The Lady By His Side(115)

Damn female—was she truly challenging him? Now?

He was hanging onto control by his fingernails. As she rose and fell again, involuntarily, his fingertips sank into the lush flesh of her hips.

Trapped in her gaze, his jaw clenching, he managed to somewhat grimly say, “Very well. You perceive me on my knees.”

Her head tipped back, and she nearly choked on a strangled laugh—and her sheath contracted powerfully about him; he thought he saw stars.

He lost his breath, almost lost his wits. In a rush of effort, he forced out, “Antonia Marguerite Rawlings—for God’s sake, marry me and link your life with mine.”

Having finally uttered the words, he suddenly felt free, as if some weight had lifted from him. He refocused on her, on her face. Gripping her hips, he thrust up and filled her.

To the hilt.

He leaned close, his forehead to hers, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers, and breathed—pleaded, “Marry me, Antonia.”

She raised her lids just enough to meet his eyes. She rose and fell again, firmly sheathing him in her heat. Her breath mingled with his as she asked, “Why?”

He blinked. “You want reasons?” He nearly shook his head. Instead said, “At this juncture?” and powerfully thrust into her again.

She sucked in a breath and rode the wave of sensation. As it eased, she rose again—met his eyes again. “What better time?”

That had been his thinking, but he wasn’t so sure of its wisdom now.

He tried to concentrate, but the lustful heat welling between them had built to the point where not even he could bring rational thought to bear. Somewhat to his surprise, he heard himself admit, “My mind isn’t working all that well.”

Despite all distractions, she was watching him closely. She had a death grip on his shoulders, her nails sinking in with every surge. She leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers—not in teasing, nor temptation, but in transparent encouragement. “That’s why,” she whispered, her voice sultry and low, drenched in sensuality and a bone-deep honesty, “this is the best time—the right time to ask.” She paused, lids falling, fingers tightening as sensation spiked and rolled over them and played havoc with their wits. As the wave receded, her lids rose, and she locked her eyes with his again. “Just answer with the words that come to you. Who else is here to hear?”

He stared into her glorious silver-gray eyes. He’d reached the point where thought was beyond him, where the only words he could summon would be the truth as his inner self saw it. “Because we fit.” He drew in a breath that shuddered. “Because you are and always have been the other half of me…and I don’t think I can—or at least I don’t want to—live without you.”

She looked drunk on passion, and her lips curved. “See? You can manage the right words. So now…why?”

Exasperation flared—high enough to cut through the sensual fog that engulfed him. “Antonia—”

“No—just answer. Why do you feel that way about me?”

Enough self-protective instinct remained for him to clench his jaw and set his teeth—but then, aggrieved, he gritted out, “If this is some convoluted female test, I didn’t read that textbook.”

Antonia held his glare. She knew she was pressing him. Knew in her heart why—why she wanted, nay, needed to hear his answer to that most fundamental question. The textbook, did he but know it, was an oral one, crafted over centuries by women like her—those fated to mate with arrogant, commanding, irredeemably autocratic noblemen.

Even as, keeping to the now-tense rhythm of their joining, she rose on him again, and let him draw her down, a touch more forcefully as he thrust up and filled her again—deeply, completely—she accepted that she could not risk turning her back on the wisdom of generations. When dealing with men of his stripe, love was the only guarantee. But even if she knew—to the depths of her soul knew—that it existed in him, not even love could protect her—not unless he acknowledged and accepted it, at the very least between them.

Still holding his gaze, with the flames of their lovemaking rising between them, threatening to engulf them and sweep them away, she clung to the one thing strong enough to anchor her—her love for him.

“No.” Her eyes locked with his, she paused to moisten her lips. Saw his eyes trace the movement of her tongue and accepted not even he could give them much more time. “I’m not teasing. The question—”

She broke off on a gasp. Her lids fluttered as he surged beneath her, into her, and she felt the last shreds of control thin. She forced her lids up, locked her gaze with his. “My question is important. To us both. I need to know, to hear you acknowledge it—to prove that you know the answer.” She held his gaze and refused to let go. “Just once. That’s all I need.”