Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(34)

He reacted to the comments as well…felt an answering burn in his blood to show her, in the most basic, primitive way, that she was his, that she belonged to him. At that moment, it had nothing to do with proving his dominance to their audience. He could give a damn about any of them in that moment. He wanted to do it for himself—wanted her for himself.

The blood pumped thickly through him at the thought of stripping her naked and spreading her alabaster thighs before him. Of lodging himself deeply inside her and stroking her flesh with his until her cries filled the air. Of watching her dark eyes glaze over with passion, chasing away the hollow, empty look that he had come to loath. That reminded him of another.

“This has gone far enough,” she whispered near his ear, that soft voice of hers sending sparks through him. “Put me down at once and cease treating me in this humiliating fashion.”

He answered her with a swift slap to the bottom that earned him a gasp. With his hand still on the curve of that rounded bottom, he addressed the clan’s laird. “Our room?”

“Aye,” the old man chuckled, wiping at the corners of his eyes where tears of mirth pooled. “You’ve earned it.” Nodding, he snapped his fingers at one of the serving girls. “Show them to their chamber.”

A flame-haired girl rushed forth and Griffin followed her up a winding set of stairs, the stones slick with condensation and mildew. She sent him several intrigued glances over her shoulder as they progressed down a dimly lit corridor, the lighted sconces along the walls casting eerie shadows before them.

“Here you go, love,” she said, iron hinges creaking as she opened a thick wood door to a large chamber, an impressive four-poster bed positioned in the center.

Furs covered the enormous bed and various areas of the stone floor. A fire burned in a hearth large enough for him to stand in, its pervading warmth flowing throughout the chamber, further warming his desire-heated body.

“This will do nicely. Leave us,” Griffin commanded, his hand still caressing Astrid’s bottom, enjoying the feel of her flesh tightening and contracting beneath his palm.

With a knowing smirk, the maid left, the door thudding shut after her.

He strode farther into the room and dumped his burden unceremoniously on the bed. She vaulted off the mattress as if he had tossed her in a pot of boiling water. Face flushed, eyes glowing dark as lit coals, she squared off in the center of the room, her skirts an angry swirl as she moved.

At first it appeared she would come at him with fists swinging. Then she caught herself. Stopping, she inhaled and straightened, smoothing one hand over her fair hair, gathering her composure in the simple gesture even if it did nothing to tidy the honey strands of hair that haloed her face.

He felt a flicker of annoyance. He would have preferred her mad and fighting. Not this return to the frigid duchess rarely given to emotion. He knew she had it in her. Had seen it only that morning—tasted it when she woke so warm and pliant in his arms. As sweet and responsive as any hot-blooded woman could be.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he suffered her chilly gaze, suffered the coldness and aloofness she wore like a shield of armor. He cocked a brow and grinned, mocking her, daring her shell to crack, daring her to let go.

Her eyes narrowed in on his face.

“What’s wrong, Duchess?” Something dark and dangerous unfurled inside him. “Never had a man toss you on your back before?”

The stinging crack of her palm against his cheek sent his head snapping back.

“Christ,” he ground out, fingering his cheek as he dropped his gaze back down to glare at her.

“How dare you!” Her arms dropped to hang straight at her sides, fists so tight that her knuckles went white where the blood ceased to flow. She took several stiff strides back.

“Me?” He shook his head, marveling at her gall. He took a step forward, followed by another and another, intent on closing the distance between them. “If it weren’t for me, you would be on your back servicing some Highland brute right now.”

Her nostrils quivered with anger. “I seriously doubt it would have come to that.”

“No? You were willing to take that risk, were you?” He grasped her arms and gave her a little shake, the burn in his blood heating to dangerous degrees at her foolish words…to say nothing of what the feel of her in his hands did to him. “Damn fool, your mistake is not knowing when to hold your tongue.” He shook his head. “Have you never considered you might not know all the answers? That someone else might know more about a situation than you?”

For a moment, he thought something flickered in her eyes. An emotion he couldn’t name. Then the dark veil returned, hiding everything from him, hiding her.

Rather than answer, she tugged her arm free, inching back until she bumped into the bed. Which was fine with him. The bed was precisely where he wanted her. Ever since he had carried her from the hall, he’d been consumed with one purpose.

With a hand on her shoulder, he shoved her down, watching in satisfaction as she toppled back in wide-eyed wonder.

“I take that as no,” he growled.

“I don’t claim to know everything—”

“No?”

“It’s not in my nature to let a man I hardly know lead me,” she said in that starchy voice of hers. As if she were addressing one of her servants and not an equal, not a man burning with a feverish hunger for her.