Authors: Monica Burns
She’d wouldn’t have been astonished by his suggestion she be his mistress, but
never
in her wildest imaginings would she have thought a marriage proposal. It was unbelievable. Worse, it frightened her because deep inside she wanted to say yes. Terrified by the thought, her fingers crushed the delicate yellow silk of her gown in her fisted hands.
“Last night meant nothing to me,” she lied. Her firmly spoken words hung in the air between them like a sharp pendulum swaying between them ready to slice one of them in two.
“Don’t lie to me, Julia,” he snarled. “Last night
did
mean something to you. It meant something to both of us.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken.”
“The
hell
I am. You’re afraid.”
“You’re
wrong
.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Was her fear so obvious? He bent his head toward her, and she hastily stepped backward until she found herself braced against the door. He immediately pressed his advantage, his hard hands grasping her shoulders. Despite his obvious frustration, his touch was firm, yet gentle, as he kept her from fleeing. He narrowed his gaze at her.
“You’re frightened I made you feel something last night.”
“Really, St. Claire. You think too highly of yourself.” She clenched her jaw at the way he flinched.
“You forget whose bed you slept in last night.” His forefinger traced a feather-light trail down her cheek. “You’re a woman of deep passions, Julia. You
were
the woman in the portrait.”
“No,” she said in a tight voice. “It was an illusion. You saw what you wanted to see.”
“Is
this
an illusion?”
The swiftness with which he bent his head and slanted his mouth over hers stole her breath away. The expert way his tongue teased her lips apart made her shudder with desire just as she had last night. Sweet heaven, if possible her body hungered for him even more than she had only a few short hours ago.
The scent of him was maddening. Spicy hot with a hint of cedar. Last night he’d driven her over the edge with passion, and his kiss emphasized how that would never change. There would always be this need, this craving for more where he was concerned. His mouth nipped at hers until a soft moan rippled from her throat.
Unable to push herself out of his arms, she could feel her willpower eroding with each second she was in his arms. His touch set her on fire until her body was crying with a need that surpassed what she’d experienced in his arms last night. Another moan broke past her lips as he caressed the side of her neck with his mouth.
“I want you, Julia. I want to feel your fiery heat clutching at my cock as I slam into you over and over. I’m never going to get enough of you.”
The seductive words escalated the desire unfolding inside her. Sweet Lord. When he talked like that, it excited her. Despite every logical reason not to, she relished his masterly behavior, the way he commanded her to kiss him or touch him.
He did so in a way that convinced her he was also thinking of her pleasure, not just his. Tiny frissons skated over every inch of her as his hands undid the front of her dress. Warm fingers stroked her skin, and she shuddered beneath the touch. She didn’t want to feel this desire, this craving, but it was impossible to shut her feelings off where he was concerned.
A familiar, wet heat settled in the sensitive area of her sex, and her belly tightened with desire. As he unbuttoned her dress almost to her waist, she whimpered at the way her breasts ached for his touch. Dear lord, she was desperate for his mouth on her. He nibbled at her skin where the tops of her breasts rounded up at the edge of her corset.
“Christ Jesus you taste good,” he rasped. A large hand tugged her closer until his erection pressed intimately through the layers of clothing against her thigh. “See what you do me, Julia. I know you want me as badly as I want you.”
There was a note of confidence in his voice that broke through the haze of passion clouding her head. Her arousal was blinding, but a tiny voice of reason whispered through the fog of desire. If she didn’t stop him now, there would be no turning back. The struggle to give in to her passion tore at her heart. If only she could give herself to him once more. If only she had the courage to take that risk. To do as he asked.
But she didn’t. She had to stop this mind-numbing passion from consuming her entirely. If it continued, she’d be lost for certain. She would lose the small wedge of independence she’d achieved since Oscar’s death.
That
, she would not give up.
Desperately she tried to push her way up out of the depths of the passion engulfing her. His hands moved against her skirts and a cool brush of air blew across her calves. Frantic to stop him and end this blissful, but dangerous interlude, she tried to push his hands away from her.
Her resistance simply resulted in him pressing her against the wall with his body. With ease, he caught her hands and pinned them over her head. It was a position of complete control. Utter domination. Exactly like her husband had enjoyed tying her up before—
Her mind went numb.
Desire fled in a heartbeat. Morgan’s action revealed him for the man he was. He intended to take what he wanted. He was no different from her husband. The thought clutched at her chest painfully. For the first time she understood just how much trust she’d placed in him. It was why she’d been able to be with him as she had last night. Somehow, he’d made her feel safe, but she’d been wrong to trust him.
Frantic to escape, she tried to pull her hands free of his strong hold. His strength overpowered her. The futility of it struck her like a cold bucket of water dashed in her face. It was happening all over again. The pain. The humiliation. The degradation. Harsh emotions ate away at her and whirled a chaotic path through her body. She’d thought Oscar’s death had meant she would never feel this sickening feeling again, but here it was, welling up inside her like a flood.
Tears she never thought to shed again welled up inside her, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight. She would not shed tears over him. How foolish she’d been to think he wasn’t like Oscar. And she had. She’d actually thought him different. When they’d made love last night—
no
, she didn’t want to think about last night. It had been nothing more than a dream.
Revulsion and fear gnawed at her as she froze beneath his touch. His mouth sought hers, and she didn’t respond to his kiss. He could dominate her physically, but he would never rule her thoughts. Helpless to stop him, she knew the only way to shut out the pain and humiliation was to close her mind off to everything around her.
Self-preservation forced her to wrap an all too familiar cloak of indifference around her heart and soul to wait until the storm had passed. It was a form of mental survival she’d practiced far too many times with Oscar. She didn’t protest. Protesting only increased the pain and cruel torment. She simply went limp in his arms. Turning her face away from him, she waited. It would be over soon enough.
Chapter 10
Nibbling at her ear, Morgan pressed his hips into Julia’s bared thigh. Damn, he was ready to spill his seed any minute. His cock throbbing for release, he drank in her faint lavender scent. He would never be able to smell lavender again without thinking of her. If he could only make her see how much she meant to him. How the sight of her made him want to forget the world completely.
Falling asleep with her in his arms this morning had given him a peace he’d never experienced before in his life. It had felt as though he’d been on a long, difficult voyage and had finally reached safe harbor. Eager to show how much she meant to him, he sought her mouth with his. She didn’t turn her head to meet his kiss. Instead, she remained motionless.
A thread of surprise wove through him as he explored the soft skin of her cheek. With his free hand, he tenderly caressed her throat down to her shoulder and paused. Something was wrong. He lifted his head, and frowned. Her profile resembled a skillfully crafted marble statue, while the tension in her muscles held her rigid and unyielding.
Concern rapidly suppressed his desire as he realized how icy her skin was beneath his fingertips. Pulling away from her slightly, he captured her chin and turned her face toward him. Her gaze was glassy—devoid of emotion. She’d retreated from him. Physically and emotionally. Fear coiled tight in his chest as he stared down at her. God help him. Had she really meant what she’d said? Had last night meant nothing to her?
“What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”
“Do what you like then release me.”
“
What
?” He jerked his head backward as if she’d slapped him. “
Christ Jesus
, I’m not going to take you against your will, Julia.”
“Aren’t you?” There was an inhuman vacancy to her voice as she stared right through him. “You pin me against the wall. Confine my hands. What else am I to think?”
His blood ran cold, and he quickly put several feet between them and watched her slowly lower her hands from over her head. How could she think all he wanted to do was rut? He’d been excited—eager to touch her. Eager to assuage his desire,
and hers
. It would always be like that for him. He’d never be able to get enough of her. Whether in bed or just being close to her, she was everything to him.
“I’d
never
hurt you.” He bit out with a growing fear that held him stiff as he studied her pale features.
Guilt pounded him at the thought he’d made her think he would force himself on her. She turned her head away from him and remained silent. One hand clutching her wrist, she rubbed it in a manner that enhanced his shame. The expression on her face was one of shock, and his body ached as if he’d taken a punch to his midsection.
He’d hurt her, and he’d just said he never would. His throat closed up at the thought. Last night she’d been warm and passionate in his arms, but today he barely recognized her. Where had the woman in the portrait gone. What had made her disappear? His mind raced along in search of an answer.
Westgard. Her husband was behind this. He was certain of it. Over dinner, every time Julia had mentioned her dead husband, there had been a tension in her that said her marriage had been less than happy. But her reaction just now suggested there was something else behind the strain he’d witnessed in her last night at the brief mention of her husband. What the hell had Westgard done to her?
“How did he hurt you?” His harsh demand made her flinch, and she avoided his gaze as she shook her head.
“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”
“The
hell
it doesn’t.” He grimaced at the way his fierce tone made her recoil. “Tell me what that bastard did to you.”
Not looking at him, he watched as she inhaled a deep breath. “He would to tie me to the bed, while he…”
“
Christ Jesus
,” he rasped at the expression of torment on her lovely face.
A violent fury welled up inside him that he knew had to be visible on his features. He quickly turned away afraid he might frighten her more than he’d already done. Westgard was fortunate to be dead. If the man were still alive, Morgan would have slowly tortured the man to his death for abusing Julia. He’d always known there was something driving her to hide behind her cool exterior, but he’d never imagined this.
A chill swept through Morgan. He’d been the catalyst for bringing her painful memories to the surface. He shoved a hand through his hair. The idea that she associated him with her bastard of a husband twisted his gut with excruciating precision. It was little wonder she’d fought him every step of the way over the last few weeks. He would have to tread carefully. Making her understand that he wasn’t like Westgard would take every bit of diplomacy he possessed.
Morgan turned to face her, and the look of pain on her face made him ache. He wanted to go to her, pull her in his arms and simply hold her. But the tension holding Julia rigid told him any attempt to touch her would drive her further away from him. It was clear she was near a breaking point, and he had no wish to cause her any more pain.
“Julia, I’m not like Westgard.” She didn’t answer, her gaze focused on the floor. He tried again. “I want to marry you. I want to make you happy.”
“
No
.” The harsh rejection was a painful as a kick in the teeth would have been.
“Listen to me,” he pleaded. “I will never do anything to hurt you. I swear it.”
“I…I cannot. Please don’t ask it of me.” The hint of indecision in her tone gave him hope. Perhaps he could persuade her. Her hesitation was enough for him to risk everything.
“Would it make a difference if I told you—if I—” He cleared his throat. “If I said I loved you.”
For a moment, he didn’t think she was even going to look at him. Silently, he willed her to do so as his taut muscles ached from the tension flowing through him. She lifted her head slowly to meet his gaze, and his mouth went dry with fear. The hazel eyes looking at him were dull and vacant.
“I will never marry again.”
“Julia, you can’t—” Even to his ears, he could hear the desperation in his voice as she lifted a hand to stay his protests.
“I want you to go now. I don’t want to see you any more.”
The flat, emotionless words lashed out at him like a bullwhip. He wished they had been a whip. The sting would have been far less painful. What the hell was he going to do? How was he going to make her understand that he wasn’t like Westgard? That he’d never harm her. Dazed, he shook his head.
“I’ll go, for now—but I’ve not given up on us.”
“I’m sorry, Morgan. I won’t change my mind.”
He flinched at the finality of her words. The resolve on her face was just as unalterable. He flexed his jaw with frustration. This wasn’t over as far as he was concerned. She needed time. He’d give her that. But in the end, he’d find a way to make her see they were meant for each other. He had to. If he didn’t, the world held little for him without her.