Bisclavret

Chapter 22

"What?" I whisper, my head spinning. Where he stands with me? What can he mean, saying something like this right now?

The eyes staring down at me change, growing lighter in color until they're a bright amber. He tips forward as if to close what little distance remains between us, but I wrench away from him, and his arms slide loose, letting me go.

"Do I frighten you so much still?" he asks, his voice low and rough.

I pause several paces away. "Not nearly as much as you used to."

"Then where do we stand? You've played your part brilliantly the last few weeks, but when it's just you and I alone..."

His eyes are still amber, and I'm having difficulty focusing on his words because of them. Finally, they sink in. "But I thought...wasn't it all supposed to be an act?"

"Was it?" Those animalistic eyes pin me where I stand as he stalks forward on silent feet. He reaches me, circling around out of sight, and I hear him drag in a deep breath. "You can't deny there's something between us."

"Can't I?" I say, mimicking him, but the words fall flat.

Without warning, he grabs my neck and pulls me backward. I should probably yank myself free again, put as much distance between us as possible in this small room, but something about the strength of his grip stops me, makes me go still and boneless instead.

Fear. That's what I should feel. Only I don't. Desire fills its place, with just a hint of danger that only seems to heighten my senses, making me even more aware of him. He leans over me, chest crowding my upper back, nose pressing into my hair, fingers digging into my skin as he holds me in place. The heat rolling off him smothers me in warmth, and his power follows in its wake, curling around me, setting my nerve endings on fire.

His thumb lifts from my neck, pushing at my jaw, tilting my head sideways to give him greater access. Lips, warm and firm, press against my skin and then part, and I shiver as sharp teeth slide over my neck in idle threat. God, what is he doing to me? And why can't I bring myself to stop it? This is madness. I could be ruined. If anyone walks in on us right now, I'll have no choice but to marry him, and I promised myself I wouldn't let myself get swept up like this ag –

His other hand curls around my hip and yanks me backward, straight into his erection. Lust rolls me under and drags me into its depths, the last of my willpower floating away like bubbles fleeing to the surface. A thready moan slips from my lips.

"Do you know how hard it's been for me, keeping my hands off you?" he growls into my skin. From the feel of him branding my low back, I think I might have some idea. "Last night, when you jumped off the balance beam, I nearly pinned you to the wall and licked the sweat from your skin. You were so proud of yourself, and then you caught me staring at you, and I smelled your reaction."

Apparently, I haven't done as good a job fighting back my desire for him as I thought. Then again, it's hard to hide what you're feeling from someone who can probably taste your arousal in the air.

His grip on my throat loosens enough for me to pull free. I don't. Instead, I turn and face him. His fingers slide over the back of my neck, thumb rising to stroke over my lips. I tilt my head away before he can smear the tint Henrietta painted on them. His eyes are like topaz ringed in black. In the flickering firelight, they look ancient, so much older than the face they stare out of. What have they seen? How much has he kept hidden from me about his life? I don't even know what he is; I shouldn't feel such a magnetic pull toward him like he and I are inevitable. But I'm quickly learning that should and shouldn't have little to do with what is and isn't.

I want this man. With him behind me, all I could picture was the maid I'd seen bent over the kitchen island. Henri is even larger than the footman who'd been at her back. What would it feel like to have him driving into me from that angle, still gripping my neck?