Wicked Surrender (Regency Sinners)(13)

She shrugged as she slid beneath the bedclothes. “I bruise easily.”

Or he had been overly heavy-handed with her.

His first thought was to kiss every one of those bruises on her otherwise unblemished skin. His second was to grovel and beg her pardon for having treated her so harshly.

Unfortunately, his third and final thought on the subject was a reminder of why the two of them were here together at all.

Damn Stonewell.

Damn the Crown.

And damn damn damn Napoleon Bonaparte for wanting to rule the world.

Families had been ripped apart by the Corsican’s ambitions. Not only from losing members of their family to his many battles, but also because loyalties and affiliations within those families had caused them to be stretched and broken by Napoleon’s thirst for power.

Dante turned in the bed to face Bella. “I apologize for hurting you. I merely wanted… It was not done intentionally.”

Her lashes were lowered as she stared down at the sheet her fingers were nervously pleating over and over within itself. “The bruises will fade, Dante.”

He studied her for several seconds before answering her. “Unlike the words I spoke to you seven years ago, which will never be forgotten or forgiven?”

She raised her lids to look him directly in the eye. “I do believe, if not for Jeremy’s proposal, I might have thrown myself upon the mercy of a convent.”

Dante could not help himself. He laughed. “Are you being serious?”

“Completely.”

His humor faded to be replaced by a pained frown. “I meant only to protect you.”

“I needed protection from the dowager.”

“Was she really so awful?”

“Yes,” Bella sighed. “What were you protecting me from by rejecting me?”

“Me,” he stated simply.

Bella quirked one eyebrow. “Are you so very dangerous, then?”

Dante could feel a nerve pulsing in his clenched jaw. “Are you sure you want me to answer that question, given where we both are?”

Where they were was precisely the reason Bella was asking the question. If anyone had told her yesterday that tonight she would be sharing a bed with Dante St. Just, she would have laughed in their face.

She was not laughing now.

She was too aware of Dante, too aroused by him, to find anything in the least amusing about this situation.

She had believed herself to be over the feelings she had once had for Dante. Had believed he had succeeded in killing those feelings with the cruelty of his words. Instead she found herself tense, expectant, longing for something she had long ago denied still wanting.

Here, in the privacy of this bedchamber, with Dante lying in bed beside her, and able to feel the warmth of his body, to gaze upon his naked chest, she knew she had been lying to herself all these years. The heat and dampness between her thighs, the aching of her engorged nipples, told her six years of marriage to another man had not lessened her desire for Dante. She still wanted him as much as she ever had.

If Jeremy had lived, Bella knew she would have remained faithful to him for the rest of their lives. She had too much to thank him for, to love him for, to have ever betrayed their marriage vows.

But Jeremy had now been dead for over a year.

And Bella was still very much alive.

She reached out and placed a tentative hand against the heat of Dante’s chest, at once able to feel his increased tension and the way his heart began to beat more rapidly beneath her palm. Evidence, along with his arousal earlier, he wanted her as much as she now wanted him?

There was only one way to confirm or deny that.

“Make love to me, Dante,” she invited huskily.





Chapter 5


Jesus Christ!

Dante’s cock had risen to attention the moment Bella stepped out from behind the screen wearing only a robe over her nightgown, and with that glorious dark hair a curling cascade about her shoulders. But her words now caused his cock to harden to an almost painful degree.

“Make love to me, Dante.”

Words he had never expected to hear again from Bella’s lips.

An invitation it would physically pain him to refuse.

Conscience in the form of his mission for the Crown, and desire in the wild racing of his heart—which Bella must surely be able to feel—and the throbbing demand of his cock warred within him.

Desire and his throbbing cock won out. As they always must when it came to Bella.

Still, he hesitated. “Only if you are sure? I want no accusations in the morning of my having used force or coercion.”

Her gaze was forthright as it continued to meet his unwaveringly. “I will make no accusation of force or coercion.”

His eyes narrowed. “A short time ago, you gave every impression that you hated me and could not get away from me fast enough.”

“You kidnapped me,” she defended.

She had a point, Dante conceded, knowing he would be less than happy himself if someone took his free will away from him.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I do not hate you.”

Dante could see the tips of her breasts, hard and engorged and pressing against the material of her nightgown, as evidence she spoke the truth. “You want me?”

Color flared in her cheeks. “You want me too.” It was a challenging statement, not a question.