Forever His(73)

His dark eyes burned into hers before he dropped his head to take her mouth in a hungry kiss. “It is but a game,” he said against her lips, “and it satisfies me not.”

Celine desperately tried to keep her senses from spinning out of control. That single kiss sent a shock wave through her body, but his cold, casual comment struck at her heart like a knife. “That’s all it is to you, isn’t it? A game. And one partner is the same as any other.”

“Partner?” he muttered, nuzzling her cheek, nibbling a quick, searing path to her earlobe, her neck, lower. “ ‘Tis more an opponent.”

An opponent! Celine made a low sound of frustration and hopelessness and tried again to push him away, but he held her still and kept kissing her, tracing a damp trail along her throat, over her collarbone, across her shoulder.

She burned with resentment at what he was doing to her, at the melting heat that began between her thighs, at the feel of his bare, hot skin against hers. She resented the delicious friction of the crisp hair covering his chest against the wisps of silk and lace barely covering her breasts. Resented the fact that she noticed the lean, muscular feel of him and the tangy spice of his scent—and reveled in them.

Oh, God help her, but she wanted him, needed him, wanted and needed this.

Because she cared for him, more deeply than she had dared allow herself to admit. And that she resented more than anything. Because he viewed her in exactly the same way he viewed all women, as nothing but—

“An opponent?” she finally managed to choke out, though it was almost impossible to get her brain and her tongue to work together and form words. He was kissing his way to her breast, his lips and tongue and teeth blazing a trail of sweet torment. She tried to stay still, tried not to respond, because every small movement she made only brought another part of her into contact with another part of him. “That’s ... that’s how you see women? All women? Opponents? Conquests? Not as friends or partners or—”

“You make too much of it, Christiane.” He kept her hands trapped against the wall, kissing and nuzzling every part of her as if he meant to enjoy her one inch at a time. Nudging her teddy out of the way to expose her nipple, he licked her, long and slow.

A ragged breath escaped her and she arched against him helplessly, feeling herself swirling down into the pool of sensual fire he kindled between them. He stole away fear, anger, breath, voice, and left only longing in their place.

“ ‘Tis merely a game,” he continued in that chiding tone, kissing her tender skin softly. “A pleasant amusement that engages both luck and strategy. Why do you wish to discuss it now?”

“Luck?” she exclaimed on a strangled breath. How could he be so calculating? His choice of words shredded any illusions she had about him ever having the ability to feel something for her. “Is that all it is to you? Luck and strategy?” Like this? she wanted to shout. Like what you are doing to me now?

“Aye, especially when played with more than one, in teams.”

All the air left her body in a single shocked exhalation. “Let me go!” She tried to wrench her arms free, glaring down at him in fury. “I am not going to listen to another word about how you amuse yourself by having orgies with groups of women! Let ... me ... go.” She said each word distinctly, through clenched teeth.

Her outburst earned her a look of stunned surprise. He straightened, staring down at her. Then after a moment an odd gleam came into his eyes. “Christiane,” he said lightly, “precisely what sort of game do you think it is, ‘playing tables’?”

“The sort that you’re good at. The sort you like to play with tavern wenches. The sort you’re playing with me right now!”

For some reason, that made him laugh. “Indeed.” Keeping her captive, he bent his head to kiss her cheek, then continued his tingling exploration of her bare skin, still chuckling at his private joke. “You are very quick to believe the worst of me, wife.”

“You make it easy enough!”

“Aye,” he admitted, “it would seem that I do.”

“You’re just as quick to believe the worst of me!”

He lifted his head, and his smile faded. He didn’t say anything for a very long time. His eyes searched her face, those brown depths hot with desire, potent with longing—and swirling with a new look she had not seen before.

When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped to a lower, gentler tone. “In truth, I am not certain what to believe about you anymore, my lady wife.” He released her wrists. “But mayhap we have both been too quick in our judgments.”