Shadowdance(58)

The very idea of his physically restraining her made Mary balk. Cursing inwardly, she halted halfway down the dark, unused corridor that led to the archives. Where had she been going? She’d been running blind. Talent stopped as soon as she did. He was just behind her, close enough to feel his energy and heat.

Ahead of her lay a long stretch of floor, and escape. But he’d only follow. Her breasts heaved against the tight structure of her bodice as she waited. Oddly, she had the fleeting notion that perhaps he did not know what to say either.

A theory crushed when he spoke directly at her ear. “Did you wonder if it was you I thought of when I took myself in hand?”

The gears of her heart ground to a halt as her mouth went dry and her sex grew wet. Staring blindly ahead, she could not formulate a reply. She hadn’t thought… Had he been?

Talent’s smooth voice turned to a gravel-laden purr. “That it was your plump lips I imagined stretching over the head of my cock? Sucking it in deep.”

Her knees buckled. She held fast to her skirts, closing her eyes as if it would drown him out.

“Drawing back out…” His hot breath buffeted her cheek. “Tormenting me to completion.”

“Stop.” She could not think of it. Her breasts swelled against the edge of her bodice, her nipples throbbing points of pain.

The tips of his fingers touched her side, and her body jerked. “Have I offended your delicate sensibilities?” He traced the seam of her bodice, a light glide. Beneath the silk, her skin tightened.

“Your…” She drew in air. “Your anger is deserved.” It irked her to say, but she could give him that much.

A small, wry laugh left in a burst of breath. “Anger?” he repeated lightly, his lips tickling the outer shell of her ear, though they didn’t truly touch her. “Is that what I’m feeling?”

Irritation bloomed under her skin. “I have no notion of what it is you feel, Mr. Talent.”

“Hmm.” The sound buzzed against her flesh, and suddenly he seemed closer, as if his body might meet hers should she breathe deeply. “Perhaps I am merely curious if you’d prefer to do more than watch.”

Mary ground her teeth together. “Do not mock me.”

“Why?” Talent’s grip tightened along her waist for a quick moment. “When you seek out my home and watch me as a woman starved.”

Mortification prickled along her cheeks. “What you observed was horror, not starvation.”

Strange how she could sense his body tensing.

“Oh, yes,” he said after a moment. “You have no interest in the carnal.”

Mary winced, hearing the disbelief there. The heat of his palm against her waist burned through the layers of dress, corset, and chemise. Then his hand moved, gliding upward, leaving her flesh shivering in his wake.

“A man’s touch doesn’t affect you.” His hand drifted higher, toward her breast. He touched her as Lucien had often done, mocking that show, seeking to recreate it now. But there was a proprietary perusal in his hold that Lucien never employed. His mockery turned her blood to ice, yet, horribly, her sex clenched and her breasts grew heavy and waiting for the inevitable moment when he would fondle her.

But he paused. Indecision coloring the move. Together they stood, waiting, their breathing matched in quick, light draws. Mary found herself fighting the urge to move, to beg of him to travel that small distance and cup her. She wanted that touch with a ferocity that frightened her.

“Do not do this,” she whispered, raw and desperate. Not like this.

His hand tensed, and his thumb pressed against the underside of her breast with enough pressure that she almost whimpered. His voice was but a breath. “Why? When you violated my privacy so thoroughly.”

She had, and it shamed her to the core. Even so. “I have not given you leave.”

“As I gave you last night?”

“I—I was in the wrong. Do not make the same mistake and ruin whatever remains of our relationship.”

“A relationship?” He laughed shortly, bitterly. “Is that what we have?”

What else could she call it? They were part of each other’s lives, indelibly, even if they did not want it so. If Talent used her as a toy, something within her would break. He had to know this. “I will not forgive you for it, Talent.”

A beat of silence stood between them. Then he spun her around. Before she could draw a breath, her shoulders met with the cold, stone wall. His large hand framed her ribs, and the other hand went to her jaw, a firm, warm touch that had her stilling. Dark brows slanted over gleaming eyes, a fierce glare, and one that gave her enough time to know what he would do. One that spoke of possession and retribution. The scowl settled on his lips, and he swooped down, the movement stiff and angry.