Page 42 of You Belong to Me
She gave him a tight little smile. “You said it, I didn’t.”
He bristled at that, too, though he soundedmerely indignant. “I’ll have you know my loyalty is beyond reproach, but reserved for only a select few.”
She knew the answer, but still wanted confirmation. “And I’m not one of the few?”
“You said it, I didn’t,” he shot back at her with a nasty smile.
She could no longer keep her voice from rising. “Not even if I become your wife?”
“You’d better hope you come to your senses before then,” he growled.
“You’d better hope you do, Petroff!”
Once again, they were standing nearly nose to nose, she glaring up at him, he scowling down at her. Her bosom was heaving. He noticed, and there was no unusual odor to distract him this time.
Passion was a fickle emotion, easily redirected. Suddenly Vasili felt he would die if he couldn’t kiss her. Suddenly Alexandra couldn’t take her eyes off his sensual mouth.
And then, as if she’d willed it, she had the taste of him, fiery hot, wild. It was better than she remembered. He was crushing her against him and that was also better than she remembered.
Her fingers gripped his arms, pressing into his muscles, but not to push him away. A hand on her bottom lifted her, locked her to his heat, and she was melting, dissolving, mindlessly wanting something just beyond her reach and understanding.
She was arched to the point of breaking, Vasili was bent over her so far, as if he wouldtake her to the ground by his lips alone. His wanting to make love to her so badly made him forget every golden rule of seduction that he had adhered to in the past.
This was no seduction where he controlled every move and nuance to a desired end. He had no control, was in the grip of pure emotion, the taste and scent of her filling his senses, the feel of her intoxicating him, driving him beyond what he knew as rational.
And then theyweresuddenly on the ground, neither of them the least bit aware of it. Vasili was driven toward a single goal; Alexandra was consumed only by the sensations clamoring inside her, the sheer pleasure derived from his touch, his weight now covering her, his hand sliding up her thigh, until…
Her moan was lost in the depth of his kiss, his hand now cupping her heat sending her so close to the edge—and he knew, and had never felt such keen satisfaction in a woman’s yielding response before.
He would have taken her right there on the ground, and she would have let him. That was the horrifying realization that dawned on both of them when Sultan’s Pride nudged them a few breathless moments later, and they both scrambled to their feet.
Alexandra was mortified by what Vasili had made her feel, again, and her reaction was to slap him this time, hard. She should have given it more thought first, because his reaction was to slap her back, not hard, but just enough to shock her that he would.
“Well, that certainly served no purpose,” she remarked dryly.
Vasili was still trembling, wanting nothing more than to yank her back into his arms. How did she dare to stand there and appear totally unaffected by what had just passed between them? As for that slap, she shouldn’t have caught him when he was so—not himself.
“Yell at me all you like, sweetheart, only the next time you want to get physical, you can be sure I won’t hit back,” he promised.
“You won’t?”
He shook his head slowly. “No. I’ll take you off in the bushes and make love to you instead.”
She had to be crazy not to try to change this subject. “Why didn’t you this time?”
“I believe in fair warning—when your choice in the matter will be taken from you.”
“You’d do it even if I fight you?”
His smile was chilling. “Exactly.”
“You know what that’s called, don’t you?” she said with biting scorn.
“When you’ve been given fair warning? I would call it an invitation.”
It was his sexual frustration that had led him to make this alarming threat, she was sure. And she could think of no way to gain back the upper hand when his promised consequence far surpassed her own. But she wasn’t worried about slapping him again. She could restrain herself from doing that—somehow. It was the kissing she had to keep from everhappening again, the kissing caused by his frustration, the kissing that she had succumbed to so completely.
She was going to have to concede or risk having his frustration get worse, risk having him start thinking about his rights again. Heaven help her, he might even try seduction on her if he got desperate enough, and she could still remember the special smile of his that he had turned on that tavern wench. She didn’t want to find out if she could withstand its being turned on her.
