The Irresistible Miss Peppiwell(38)

They glared at each other in a bristling silence.

“I should leave,” she said.

“You shall do no such thing,” he stated firmly. “The weather is fierce, and enough damage has been done for one day.”

Her eyes swam. “You are being cruel.”

“Phillipa…”

“Do not.” She jerked from the hands that reached for her, her tears running unchecked. “I have never been so afraid in all my life. I am eternally grateful that you rescued me. I do not want to fight with you. I do not want you railing at me. I do not want to consider the consequences of my naïveté. Oh, Anthony, I only want to be held in your arms, with your touch wiping away his.”





Chapter Eleven


Even with her face florid from tears, the sight of Phillipa, and her heartfelt plea, aroused Anthony more than any other woman. He felt shocked she would dismiss marriage to him, under the circumstances. No woman had ever looked at him with such naked physical need, and yet it seemed she did not share the same hunger for more.

Her rejection roiled within him like bad ale.

She could not know the anxiety that had gripped him when he thought he wouldn’t reach her in time. Or the terror when he saw her in the woods, thinking he was too late. Her dress had been torn, her face stained with tears, her lips swollen and bruised. The raw relief in her golden gaze at seeing his face had been worth the relentless pace he’d punished himself and his horse to travel.

Her misery over her plight punched deep inside him. Desire flared, but he tempered it, needing to offer her comfort with his touch. He began to remove his wet clothes. He did not stop to analyze the need that seethed within him—the urge to bind her to him, to experience the fire she vibrated with. He wanted to explore every curve, taste her skin, and immerse himself in her shuddering cries.

The dart of her tongue to moisten her lips sharpened the edgy arousal he felt. He shrugged out of his waistcoat and unbuttoned his shirt with impatience.

The overlarge gown slipped, revealing perfection to his eyes. She let it slide from her shoulders and it anchored at her elbows. The sleek, graceful line of her neck and the pertness of her breasts lured him. He pulled her to him until the tips of her breasts grazed his chest. He savored the feel of her almost-naked body so intimately close to him, loving her sharp inhalation at his touch.

Desire flowed through her eyes, along with an emotion that made him halt. She shivered and swallowed, and he realized she was afraid.

She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his shoulder. The rain drummed on the roof, the wood in the fireplace crackled, and embers sparked. And still she did not move.

He grasped her chin and lifted her face. “What is wrong?”

She regarded him wordlessly, her eyes fearful. She squeaked as he swung her up in his arms and strode to the bed. He tumbled her down then captured her slender wrists and held them above her head. “Tell me. What is it?” he demanded.

Her eyes smoldered and darkened with desire, but chilling reserve crept into them trying to dampen it.

“Do not shy away from me, Phillipa.” He kissed the corner of her lips.

“I have secrets,” she murmured. “Ones that may repel you from me.”

“You speak of the impossible, my sweet,” he assured her.

She tugged, and he released her wrists. She touched him as if unable to stop herself. Light caresses danced over his neck, his face, his lips, and his shoulders.

“I am not innocent,” she said softly. Her voice was a hoarse rasp, and she trembled in his embrace.

Something primitive tightened in his gut. The ice maiden was no innocent. He suddenly understood her aloofness, the iciness with which she looked at him, even now in her nakedness.

She expected judgment. Condemnation.

He felt neither. Instead, lust coiled around his insides, dark and inviting, and he welcomed it. He dipped his head, holding her gaze. He slanted his lips over hers, nipping her whenever her eyes fluttered. He wanted them open, so she could see the honest craving for her that lived deep within him. He was gentle, lips roving with soft teasing flicks instead of the hunger that gnawed at him.

He pulled away, leaving a hair’s breadth between their mouths. “Neither am I.”

The sweetest smile curved her lips. A groan whispered from him as he pictured them stretched around his cock. The tension slowly eased from her taut frame. She slid her arms around his shoulders, and with a contented sigh, opened to him.

He groaned as he delved deeper with his tongue to twine sensually with hers. Her hand gripped his hair, her fingers combed through it as she clung to him.

And he wondered who was the one being seduced.

Desire punched him, hard and potent. He reluctantly released her mouth. “If you want me to stop, say so now.”