalance she didn't feel.

His jaw moved as he ground his teeth. Another s.h.i.+ver rippled through her. There was forbidden excitement in taunting him.

"Devil take you," he grated out, taking a step closer.

She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and hoped to heaven he didn't take her at her word and make her sit up all night. The bedroom was warm, the parlor wasn't. She'd be blue within an hour, and after the last two nights, the prospect of stretching out in a soft bed was alluring.

She angled her chin and sent him the haughty stare she'd employed on a hundred importunate suitors. "Do you mean to herd me into the bed, Gideon?"

"You..."

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes?"

"You d.a.m.ned witch." His eyes glittered with fury.

Her belly quivered with nerves. And something far more powerful. "Hardly polite."

"Oh, h.e.l.l!"

He lashed out and grabbed her around the waist. In one furious movement, he swept her off her feet and bundled her against his chest.

She'd waited for this, prayed for it. Even so, the shock of his arms holding her high, the heat of his skin through his s.h.i.+rt, his sheer vibrating fury made her gasp.

His hands tightened, and he stared straight ahead. "You asked for this," he snarled, marching toward the bed.

Yes, she had. Thank the Lord, she'd got it. Tentatively, she slid one hand behind his neck, tangling her fingers in the silky hair at his nape. He didn't seem to notice.

"How dare you use brute force against me?" She wanted to sound outraged. The best she could manage was a dull sulkiness. While all the time, her heart danced.

"You should have thought of that before," he bit out.

The distant courtesy he cultivated before the world was gone. Instead, he was big, angry, commanding and breathtakingly male. A thrill sizzled through her right to her cold toes.

He reached the edge of the mattress. "Good night, Charis."

Unceremoniously, he dropped her to the tumbled sheets in a tangle of legs and arms and silky white nightgown.

For a moment, she lay winded, staring up at him. He'd had no difficulty carrying her. For all his leanness, he was very strong. The thought sent another thrill rocketing through her.

"How..." She paused and sucked in another breath. "How are you going to keep me here?"

"I could tie you up." He still sounded angry.

"You wouldn't."

"And gag you. Gagging seems a capital idea."

She pressed down into the mattress, wondering why the idea of her husband binding her made her belly tighten with excitement. "I'd bite you," she said breathlessly.

He closed his eyes as if praying for strength. "Devil take you, Charis..."

He turned away. Her heart sank as she waited for him to head for the door. After all her efforts, she'd lost. She ached with weariness. The day had been long and difficult for her as well as him. If she gave up tonight, would she have the will to fight again tomorrow?

Desperately, she scrambled for some argument to stop him retreating into the lonely fortress of the parlor. But she'd reached the limits of her persuasion. He'd touched her, and logic fled. All she knew was she'd do anything to make him touch her again.

He veered left before he exited the room and dropped onto a stool near the door. Violently he began to tug at his boots.

Relief welled. And wild rejoicing. She could hardly believe it. He stayed.

More, he confirmed her theory that at heights of emotion, he escaped his affliction. He'd touched her, carried her. He hadn't trembled or flinched. He'd been too furious to remember Rangapindhi.

Could a fever of desire achieve similar results?

The light was strong enough for her to see he was still annoyed. It was clear in his jerky movements and the flat line of his mouth.

"Do you want some help?" she asked in a shaky voice.

"Don't push it, Charis," he said grimly. He stood up on his bare feet and prowled across to the bed, umbrage bristling from every line of his long body.

She moved to give him room and snuggled under the blankets. The intimacy of his presence tonight seemed more intense than yesterday's reluctant consummation.

He slid into the bed and stretched out on his back. No part of his body touched hers.

"Aren't you going to undress?" she asked, although the question was inane. He lay next to her fully clothed. Clearly he meant to remain that way.

"No."

Heavens, he even kept his gloves on. She realized with a shock she'd never seen his naked hands.

That abruptly struck her as significant. Gentlemen wore gloves as a matter of course, and it was winter. But Gideon didn't feel the cold, and she'd seen him without neckcloth and in his s.h.i.+rtsleeves, both far greater faux pas than forgetting his gloves. It seemed odd he was punctilious on this one matter of dress.

Odd. Mysterious. Important.

He settled himself more comfortably. She was overwhelmingly aware of his physical presence. The way the mattress tilted under him. His scent, so familiar now. The regular rise and fall of his chest.

"Gideon..."

As he turned his head on the pillows to stare at her, she caught the glint of his eyes. "Good night, Charis."

He sounded resentful. He'd hate being manipulated into enforced proximity. She couldn't blame him.

But he was here. That was all she cared about.

She'd achieved her first victory. Now she had to work out how to ignite his pa.s.sion so the next time they shared this bed, he touched her as her husband.

How she wished she knew more about men. All she had to work on was instinct and last night's painful and embarra.s.sing joining. Surely the delicious feelings he aroused in her weren't meant to end in desolation. There must be pleasure in the act. Else why would people risk so much for pa.s.sion?

Perhaps one day soon she'd find out.

"Good night, Gideon," she whispered, linking her hands at her waist to stop them reaching for him.

Sixteen.

Since Rangapindhi, horror and pain had poisoned Gideon's dreams. This dream belonged to a different, more benevolent world. Slender arms cradled him. A soft female breast curved under his cheek. A woman's breath sighed in time with his.

The piercing isolation that scored his every waking moment vanished. In this bewitching fantasy, he rejoined the human race.

Dear heaven, let him not wake.

Not yet.

Convulsively, he tightened the arms he curled around the woman's waist. He buried his face deeper in the lush bosom. A peppery floral fragrance teased his senses.

A familiar fragrance.

He knew who he dreamt about. He'd known from the first.

"Charis..." he whispered into the frail silk veiling her breast.

His dream wife stroked his hair back from his forehead. The gesture's tenderness slashed his heart. Her fingers brushed his face, and he felt the breath stall in her lungs.

The dream's physical detail was so rich. So real.

Too real.

It was too late. He knew he wasn't asleep. The brief warmth was cruel mockery. Already he shrank from contact. Charis's scent became the oversweet stink of putrefying flesh. The touch of her hand, the grip of dead fingers.

His belly churning with nausea, he rolled away. As he sat up, he kept his back to her. He didn't want her to see the revulsion that he knew darkened his face.

"h.e.l.l," he groaned, burying his head in shaking hands. He tensed his throat against rising nausea.

"Gideon?" One word quivering with distress.

Of course she was distressed. She'd married a d.a.m.ned madman.

Through his agony, he was vaguely aware of how ma.s.sively aroused he was. Hard as oak. Hot as Hades. It was a spiteful caprice of his affliction that his body continued to react like any virile twenty-five-year-old's.

"Gideon, are you all right?"

"Yes." He was lying.

Sunlight burned behind the closed curtains. Bedclothes rustled as she rose onto her knees. d.a.m.nably evocative sound. Desire became a hammering demand in his veins, so loud it drowned out the caterwauling in his skull. He wasn't sure whether desire or demons inflicted worse torture.

"I don't believe you." The mattress dipped as she s.h.i.+fted closer. Then-G.o.d help him-the insidious warmth of her hand on his tense back.

He went rigid, fighting the urge to wrench away. Fighting the urge to whirl around, fling her onto the sheets, and ravish her.

"Don't you know not to touch me?" he forced out through clenched teeth. Every breath strained his constricted lungs. His heart pounded so hard, he thought it must burst.

"I know you spent the night lying in my arms," she said quietly. Without, confound her, taking her hand away.

He'd broken into an icy sweat when he returned to full alertness. Now heat pooled where she touched him, making his blood simmer.

"I was asleep," he growled, loving her touch, hating her touch.

"I know," she said patiently, her palm rubbing in tantalizing, tormenting circles. He wore a s.h.i.+rt but the sensation of her touch was so intense, he might as well have been naked.

He was amazed steam didn't rise from his quivering flesh. His c.o.c.k throbbed with the demand to be inside her. The memory of thrusting into her was so sharp, he could taste it.

"The difficulty is in your head. It's not in your body." She spoke slowly, as if trying to explain a mathematical problem to a dim student. How could she sound so calm when he was on the verge of exploding?

He could bear it no longer. He had to get away before he did something irrevocable, unforgivable. He lurched to his feet, spinning to confront her.

"I know that. It doesn't mean I'm making it up. G.o.d, Charis, if I could..."

He stopped and sucked in a shuddering breath. What use raging against fate? He couldn't do anything to alter his bleak future.

Although she must know his anger wasn't targeted at her, she paled under his onslaught. She knelt on the tumbled sheets in that sinful white nightdress. Gideon fought not to notice the provocative jut of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against the transparent silk. He lost the battle. His eyes feasted on those luscious curves, and the moisture evaporated from his mouth. At his sides, his hands opened and closed as he struggled not to grab her.

"Don't you see what that means?" she asked earnestly, not seeming to register his seething restlessness.

Her voice was faint over the deafening crash of his heart. Had he missed something she said while he ogled her like a randy adolescent?

"Gideon?"