Honor Bound(52)

The sound that emanated from his throat was that of an attacking mountain cat. He gripped the upper part of her arms and yanked her hard against him. "You're my wife."

"But not your possession," she flared. "Let me go."

"I'm entitled."

He tunneled his fingers through her hair, pressed them against her scalp and drew her face beneath his. Reflexively she reached up to ward him off. Her hands landed on either side of his torso, just under his arms. His skin was smooth and warm. The muscles were so hard they begged to be explored and admired. She wanted to sink her teeth into them. Her determination wavered.

But this wasn't right. They were married, yes. With that marriage license came certain privileges, yes. But shouldn't love be involved? And if not love, at least mutual respect? She knew that Lucas had only contempt for what she was and where she had come from. She refused to be merely a vessel for his lust.

And even if the wrongness of it weren't enough of a reason to discourage him, there was the other. Since it was the most expedient, that's the reason she would use.

A heartbeat before his mouth ravished hers, she said, "Think, Lucas! Tony is barely a month old." He paused. She saw his gray eyes blink with misapprehension, so she hurriedly clarified her point. "You asked me today if you had hurt me before, and I said you hadn't. That was the truth. But if you … if we … do this, you could hurt me. I haven't had time to completely heal."

He stared down into her face, his hot breath striking her in steady pants. When he had finally digested what she was telling him, he glanced down toward her middle.

Gradually his grip on her arms relaxed and he set her away from him. Nervously she wet her lips with her tongue. "For christsake don't do that," he growled. He ran his fingers through his hair, then covered his face with both hands. He pressed his fingers deep into his eye-sockets before slowly dragging his hands down his cheeks. "Get into bed."

She didn't argue. After quickly checking on Tony to make certain he was sleeping soundly, she slid between Alice Greywolf's sunshine-smelling sheets and pulled the top one over her. The air conditioning even required the light blanket.

She closed her eyes, but knew when Lucas peeled down his jeans and stepped out of them. Through the screen of her lashes, she saw his nakedness. Long limbs. Wide chest. A shadowy triangle between powerful thighs. And an aroused virility. Then the room was pitched into darkness when he switched out the lamp.

All she could think about as he lay down beside her was that he was naked and that he was hard. Though they didn't touch at any point, she could feel his body heat. It scorched her skin. The rhythm of his breathing both electrified and soothed. She held her body rigid until his weight shifted and she knew that he had turned away from her.

Only then did she relax enough to eventually fall asleep.

* * *

Her eyes drifted open to meet the pinkish-gray, predawn light. Her breasts were full. Tony had slept through the night without a feeding, but he would be waking up soon. She hoped so. Her discomfort had awakened her from a sound sleep.

She lifted her eyelids a fraction more and was alarmed to see how close to her Lucas was lying. His chest was scant inches from her nose. She could count each crinkly hair. Secretly she thanked his father for giving Lucas enough Anglo blood to have a beard and chest hair.

The bed covers were folded back to his waist. His smooth, dark skin looked touchable beneath the rumpled white sheet. She longed to lay her hand in the valley of his waist. But, of course, she didn't.

Lying perfectly still, she let her eyes wander up his tanned throat to the proud chin. His lips were beautifully shaped, if a bit stern. His nose was long and straight, not flat and wide like many Apaches'. Again she blessed his father's seed.

She gasped softly when her eyes lifted to his and found them steadily watching her. His hair looked very black against the snowy pillowcase. "What are you doing awake?" she whispered.

"Habit." Only an act of will kept her from flinching when he raised one of his hands and picked a wavy strand of hair from her cheek. Looking at it analytically, he rubbed it between his fingers. At length, he laid it with unwarranted care on her pillow. "However, it has not been my habit of recent years to wake up with a woman lying beside me. You smell good."

"Thank you."

Another man might have asked, "What perfume are you wearing?" or said, "I like your fragrance." But her husband was a man of few words. His compliments weren't lavish, but they expressed exactly what he wanted to say. "You smell good." She cherished the simple compliment.

He touched her. His fingers explored lightly, with the inhibited curiosity of a child allowed in the formal living room for the first time. Eyebrows. Nose. Mouth. He gazed at what he touched.

He glided his fingers back and forth across her throat and chest. "So soft," he said, as though marveling over the texture of her skin.

With one fluid movement of his arm he threw the covers off. She willed herself to lie still when he pulled her gown down. This was her husband. She couldn't withhold herself from him. And she discovered that she didn't want to.

He wouldn't hurt her. She knew that. If he were a truly violent man he could have hurt her so many times in the past. She remembered his gentleness when he tended the scratch on her arm. Besides, he had sworn he would never harm her, and she believed him. So she lay perfectly still while his eyes devoured her breasts and his finger traced a vein that rivered toward her nipple.