Angel in Scarlet (Bound and Determined #4)(23)

She looked at him now, saw his eyes move between her and the bed.

He wanted her to sit on the bed. At least, she hoped he meant sit. It was so hard to tell. There seemed to be so many different levels of communication going on between the two men.

She glanced to Colton again. He nodded.

Her legs felt like tree branches, solid and heavy, as she walked to the bed and sat down on the end. It was a high bed, and she had to climb a little, leaving her feet hanging. Was there anything designed to reduce one to childhood like one’s feet not touching the floor?

She did her best to focus on nothing but Colton. If this was what she needed to do to play their game, she would manage. She could do this. She could.

She pulled a measured breath in, let it out.

Colton had said “touching.” Granderson was going to touch her, only touch her. That could not be so bad.

Did she need to pretend to enjoy it? Was that necessary for her to win? And was winning worth the price? She wasn’t sure, but she knew she could not back down. She never backed down.

Granderson walked from her field of sight, coming around behind her.

Look at Colton’s eyes. Look only at Colton’s eyes.

She felt the bed shift behind her, Granderson’s weight pressing down one side.

Don’t look. Breathe. Concentrate on Colton, on his dark-green eyes. They shone like bottle glass in the flickering light. She used to get lost in those eyes. Perhaps she could again?

Granderson settled behind her, not touching but nearly. She could feel his breath on her neck.

No, she was not getting lost in those eyes. Every shift of the bed filled her with awareness of what was happening.

“She’s nervous. I always love it when they’re nervous but willing,” Granderson said, his breath rustling her curls.

Colton turned from her, losing her gaze, and moved to the chairs by the fireplace. “I know exactly what you mean—that pulse in the neck, the shallow breaths, the wide eyes, the edge of fear but far from terror. The great power of the unknown.” There was a strange quality to his voice, something she had never heard before. Without looking back at her, he lifted a chair with absolute ease and carried it nearer to the bed, setting it down about four feet away. He took a seat, legs splayed, back upright, a king upon a throne—but an uncomfortable king. He lacked the sense of ease that always accompanied him.

He let his eyes wander over her, starting at the small dangling slippers and working his way up past slender legs under full skirts, small waist, not-so-small bosom. He paused there, as Granderson had, and smiled—but not his normal smile; this one seemed strained. His gaze moved up to her face, the smile fading as he looked into her eyes.

Again she sensed that he wanted her to give up, to demur, to leave.

This really was all about making her fail. She didn’t know if she wanted to cry or to scream.

And yet she could see the desire in his gaze, feel the power of his want. He did want her.

He might not want to want her, but he did.

A small surge of comfort and power came to her. Colton wanted her.

She might yet still win this game. She only needed to be strong.

Granderson shifted behind her. She felt his touch on one shoulder as he brushed away her escaped hair, leaving her pale skin bare. He leaned forward. She felt his—his lips upon her. The lightest of kisses on the slope where neck met shoulder. Another. A nuzzle. His tongue licked her, hot and damp. He buried his face in the nook of her neck, laving and licking.

It was not bad.

It might not fire her blood, but it was not bad.

He nipped her. She jumped.

That was not so good.

Granderson’s hands came about her, cupping her breasts.

She jerked.





Chapter 7


Granderson’s fingers came together to pull at her breast. Angela stiffened further, her eyes wide and nervous. There was no mistaking that.

He had seen flashes of desire as he watched her, but none seemed related to Granderson’s touches.

Angela did not want this—yet she was not leaving, not protesting.

He could not mistake that.

She was doing this for him.

She might take some small pleasure in it—he had not mistaken those flashes—but this was quite different than at the ball. The other night her every quiver, her every movement and glance, told him how much she was enjoying what happened, enjoying the danger—enjoying the display. She had been every bit as excited as he was. When she’d bared her breasts to him, when she’d touched herself, made those soft sounds of pleasure, she had wanted more—much more.

This was different.

There might be some physical reaction, but deep down she seemed untouched, watching and observing as much as he.

Granderson slipped his hands up to the top of her dress and then inside, cupping those delicious breasts beneath her bodice.

And he didn’t like it. He, Matthew, Lord Colton, did not like seeing another man touch his woman.

He almost shook his head at the thought. It might not have been his normal indulgence, but he’d always enjoyed watching another man touch a woman, prepare her. He normally liked to do the f*cking himself, but there was something about seeing another man’s desire for what was his that had always left him hard and throbbing.

With Angela, that was not the case. He wanted it to be his hands upon her, his mouth, his tongue. He wanted to feel her every reaction, to know that it was he who caused it.