A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(45)

He nodded. “Took three days, but we found a surgeon who promised not to amputate.”

She traced a horizontal line across his thigh, above the bullet wound. There was no scar tissue there, but a leather strap had worn him bald in a telltale stripe of pale, baby-smooth skin. A matching band of hairless skin circled his upper calf. She touched that, too. He winced, not at the pain, but at the exposure. He hoped she wouldn’t understand the significance of those bands.

“You’ve been wearing a brace,” she said.

He didn’t respond.

“Why did you remove it? Bram, you can’t simply ignore an injury of this magnitude.”

He had to ignore it. His purpose was not only training men, but leading them, inspiring them. How could he accomplish that with such an obvious weakness?

“I’m healed,” he told her. “It scarcely pains me anymore.”

She made a gruff, incredulous noise. “Liar. You’re in great pain. And more than the usual amount today, I’d wager, after all that marching about the countryside. The water must have felt good.”

“It did. But not as good as you.” He reached for her, suddenly eager to take the aggressive role. He’d been lying here helplessly for much too long.

She batted his hand aside. “You should still be wearing the brace. Look at this swelling.” Her fingertip traced his red, misshapen knee. “You’re not ready to march without it.”

Her pitying touch, those limiting words . . . Something in him snapped.

He seized her wrist in a grip so tight, she gasped. “Don’t tell me what I’m ready to do.” He squeezed harder still. “Do you hear me? Don’t ever tell me what I can’t do. Those surgeons told me I’d never walk again. I proved them wrong. My superiors think I can’t command troops. I’ll prove them wrong, too. If you mean to treat me like an invalid—a man you can coddle and nurse and stroke without any hint of danger . . .” He yanked on her wrist, pulling her atop him. He cinched his other arm around her waist. “I’ll have to prove you wrong, as well.”

Her eyes flashed. “Release me.”

“Not a chance.”

She struggled in his grip, and her short, quick breaths gave him a luscious display of her br**sts.

“That won’t work, love. My leg might be injured, but I’m strong as a bull everywhere else.”

“Even bulls have their weaknesses.” He felt her wriggling, insinuating one of her lithe, slender legs between his. The hot friction of their bodies, through just the thin layers of her frock and a linen sheet, had him aching. She made a quick strike, trying to knee him in the groin. Oh, she understood how to hurt a man. But he was one move ahead of her. He scissored his good leg over hers, trapping her lower body. Then he flipped them both, putting her on her back.

“There. I have you,” he said, pinning one hand over her head. “And what will you do now?”

“I’ll scream. There are two footmen just outside this room. My father’s sleeping down the corridor.”

“Go ahead, scream. Call the footmen and your father in. We’ll be found in a very compromising position. My career will be over, you’ll be ruined, and we’ll be stuck together for life. We can’t have that, now can we?”

“Lord, no.”

Bram stared down at her. Odd. He’d spent his entire adulthood avoiding romantic entanglements. But here he was, completely tangled with this woman, and the idea of being forced to marry her didn’t horrify him the way it ought. In fact, if he let himself envision spending a lifetime of nights in a graciously appointed bedchamber, atop a soft, clean mattress, with her lovely scent of herbs in the air and her pale body writhing under his . . .

It was the strangest, most foreign and unlikely image. But curiously, he didn’t hate it.

She squirmed beneath him. “Brute. Beast.”

Chuckling, he kissed her on the forehead. “That’s more like it.” He’d much rather have her scorn than her pity. Pity made him feel helpless. Provoking her ire made him feel alive. And she was so wonderfully easy to provoke.

“God, having you under me, in a bed . . .” He kissed her, just at the corner of her lips. “You drive me mad with wanting, Susanna. We’d be so good together.”

He gentled his grip on her wrist, but kept it pinned with just the weight of his arm atop hers. He slid one thumb along the line of her jaw, covering her racing pulse. Then dipping lower, caressing the tender slope of her throat. Her skin was so soft. Had she bathed? he wondered. Or would she still taste of the sea?

“Very well,” she said. “You’ve made your point. You’re a big, strong man, and I’m a helpless female. Now let me go.”

“I’ll release you, if that’s truly what you want. But I don’t think it is.”

Flipping his hand, he slid the backs of his fingers down her chest, all the way to her bosom. He skimmed the exposed edge of her chemise. The sheer, lacy fabric rose and fell with her rhythmic breaths, like froth riding the edge of a wave.

If she wanted him to stop, she could stop him. Her arms were virtually unrestrained. He levered his weight onto one elbow. A quick dart to the side, and she’d be free.

She glanced in that very direction, obviously thinking the same.

But she didn’t move. She wanted this, too.