Stranger in My Arms(42)

Quietly Lara took measure of his drunken determination and squared her shoulders. She would do it, if only to prove that she wasn’t afraid of anything he could do to her. “Very well,” she said evenly.

“Come to my room in ten minutes.”

He grunted in response, watching as she walked away from him with her spine held stiff and straight.

Lara struggled with a feeling of unreality as she entered her bedroom and closed the door. She wondered if she could really make herself stand before him in a gown that had been designed to flaunt a woman’s body… a gown created to arouse a man.

It was more provocative than nakedness. Hunter had never asked her to do something like this before. She supposed it was a result of the sexual experience he had gained in India, or perhaps this was merely a way of reasserting his control over her, to expose and shame her until she had no pride left.

Well, it wasn’t going to work. He could humiliate her any way he chose, but he wouldn’t touch the core of self-respect within her. She would put on the vulgar garment and despise him every minute that she wore it.

Trembling with outrage, Lara went to the armoire, where she had buried the negligee in a stack of chaste undergarments. Locating the garment, she drew it out with a grimace of distaste. The fragile web of lace and silk was so fine that she could have easily pulled it through a ring.

Awkwardly Lara undressed herself, having no desire for Naomi’s assistance. She left her clothes and shoes in a heap on the floor.

The negligee slid over her body in a cool whisper of silk, making her shiver.

It fastened with tiny ribbons, which barely held the bodice and waist together. The skirt-if that was what it could be called-parted on both sides when she walked, exposing the entire length of her legs and part of her hips.

Should she let her hair down? She was tempted to unpin the braided coronet atop her head and brush the long locks until they helped to conceal her body.

No… Hunter would only be amused by the cowardly attempt at modesty.

Lara went rigid as someone entered the room without knocking.

Drawing close beside the armoire, half hidden by the massive piece of furniture, she peeked around it cautiously. Her husband sauntered to the Hepplewhite chair, carrying a bottle of wine. He had removed his coat and cravat, the neck of his white shirt gaping to reveal his brown throat. Seating himself in a casual sprawl on the chair, he smiled insolently as he saw her tight-lipped face. Not bothering to hide his anticipation, he took a long pull on the bottle and gestured for her to come out of hiding.

The silent command increased Lara’s furious agitation. After all, she was his wife, not some prostitute paid to perform on cue. “What shall I do?” she asked in a low, resentful voice.

“Walk toward me.”

There was a fire in the grate, too far away for Lara to feel its heat.

Goose bumps rose on her chilled skin.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to obey, taking one step, then another, the fine Aubusson carpet prickling beneath her bare feet As she came near him, the firelight shone through the transparent black silk. She knew he could see everything, the flashes of ivory skin, the shape of her body, the dark triangle between her legs.

Her face burned as she stopped before him.

Hunter sat like a statue, his face and hair dappled with light from the dancing flames. “Oh, Lara,” he said softly. “You’re so damned beautiful, I…” He stopped and swallowed, as if it were difficult for him to speak. His faint smile had died away, and he set aside the wine bottle as if his fingers had become nerveless. He barely seemed to breathe as his gaze swept from her bare feet to her br**sts, lingering at the pink tips that strained against the delicate lace.

The room no longer seemed cold, but Lara continued to tremble.

“I made a promise not to touch you,” he said hoarsely, “but I’ll be damned if I can keep it.”

If he had grabbed or forced her in any way, she could have resisted.

However, he reached for her so slowly, his fingers settling cautiously on her hips, as if he would frighten her with any sudden movement.

His face was downturned, making his expression impossible to read.

She heard his breathing, though, fast and scraping in his throat.

“I imagined this for so long,” he said thickly, “seeing you…

touching you…” His large hands slid down to her bu**ocks, fingers shaping the taut curves. Exerting the slightest of pressures, he brought her closer between his spread knees. Mesmerized, Lara felt his hands begin a slow, careful sojourn over her body, gliding over her back, the indentations of her waist, the fullness of h*ps and thighs, even the hollows behind her knees. The heat of his palms sank through the thin barrier of silk as if it weren’t even there.

Her heart pounded and she thought of pulling away, but her traitorous body wouldn’t seem to obey. Hunter looked at her, his eyes filled with clear, dark heat, even as his hands began a slow upward slide to her br**sts. He cupped their softness, lifting the pale weights encased in black lace. She gasped, her knees quaking until it took all her strength to keep from sinking into his lap. His fingertips stroked and lightly pulled the hardening centers, making the ni**les stand in rosy peaks. He leaned forward, his breath like steam as it wafted over her skin.

His mouth covered the tip of her breast, surrounding her with heat and moisture that seeped through the screen of lace. She felt his tongue stroking, circling, sending ripples of pleasure through her aching flesh.