Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(65)

“I can’t decide whose neck to wring first—yours or hers.”

“You’re offended that I’m here,” Sara said in a small voice.

“I’d rather stand in a bucket of coals than spend one night under the same roof with you!”

“You dislike me that much?”

Derek’s lungs began to work hard as he stared into her small, lovely face. The violent joy of being near her caused his blood to sizzle. His fingers flexed repeatedly into the softness of her shoulders, as if relishing the texture of her flesh. “No, I don’t dislike you,” he said, nearly inaudible.

“Mr. Craven, you’re hurting me.”

His grip didn’t loosen. “That night after the assembly…you didn’t understand a bloody thing I told you, did you?”

“I understood.”

“And still you came here.”

Sara stood her ground, although it took all her strength not to wilt beneath his scorching glare. “I had every right to accept Lady Raiford’s invitation,” she said stubbornly. “A-and I won’t leave, no matter what you say to me!”

“Then I will.”

“All right!” To her amazement, an urge to taunt him overcame her, and she added, “If you have so little control over yourself that you find it necessary to run away from me.”

His face was wiped clean of all expression, but she could sense the fury that blazed within him. “They say God protects fools and children—for your sake I hope it’s true.”

“Mr. Craven, I thought you and I could at least manage to be civil to each other for one weekend—”

“Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because we managed it quite well before the assembly, and…” Sara sputtered into silence as she realized how tightly he was holding her. The tips of her br**sts grazed his chest. Her skirts flowed gently around his legs.

“I can’t manage it now.” He gripped her inflexibly, until she felt the hot, leaping pressure of his arousal against her stomach. His eyes blazed like emeralds in his austere face. “I can protect you against everything except myself.”

She knew that his grasp was deliberately painful. But instead of resisting, she relaxed against his hard body. More than anything she wanted to twine herself around him and crush her mouth against the place where the white linen of his cravat met smooth brown skin. Her hands crept up his broad shoulders, and she stared at him wordlessly.

Derek feared he was a hairsbreadth away from attacking her. “Why didn’t you marry him?” he asked hoarsely.

“I don’t love him.”

He shook his head in baffled anger, and opened his mouth to deliver a scathing reply. Apparently thinking better of it, he closed his mouth abruptly, only to open it again. Were the moment not so tense, Sara would have laughed. Instead she stared up at him helplessly. “How could I have gone through with it when I don’t love him?”

“You little fool. Isn’t it enough that you’d be safe with him?”

“No. I want more than that. Or nothing at all.”

His dark head bent lower over hers. One of his hands released her shoulder, and his fingertips grazed the delicate curls at her temple. He was tight-lipped, as if enduring an exquisitely painful torture. Sara made an inarticulate sound as she felt his knuckles brush the highest edge of her cheek. The brightness of his gaze was like harsh sunlight. She felt as if she were drowning in the depths of burning green. His large hand cradled her cheek and jaw, his thumb testing the downy surface. “I’d forgotten how soft your skin was,” he murmured.

She stood there trembling against him, beyond all sense of pride and propriety. Impulsive words hovered on her lips. Suddenly she was distracted by the feel of a strange object underneath her palm, pressed flat against his chest. There was a hard lump in the inside pocket of his coat. She frowned curiously. Before Derek realized what she was doing, she reached inside the garment to investigate.

“No,” he said swiftly, his large hand gripping her wrist to stop her.

But it was too late; her fingers had already encountered the object and identified it. With a disbelieving look on her face, Sara pulled out the tiny pair of spectacles she thought she had lost at the club. “Why?” she whispered, amazed that he was carrying them in his breast pocket.

He met her gaze defiantly, his jaw set. A small muscle twitched in his cheek.

Then she understood. “Are you having problems with your sight, Mr. Craven?” she asked softly. “Or is it your heart?”

Just then they both heard the sound of distant voices down the hall. “Someone’s coming,” he muttered, and released her.

“Wait—”

He was gone in an instant, as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Still clutching the spectacles, Sara bit her lip. In her wild mixture of emotions—relief that he still wanted her, fear that he would leave—nothing was as strong as the desire to comfort him. She wished she had the power to reassure him that his love wouldn’t hurt her…that she would never ask for more than he could give.

Harrassed by a flood of minor difficulties, Lily searched for her husband and found him alone in the hunting room. He was seated at a desk with an empty cigar box in his hand. Alex smiled at the sight of her, but his expression changed to a questioning frown. “What is it, sweetheart?”