The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [112]
She curled into the warmth beside her and felt his lips nibbling hers, his hands moving slowly over her. He had always known just how to gently, painstakingly arouse her without fully waking her. In that breathless moment between sleeping and waking, he would take her up and over, so that she would be vibrantly aware and fully engaged the instant she awoke.
She felt that hard, muscled body imprinting itself on hers. Felt his mouth begin the slow journey down the column of her throat to nestle in the little hollow between her neck and shoulder. Absorbed the delicious tingles as he trailed his mouth lower, his tongue circling her breast.
Her breath was coming faster now. Harder. Her body arched up to his.
With a slumberous smile, she opened her eyes.
And froze.
Not Barclay.
The stranger. The spirit. Murmuring words she couldn’t quite comprehend, though she knew instinctively they were words of love.
When she stiffened and pushed away, his head came up sharply, and in that instant she saw the same slumberous sensuality in his eyes that she’d felt moments before, followed by the same sense of shock and surprise.
“You monster! How dare you!” She shrank back against the mound of pillows.
“How dare I? I’ll remind you that you initiated this. And were enjoying it every bit as much as I, woman.” His features twisted, from the handsome man who’d been seducing her to a look that ranged between fury and frustration.
Bree tossed aside the covers and slid out of bed before shooting him a look of contempt. “You have the morals of an alley cat.”
“I’d say the same for you, madam. Not that I’m surprised. All women, it would seem, know how to use their wiles to get what they want. If you think to drive me from my home in this manner, ye’d best think again. I’ve nowhere else to go.”
“Nor do I. And now that I know just how low you’re willing to sink, I’ll be better prepared to fight you.”
Without a backward glance, she flounced from the room, slamming the door behind her with such force it rattled the windows.
In the parlor she paced, arms crossed, mind awhirl. How was she to remain here, knowing she would have to face this evil creature both day and night? How was she to find any peace if she had to continue to deal with him while dealing with her own survival?
She dropped wearily into a chair positioned in front of the fireplace and let her head fall back, deep in thought.
Had he seduced her? Or had she, as he’d accused, been the seducer? In truth, she could vaguely recall in sleep sensing a warm body beside hers. Could remember turning into that warmth and running her hands over his chest, thrilling to a sense of power when he’d responded. She’d snuggled closer then, wanting desperately to feel him, heartbeat to heartbeat. In such a state, what man could refuse?
But he wasn’t a man. He was a spirit. One who’d come unbidden to her bed.
Weren’t such creatures above worldly desires?
Perhaps he wasn’t just a spirit, but an evil one, sent here to destroy her.
Whatever he was, this devil was not to be trusted. Nor, she decided, could she trust herself while asleep.
As the midnight hours ticked by, her racing heartbeat began to slow and her troublesome thoughts faded. Lulled by the patter of rain against the windowpanes, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Bree awoke to a shrill whistling that had her eyes going wide. It took her a moment to get her bearings. Then it all came into focus. The cottage in the Highlands. The scene in the bed she’d shared with Jamie Kerr, and later, this solitary chair where she’d obviously spent the rest of the night.
The angry stranger was