Midnight Eyes, Brophy, Sarah [love story books to read txt] 📗

to sound knowing and sensual, but instead she sounded awkward and nervous.

Robert had to clear his throat before he was able to answer. “No,” he growled tersely and closed his eyes, hoping against hope she would leave it at that, if only for his sanity’s sake.

She arched a brow. “But you stopped. Why?”

“Because I was getting carried away and it will be better for you if we wait till we know each other better before I show you all that is between man and wife.”

She thought about it for a moment, struggling to find the words. “Aren’t we supposed to get carried away?” She ducked her head and added clumsily, “I was enjoying it.”

Robert squeezed his eyes more tightly shut as a wave of pure, white-hot longing washed over him. He was on fire. Her words were almost as seductive as her small hand, but he didn’t want to be seduced, or to be a seducer.

It wouldn’t be enough, he realized, not now when he sensed that there was so much more than a brief, physical pleasure at stake.

“I’m glad you were enjoying it,” he said as evenly as he could and rested his chin on her silky hair. He opened his eyes and stared into the orange flames of the fire, searching deep inside himself for the strength he was going to need to turn down what she offered so sweetly. “I want you to always enjoy what we do together and to that end, I think we—I, should go more slowly.”

“You think I’ll enjoy it more if we go more slowly? You want to go slowly?” she asked doubtfully.

He smiled, more than a little gratified by her obvious impatience. “I want many things, and slowly is the way I’ll get all of them, not just some of them. For tonight all I want to do is to hold you for a while, if you will let me.”

She gave a small shrug, trying to manifest an acceptable level of unconcern. That her body was still on fire she tried to ignore. After all, if he could, then so could she.

“Does this ‘going slowly’ mean that after you are finished holding me for a while, you will return to your own rooms?” she asked as calmly as she could.

His arms tightened around her almost painfully for a moment before he was able to deliberately relax them a little. “No,” he said firmly. “From now on we sleep in the same room. Always. That is part of the going slow.”

She experienced an almost overwhelming desire to slap his dictatorial face at that moment, her passion changing like quicksilver into anger. She struggled to get out of his lap.

“Well, I hope you like the floor,” she said imperiously, moving with confidence that she wasn’t quite feeling to where she knew the bed to be. She dragged off the top fur and threw it in his general direction.

He caught it easily without conscious thought, momentarily stunned by her sudden flare of temper.

A part of him could laugh at her feeble attempts to control him. Didn’t she realize that he was entirely beyond her control? All he had to do to shatter all her illusions of being in control was stride over there and physically drag her into the bed. One small woman could hardly be expected to hold her own in any physical confrontation against him.

But he didn’t laugh.

The fear and uncertainty that had fueled her outburst was painful for him to see and that pain killed any desire to laugh, cold. So much had changed so quickly that all she could try and do was to stop it spinning totally out of her control.

He looked at her standing defiantly beside the bed and a wave of protectiveness washed over him. She stood there, trembling like a wild animal caught in a trap to which she knew there was no escape, but at the same time she fought so bravely for that fear not to show.

Fear was the last thing he wanted her to feel. Somehow he knew that she had already known so much of it in her life that he didn’t want to create any more for her. He wanted her strong and whole of spirit and if that took letting her think she had him cowered, then so be it.

“As my lady wishes,” he said simply, the ghost of a smile playing over his lips. “Although the floor doesn’t look too inviting. I think I will stay where I am. The chair might make an acceptable bed,” he ended doubtfully.

She listened, with bewilderment, as he calmly prepared to take his rest in the chair. She had been expecting an argument at her angry challenge, and was half disappointed that he hadn’t given her one.

In no time the room was settled into silence and Imogen panicked a little. “You’re not going to sit there while I change and get ready for bed, are you?” she asked stiffly.

“I can close my eyes if you like,” he rumbled mildly, as if the mere idea of her being naked before his gaze hadn’t inflamed his senses. He pulled the fur up to his chin, trying to deny his body’s reaction, even to himself.

“How can I know that I can trust you?” Her eyes narrowed. “You might look.”

“Little One, you’re just going to have to learn that I am a man of my word. If I say I’m going to do something, then I do it.” He yawned loudly. “Besides, I’m too tired to look tonight. Good night.”

She glared furiously into the darkness, trying to gauge if he mocked her or not.

“Robert, are you awake?” she whispered, but silence was her only answer.

She hesitated for a moment before beginning to undo the gown’s lacing, clumsy at the unaccustomed task but reluctant to call for Mary’s help. There should be no need for help on a wedding night and Imogen’s pride demanded that the fact she did need help had to be kept private.

Robert’s eyes squeezed