Lord of Fire,Lady of Ice(12)

“And you heed me, lady bride. I will tolerate your bad temper no longer. You will treat me with the respect due your lord husband, both in public and private.” Brant moved around the bed and stalked toward her. He backed her against the stone wall and placed his hands on either side of her head. His chest rose and fell in aggravation. “And if you ever try to rid your body of my child, I will be rid of you in the same manner. Only I will not be as kind, for it will be a painfully drawn out death. Do you understand?”

Della nodded, breathing heavily at his nearness—partly because she’d never been studied as intently by a man and partly because she found herself enjoying his perusal. His heady scent engulfed her senses as she tried to back away from him, tried to bury her body in the unforgiving stone. He smelled of sweat and horses, of mint and the earth, not at all unpleasant like she’d first insinuated.

“Do not,” she whispered, afraid that he might ravish her to prove his power over her.

Brant threw back his head in mocking laughter. He glanced down at her breasts and licked his lips as if wanting desperately to taste them.

“What?” she demanded as her cheeks colored with hot embarrassment. She pushed against his chest. He didn’t budge. “Why are you staring?”

“I have never raped a woman and I never will. Women come freely to my bed, as will you given time. I will make you plead me for my favors.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. His warm breath covered her neck and her chest. Her eyes strayed to his lips. She smelled the mead on his breath, and saw the hard texture of his firm mouth under the whiskers. “I will touch you in passion until you beg for my embrace, nay, the very length of my sword thrusting within you. And when you carry my heir, you will birth him and you will be a mother to him.”

“Perversion,” Della swore, even as she shivered at the hidden promise in his voice. It was clear he meant what he said. She’d heard of such carnal pleasure whispered by the maids of the keep, but she’d also seen firsthand how unpleasant the mating act could be for a woman. In her mind, the pain outweighed the pleasure tenfold.

Then why did she keep looking at his lips? Della self-consciously licked the side of her mouth as she glanced up into his piercing eyes. She wondered what his lips would feel like against hers. Her body’s response to him defied the logic she knew to be true.

This is one of your pagan curses you are casting over me!

Della realized her hand lay motionless on his chest above the steady beating of his heart and she hastily snapped it back. Clenching it into a fist to resist touching him again, she couldn’t erase the feel of his heartbeat on her palm. He was so close, so real. She lifted her chin, stubbornly refusing to rise to his taunting. A small smile formed on his lips.

“Yea, I will not consummate the marriage until you beg me.” His sensual whisper held untold promises. He tilted his head so his parted lips settled by the curve of her neck, not touching her save for his breath falling hot and heavy against her flesh. “And when I am done touching the full span of your person, beg me you will.”

“I will never beg for you.” Her words had lost a bit of their chill.

“Nay?” Brant asked against her throat.

Della shook her head. She felt the brief shift of his mouth, as if he smiled, but he didn’t move his head. With his forefinger, he touched her neck, lightly massaging over her pulse several times. When her heart quickened in response, he slowly moved the finger over her collarbone.

“Mayhap you are mistaken. Your skin is as soft as I’ve imagined it to be and warm. You are not the icy maiden people whisper about, are you?”

Della shivered, unable to move. His lips drove her mad with their teasing, airy caresses. Her heart was so loud she barely heard him and her mind centered over the feathery brush of his finger. It sent a fire coursing through her blood. Maybe he hadn’t even spoken. Maybe she’d imagined it. Her hips shifted toward him of their own accord.

What was she doing?

Brant took advantage of her confusion, drawing his finger down the low collar line of her dress. Della arched her chest into him. She couldn’t think, couldn’t fight. His breath continued to fan her throat, making her pulse race out of control, like the thunderous hooves of wild stallions. Short whiskers tickled her flesh, not unpleasant, but a distinct contrast to his soft breath. He spread his palm over the top curves of her breasts. Her nipples peaked and strained against the linen of her gown. He was so close, so warm. She wanted him to explore more of her body. She wanted him to touch her.

He flicked his tongue over her pulse. At the same time, he delved his hand into the front of her tunic. Moving his fingers over her hardened nipple, he caressed her breast.