His Independent Bride: Wife Against Her Will / The Wedlocked Wife / Bertoluzzi's Heiress Bride. Catherine SpencerЧитать онлайн книгу.
he said. ‘What else do you drink on honeymoon? Of course, it’s usually used to toast the successful consummation of the marriage,’ he added meditatively, as he extracted the cork. ‘But in our case, we have something else to celebrate.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Honesty,’ he said, pouring the wine. ‘You have to admit, my sweet, that it’s a step forward in what we laughingly call our relationship.’
He handed her a glass, then, to her dismay, stretched himself on the bed beside her, propped up on an elbow.
She wanted to edge away, but between his weight on one side, and the tightly tucked sheet on the other, there was little room for manoeuvre.
Besides, his robe was tangled around her, and she couldn’t release herself without removing it completely.
So maybe it was best to keep still, and simply play along. For the time being.
She said, with an attempt at lightness, ‘Is that the toast, then? Honesty?’
‘Coupled with marriage.’ Joel raised his glass, watching the dancing bubbles in the lamplight. ‘Whatever form it takes.’
It seemed easier to murmur something vaguely acquiescent, and drink. The wine was dry and cool against the tautness of her throat, and she welcomed the refreshment of it, sipping at it nervously until her glass was empty. Only to find Joel refilling it.
She said quickly, ‘No more, please.’
‘But we can’t waste it,’ he said, taking some more for himself. ‘Besides, it will help you relax.’
‘Not necessary.’ She took an undignified gulp of one of the world’s most expensive wines, aware that her heart was thudding wildly. ‘I’m practically asleep as it is.’
‘No,’ Joel said gently. And the blue eyes met hers with a message even her inexperience could understand. ‘No, darling, you’re not. Because sleep’s still a long way off—for both of us, my beautiful wife.
‘And our real marriage is about to begin. Right here, and right now.’
For a moment she stared at him, her pupils dilating. Then, with a little hoarse cry she threw the rest of her champagne at him.
Joel tutted, and removed the glass from her hand. ‘Such a pointless gesture, I always think,’ he commented, setting both glasses on the night table. ‘But there’s still some left for later.’
‘There’ll be no later,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’ve just told you why I don’t want a marriage in that sense.’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I heard you.’
‘Then, what part of “no” do you not understand?’ Her voice bit at him.
‘A bad thing happened to you, Darcy,’ he said quietly. ‘A terrible thing. But you can’t use it as an excuse to put your life on hold forever, or deny your own sexuality. Because whatever you may tell yourself, your body’s ready to love and be loved.’
‘Love?’ Her voice shook. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word. You disgust me.’
‘No,’ Joel returned, unmoved. ‘I don’t think that’s altogether true—not on past evidence, anyway. Not when I’ve felt your response on the brief occasions that I’ve kissed you—touched you.’
‘Oh, God.’ She wrapped her arms round her body. ‘I suppose next you’ll tell me I’m gagging for it.’ Her scorn was withering. ‘Isn’t that the romantic phrase?’
He shrugged a shoulder. ‘It’s certainly not one of mine. Nor do I plan to hurt you, abuse you, or call you names.’ He paused. ‘I’m going to show you that sex can also be about pleasure. Is that really so terrible?’
‘Yes.’ There was a sob in her voice. ‘When you know I don’t want it.’
‘Sweetheart, I don’t think you have a clue what you do or don’t want.’
His voice gentled. ‘And, whatever I may have said, Darcy, I’m in no great hurry. I can wait, if I have to. But tonight, we make at least a beginning.’
His hand went to the knot at his hip. ‘And now, if you still want your blushes spared, I suggest you close your eyes.’
Huddled in the robe, she glared at him. ‘Alternatively, you could put the light out.’
‘No thanks,’ he said. ‘You don’t like darkness, remember? Besides, I want to be able to see your eyes, and for you to see mine.’ He paused. ‘And although the colour of that silk is quite incredible against your skin, you’d look even lovelier without it.’ He held out his hand.
Darcy’s lips parted in protest, then closed mutinously, the words unspoken. She wriggled free of the folds of silk, under cover of the sheet, and passed the robe to him. As he took it, Joel extracted a small packet from one of the pockets and put it on the night table.
She realised at once what it must be, and felt sudden heat flood her skin. It was really going to happen, she thought. He was going to have sex with her, and there was nothing she could say or do to stop him. And he was even being practical about it.
She turned swiftly away, burying her face in the pillow. ‘You’re vile,’ she said in a muffled voice.
‘I’m a man who wants to make love to his wife,’ Joel retorted as he slid into bed beside her. ‘And all the insults in the world won’t make the slightest difference to that.’
When he reached for her, Darcy resisted silently, her body unyielding. But calmly, even gently, she found herself being drawn back into Joel’s embrace. So she couldn’t even accuse him of using force, she thought bitterly.
She lay taut and trembling in his arms, totally aware of the coolness of his skin against her own. Dreading the inevitable moment when she would find herself touched. Taken. Known completely by him.
When he might also demand that she touch him…
But, as he’d indicated, Joel seemed in no great hurry to impose his possession, as the practised warmth of his fingers began their initial contact with her skin, slowly stroking the curve of her shoulder and arm, as if he was gentling a wild creature. Just the same quiet movement, repeated over and over again, until, in spite of herself, Darcy felt the tension beginning to drain out of her, and the shaking start to quieten.
How could he? she asked herself, almost desperately. How could he do that? Why was it possible?
At the same time his lips were conducting their own delicate exploration, touching her hair, then moving to her closed eyelids, before caressing her temple, her cheekbone and drifting down to her mouth.
His kiss was light, almost questing, but her lips stayed firmly closed against him, denying him the sweeter access he sought.
She had to prove somehow that she meant what she said, she thought wildly. That she did not want him.
Joel kissed her again, his mouth moving on hers in lingering, sensuous persuasion, trying to coax a response from her.
She was suddenly aware of a strange inner tremor, like the flutter of a butterfly wing as his lips continued patiently to caress hers. A sign of weakness that she could not allow. She could not, would not risk even the slightest softening towards him, and her fists clenched, digging her nails into the palms of her hands to bolster her resistance.
At last Joel raised his head, propping himself on one elbow and surveying her, brows lifted, mouth quizzical.
‘No?’ he asked softly.
‘No.’ She stared back at him, eyes icy with resentment, wishing that her voice sounded slightly less breathless. ‘I thought I’d made it clear. I’m giving you nothing.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘And you think that my taking will impose some kind of hardship?’