Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(57)

“Would you like me to come with—”

“No. I’ll be but a moment.” If she should succumb to tears, she didn’t want her sister to witness her display of weakness. They were only just beginning to know each other. Grier would rather Marguerite not know that she had fallen in love with a man so above her station that she was guaranteed nothing but heartache.

She glimpsed her father as she fled, standing near the back with other gentlemen less inclined to appreciate the evening’s musical performance. She ignored his scowl as she fled. Ignored meeting anyone’s eyes directly, most specifically a dark-haired, gold-eyed prince she’d shut out from her life. She blinked burning eyes, her steps eating up the parquet floor as she hurried from the ballroom. She wondered if she could beg off for the night and go home—tell everyone she was ill with whatever allegedly ailed Cleo.

“Grier!”

A small squeak escaped her at the sight of Sev striding toward her.

Whirling back around, she increased her pace, hoping he would get the hint that she didn’t want to see him . . . especially with her eyes burning and tears that threatened to fall at any moment.

He said her name louder, a barked command. A quick glance revealed he was running now, his face set in hard, determined lines.

Lifting her skirts, she gave in to a full run, not caring how absurd she was being, running from him like he was a crazed murderer.

Rounding a corner, she seized the latch on a door, fumbling with it, hoping to dive inside and hide.

Just as she got the door opened, he was there. Every hard imposing inch of him pressed at her back. Instantly she was enveloped in him. He was no longer a memory, but a live, real, flesh and blood man pressed hotly against her.

Her heart spiked against her throat. Panic warred with the inexplicable fury in her heart.

She whipped around, brought her palm crashing against his face with a loud crack.

He grabbed her wrist before she could strike him again and pushed her back into the room. Darkness engulfed them, thick and pervasive as a cocoon.

They wrestled, he trying to grab one of her flailing hands desperate to hit him, punish him again—to hurt him for all the pain in her heart.

Sobs choked her throat. He hauled her against him, her arms trapped between their bodies.

He grasped her face with his one free hand, forcing her still, immobilizing her. His mouth claimed hers in a fierce stamp of his desire. Heat seared her at the contact and she was helpless to resist. She kissed him back with equal fervor, their lips brutal and thorough, teeth clanging in their feverish need for each other.

The throbbing darkness enhanced everything. Her skin sizzled where he touched. He eased up, freeing her hands. It was as though they read each other’s minds. Her fingers flew to his trousers, freed him as he dove beneath her skirts.

Fabric ripped. Her drawers, she supposed—didn’t care.

The barest hint of air caressed that exposed part of her before he was there, plunging himself deep.

She arched, crying out beneath him as he worked himself over her. Their bodies made savage sounds as they came together again and again in a fierce coupling.

His hands gripped her bottom, lifting her up for his penetration. She went willingly, moved with his every motion, reveling, exulting, exploding into a million particles.

The air itself seemed to shudder around her as she convulsed, trembling in his arms. And still, it was not over. He flipped her so that she rode him. After a moment’s awkwardness, she found her rhythm, encouraged by his deep, guttural sounds of satisfaction.

He cupped her breasts through her dress, abraded the nipples through the sheer muslin until she moaned and rode him harder, finding that spot and hitting it as hard as she could manage.

“Mine,” he whispered so softly she wondered if she had heard him correctly through all their sounds and noises.

Ripples of sensation burst through her again, spreading from the core of her to each and every nerve ending. With an exultant shout, she collapsed. Draped over him, it was some moments before she could even move.

His light touch at the back of her head spiked her to awareness.

She lurched upright and scrambled off him, rearranging her skirts over her. “What have we done? In the midst of the dowager’s musicale, no less? You’ve gone mad and you’ve dragged me with you!”

“It was bound to happen.” His disembodied voice stroked the air, infuriatingly even. “It will happen again if we try to ignore each other.”

She rose unsteadily to her feet. “What do you recommend? We schedule regular trysts?” She thought of the fair-haired lady waiting for him in the dowager’s ballroom and her anger returned. “That might impede your courtship.”

She thought she caught the gleam of his lion’s eyes in the dark. “You’re jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous?” she snapped. “I broke it off with you. It’s you who needs to stop hounding me.”

Her hands quickly assessed her hair. There was hardly a strand properly in place. Holy hellfire. One look at her and anyone would surmise she had been engaging in relations of an illicit nature.

“How could I have been so stupid?” She furiously attacked her hair, readjusting the pins without a hope.

“Grier.” Suddenly his warm hand was on her arm. “We can’t go on ignoring each other. I’m going to keep hounding you, as you put it.”