The Royal Conquest(38)

His low chuckle rolled through the cottage, heated and gravelly, the sound one of ridiculous temptation. Thick, hot tension swirled around them.

“I have more wealth than you believe.”

Her eyes widened. She had not expected him to say that. “I have never speculated on your money; it does not matter to me.”

“I know, but it will matter to your family. And I believe when I make my wealth and stature known, my courtship will be welcomed.”

Pain stabbed at the very heart of her. No, it would not. Her family would see him as beneath their lofty expectations though they were of the same social standing. An association with Calydon would not make Mikhail’s suit welcomed. He worked…and he was wonderfully ordinary. They would not see the honor in this man, his kindness, or the fact that he would treat her as an equal. Payton did not know how to explain that this moment they were sharing might well be the last, once he expressed his interest to her family.

They would do everything in their power to ensure nothing or anyone so unconnected foiled their grand expectations. The pressure to wed Lord Jensen would mount, and she would either crumble or flee. She understood enough of English laws to know she could not run away with Mikhail and marry him without permission. Not even to Scotland and the famous Gretna Green she had read so much about in her romantic novels. If only her twenty-first birthday was not almost a year away. Payton feared the only moment she could have him was now, and she wanted his kisses and to dwell in a moment that was simply for her.

“I desire you to kiss me, Mikhail.” This was her choice. “I want to feel your lips against mine, and I need to savor your taste once more.”

A breath hissed from between his teeth, and carnality shifted across his face and settled like a second skin. “You are dangerous,” he murmured.

Pleasure pulsed through her. “It is kind of you to say so…but I assure you, I am quite ordinary.”

“No other woman has ever made my cock harden and my heart pound with a simple request for a kiss.”

Good heavens. Curiosity beat against decorum…and won. “What is your cock?”

“Hell!” His eyes darkened to the deepest shade of blue, and tension coiled his frame. “You must not touch me…no matter the temptation.”

Her throat dried, and she nodded weakly.

In a lightning fast move, he tugged her to him, and she tumbled into his embrace. He slanted his lips over hers, drawing a moan of pure need from the depth of her being. His taste was flavored with a hint of brandy, chocolate…and shocking eroticism.

She stood on her toes, sinking further into his wild kiss, losing herself and blindly twining her fingers through the hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He froze, his teeth sinking into her lower lips, lashing her with sensuous pain.

She stilled, her heart jerking erratically. “It is hard not to touch you,” she confessed brokenly. “You kiss me, and I lose a piece of myself, unable to remember my promise.”

Mikhail cursed under his breath, pulled from her and with rough movements drew his shirt over his head. Payton’s knees wobbled. His naked chest rippled and twisted with strength. He was wonderfully formed, and she wanted so desperately to glide her fingertips across the expanse of his chest. Without speaking he walked to the wall where a sharp peg jutted and looped his shirt over it, then he grabbed the narrow bed and pushed it under the peg.

Payton couldn’t speak. Anticipation and nerves twisted inside of her in equal measure.

“Come here.”

The stark lines of his face were heightened by desire, the curve of his lips hinted at domineering sensuality, and if she were honest, she was a bit intimidated by his intensity, yet she was pulled to his side by the need trembling between them, and the knowledge she may never get such an opportunity to taste passion with this man again, this man who was her choice.

Payton sat on the cot, her feet barely touching the stone floor, her heart a drumbeat in her ears. The rumble of the thunder and the lash of the rain on the roof of the cottage did nothing to soothe her aroused anxiety. “What now?” Her voice was husky with need and the apprehension she tried to hide.

He moved over and stood in front of her. “Scoot into the center of the bed, raise your arms above your head, and grip my shirt. Do not let go.”

She gasped at the shocking arousal that surged through her veins, and without hesitation, a testament to the trust she placed in him, she complied. The feel of his linen shirt fisted in her hands was an anchor in the midst of the tearing desire shivering through her limbs.

He sat on the bed, and it creaked beneath his weight. “Do you trust me?”