The goulash sped that process considerably. The first spoonful had her gasping and reaching desperately for the wineglass. The second, more cautious spoonful went down with less of an assault by the paprika and garlic. By the third, she’d recovered enough to appreciate the subtle flavors of caraway seed, marjoram and sautéed onions. By the fourth, she was spearing the beef, pork and potatoes with avid enthusiasm and sopping up gravy with chunks of dark bread torn from the loaf Frau Kemper had thoughtfully included with her stew.
She limited her wine intake to a single glass but readily agreed to a second helping of goulash. The Agár sat on his haunches beside her stool as she spooned it down. When she didn’t share, his liquid brown eyes filled with such reproach that she was forced to sneak him several dripping morsels. Dom pretended not to notice, although he did mention drily that he’d have to take the hound for an extralong run before bed to flush the spicy stew out of his system.
As casual as it was, the comment started Natalie’s nerves jumping again. The loft boasted only one bed. She’d occupied it last night. She felt guilty claiming it again.
“Speaking of bed…”
Dom’s spoon paused in midair. “Yes?”
Her cheeks heating, she stirred the last of her stew. He had to be wondering why she hadn’t taken Sarah up on her offer of a hotel room. At the moment, she couldn’t help wondering the same thing.
“I don’t like ousting you out of yours.”
“Oh?” His spoon lowered. “Are you suggesting we share?”
She was becoming familiar with that slow, provocative grin.
“I’m suggesting,” she said with a disdainful sniff, “I sleep on the sofa tonight and you take the bed.”
She hadn’t intended her retort as a challenge, but she should have known Dom would view it that way. Laughter leaped into his face, along with something that started Natalie’s breath humming in her throat.
“Ah, sweetheart,” he murmured, his eyes on her mouth. “You make it very difficult for me to ignore the instincts bred into me by my wild, marauding ancestors.”
Even Duke seemed to sense the sudden tension that arced through her. The dog wedged closer to Natalie and propped his head on her knee. She knuckled his forehead and tried desperately to blank any and all thought of Dom tossing her over his shoulder. Carrying her to his bed. Pillaging her mouth. Ravishing her body. Demanding a surrender she was all too willing to…
“Don’t look so worried.”
The wry command jolted her back to the here and now. Blinking, she watched Dom push off his stool.
“My blood may run as hot as my ancestors’, but I draw the line at seducing a woman who can’t remember her name. Come, Dog.”
Still racked by the erotic images, Natalie bent her head to avoid looking at Dom as he snapped the Agár’s lead to his collar. She couldn’t avoid the knuckle he curved under her chin, however, or the real regret in his eyes when he tipped her face to his.
“I’m sorry, Natushka. I shouldn’t tease you. I know this is a frightening time for you.”
Oh, sure. Like she was going to tell him that fright was not what she was feeling right now? Easing her chin from his hold, she slid off her stool and gathered the used utensils.
“I’ll wash the dishes while you’re gone.”
“No need. Just stick them in the dishwasher.”
“Go!” She needed to do something with her hands and her overactive, overheated mind. “I’ll take care of the kitchen.”
* * *
She did the dishes. Spritzed the sink and countertop. Drew the drapes. Fussed with paperbacks she’d stacked earlier that afternoon. Curled up in the chair and reached for the laptop. And grew more annoyed with each passing moment.
Her glance kept darting from the wide sofa with its worn leather cushions to the bed tucked under the eaves at the far end of the loft. She didn’t understand why she was so irritated by Dom’s assurance that he wouldn’t seduce her. Those brief moments of fantasy involving marauding Magyars aside, she didn’t really want him to. Did she?
Lips compressed, she tried to balance her contradictory emotions. On the one hand, Dominic St. Sebastian constituted the only island in the empty sea of her mind. It was natural that she would cling to him. Not want to antagonize him or turn him away.
Yet what she was feeling now wasn’t mental. It was physical, and growing more urgent by the moment. She wanted his hands on her, dammit! His mouth. She wanted that hard, muscled body pinning hers to the wall, the sheets, even the floor.
The intensity of the hunger pumping through her veins surprised her. It also generated an enormous relief. All that talk about a possible past trauma had raised some ugly questions in her mind. In Dom’s, too, apparently, judging by his comment about her deliberately trying to downplay her looks. The realization that she could want a man as much as she appeared to want this one was as reassuring as it was frustrating.