Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(10)

He caught her up in his arms, holding her to his chest as though fearing she would move again and make further noise.

She gasped, gripping his arms to shove him away. Only he wouldn’t budge. She was a prisoner in his arms. Unless she wanted to struggle and alert Kirkendale of their presence . . . she was stuck.

Her fingers flexed against the superfine of his jacket, marveling at the hardness of his biceps beneath her fingers.

Trevis had not felt nearly so firm and muscled, and he was a physical man. She shook her head once as if to shake it free of such senseless thoughts. What was she doing making comparisons between the two? Neither was a viable option for her. In fact, both men had made it clear she was unacceptable.

Heat stung her cheeks, and she renewed her attempts to disengage herself with care, wiggling against him with constraint, still determined to break free of the unwanted intimacy.

He pulled her closer, his arms steel bands around her. One of his hands crept to the back of her head, pressing their faces horrifyingly close. His cheek rasped against hers. Her skin tingled where their skin touched. Her belly dipped, twisted. A ragged breath escaped between her lips.

She wanted to demand he move away, but fear of being discovered held her voice in check.

His lips brushed the sensitive whorls of her ear as he whispered, “Cease your movements lest you wish to be caught and explain what we are doing in this wardrobe together.”

Shaking from head to foot, she gave a hard nod, not trusting herself to speak in a voice that wasn’t a shrill squeak.

“Good girl,” he murmured in that low voice that pulled at her belly.

With one hand at her head, his other spanned her back. She felt the hot imprint of each finger through the silk of her gown. All else faded but this. But him. The hard length of him painted onto her.

She no longer registered any sounds outside the wardrobe. The world was gone. There was only this—them—captives in this tiny space.

His mouth remained at her ear, not moving, but still touching. Still driving her mad.

She tried to pull back once again. Surely he would see that she would be careful, that she dared not make another sound. But he fastened a hand in her hair while his broad palm at her back deepened its pressure, keeping her pinned against him.

Strength radiated from him. Unusual for a dandified prince. Unusual for any of the dandified lords she’d met about Town.

Upon arriving in London she quickly realized she could overpower most of the lily-handed prigs. As a former game master for a vast estate, she was accustomed to working and pushing her body to the limits every day. And yet the hard male body against hers did not belong to any idle blueblood.

At least he wasn’t moving against her, actively touching her. She could withstand this. She could tolerate mere closeness to him. As long as he kept still. He was only holding her to help keep her motionless, after all—

Then he moved.





Chapter Four

Air hissed between her clenched teeth.

His warm breath teased her ear as his head lowered, and lowered. Parted lips touched the flesh of her neck, skimming lightly. Another sharp breath pushed past her lips.

What are you doing?

The words formed in her mind, but she couldn’t speak them. She could not risk speech.

She wished his mouth still pressed hotly to her ear. Better that than this. Sensation zipped along her nerves, reminding her that she wasn’t immune to a handsome man. A handsome man who happened to be everything that was wrong for her. He was a prince with only disdain for her. But here she was, reacting, reveling in his sensual assault as if he hadn’t said any of those horrible things about her. Which begged the next question: Why was he even taunting her with seductive caresses?

His mouth did not move into an actual kiss. Nothing so bold as that. Yet that didn’t lessen the absolute shock of his soft lips grazing the side of her throat. Nor did it stop the shivers from racing along her skin.

When she felt the light, erotic scrape of his teeth on her neck she yanked her head away and stared up at his shadowed face. His eyes gleamed in the dark, the only thing she could discern in the gloom, and yet she couldn’t read beyond their inscrutable depths. She couldn’t determine what they said, what he thought.

She trembled in his arms like a leaf clinging to the last vine amid a storm. If he wasn’t holding her up, she would collapse. Was this what she had become? Was this what loneliness did to a female? Shattered her? Broke her? Made her cave at the first man who— No.

She gave herself a mental shake. The Crown Prince of Maldania was no ordinary man. He didn’t look ordinary. He didn’t talk ordinary with that hypnotic voice of his. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop herself from reacting to him. Sad but true. She simply couldn’t allow herself to forget that he was an arrogant snob who considered himself her better.

She felt a new touch then. His fingers brushed the side of her face. A caressing graze that sent a ripple of shock through her.

His warm, brandy-laced breath fanned her lips, alerting her that his face had changed position. She swallowed a suddenly dry throat and held herself as still as stone. Not about to move and accidentally brush against the warm press of his body. He might begin to think she deliberately wanted to touch him. That she liked this. Liked him.

Intolerable! She possessed more pride than that!

After the way he talked about her that would just be . . . pathetic. Not to mention vastly inappropriate. Not that anything about this situation was appropriate, but she wouldn’t have him think she was a breeding cat so desperate for his attentions.