Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [88]
He lunged at her, and she dodged an instant too late. In the next instant, she was slung up under one brawny arm, and he was hauling her like a sack of rags to the door she'd entered.
It stood open. Luckily, it opened into the room, and only one of her arms was trapped against his body.
She pushed the door shut.
"Bloody hell!"
Swearing was all he could do about it. He had only one usable hand, which was occupied. He couldn't move the door handle without letting go of her.
He swore again. Turning, he marched to the bed and dumped her there.
As she fell back onto the mattress, her dressing gown fell open.
Dain's furious black gaze stormed over her. "Damn you, Jess. Curse and confound you." His voice was choked. "You will not— you cannot— " He reached out to grab her hand, but she scrambled back.
"You're not going to put me out," she said, retreating to the center of the huge bed. "I'm not a child and I will not be locked in my room."
He knelt on the edge of the mattress. "Don't think, just because you've crippled me, I can't teach you a lesson. Don't make me chase you." He dove at her, grabbing for her foot. She pulled away, and the black mule came off in his hand. He threw it across the room.
She snatched the other one off and threw it at him. He ducked, and the slipper hit the wall.
With a low growl, he flung himself at her. She rolled away to the opposite side of the bed, and he lost his balance. He fell face-first, sprawling across the lower half of the big mattress.
She could have leapt from the bed and escaped then, but she didn't. She had come prepared for a battle royal, and she would fight this one to the bitter end.
He dragged himself up onto his knees. His shirt-front had fallen open, revealing a tautly muscled neck and the dark web of tantalizingly silky hair her fingers had played with the night before. His big chest rose and fell with his labored breathing. She had only to glance up at his eyes to understand that anger was but the smallest part of what worked on him at this moment.
"I'm not going to wrestle with you," he said. "Or quarrel. You will go to your room. Now."
She'd lost the sash of her dressing gown, and the top part had slid down to her elbows. She shrugged out of it, then sank down upon the pillows and gazed up at the canopy, her mouth set mulishly.
He moved closer, the mattress sagging under his weight. "Jess, I'm warning you."
She wouldn't answer, wouldn't turn her head. She didn't have to. That deadly tone of his wasn't quite as ominous and intimidating as he wanted it to be. She didn't have to look, either, to understand why he'd paused.
She knew he didn't want to look at her, but he couldn't help it. He was a man, and had to look, and what he saw could hardly fail to distract him. She was aware that one of the narrow ribbons holding up the bodice of her negligee had slipped down over her shoulder. She was aware that the gauzy skirt was tangled about her legs.
She heard his breath hitch.
"Damn you, Jess."
She heard the indecision in the husky baritone. She waited, still fixed upon the black and gold dragons above her, leaving him to battle it out with himself.
A full minute and more he remained unmoving and silent, but for the harsh, unsteady breathing.
Then the mattress shifted and sank, and she felt his knees against her hip and heard his muffled moan of defeat. His hand fell upon her knee and slid upward, the silk whispering under his touch.
She lay still while he slowly stroked up over her hip, over her belly. The warmth of the caress stole under her skin and made her feverish.
He paused at her bodice, and traced the eyelet work over her breast. It tautened under his touch, her nipple hardening and thrusting up against the thin silk…yearning for more, as she did.
He pushed the fragile fabric down, and brushed his thumb over the hard, aching peak. Then he bent and took it in his mouth, and she had to clench her hands to keep from holding him there, and clench her jaw as well, to keep from crying out as she had done the night before: