.

“Yes, of course! In fact—”

      “No,” Reinier cut her off with a patronizing snort. “No, not of me, I’m afraid.” He used her hand, held close to his heart, to guide her back to the table again. Her fresh hope shattered, Emiline was now more confused than ever. She blinked up at him as he released her and backed up slightly from the table.

      Reinier spread his strong arms wide. “Free of all this.”

      What was he talking about? The mental image of what he asked was outright ridiculous.

      The way her expression changed, the way the light in her eyes died to be replaced by cool determination and prudent intent was simply amazing for Reinier. He found himself eager to taste her confusion in the air. The scent of strawberries filled his mind and let sweet memories tickle up and down his body. He wanted to catch a bit more of her spice, even more alluring now that she was angry with him.

      He leaned down and set his hands on the arms of her chair. “All you command. What I mean to say is…Have you ever wished for someone else to be in control? To turn over the burdens of rule, to let go of all the responsibility and control, and just be free to follow?”

      Reinier could read it in her eyes. The mere thought that her mind had instantly gone in the right direction was so very arousing. She’d wished it already. But did she have any idea how far this would go, how far he’d take her if only she let him guide her?

      He pulled away from her and gave her the space she needed.

      Emiline rose from the table without Reinier stopping her this time, and she moved across the room toward the small fireplace in the center of the east-facing wall. She turned to the empty hearth, placing one hand on the mantel. Eventually, she pressed out between clenched teeth, “You do not know me.”

      Reinier moved to the fireplace and stood directly behind her. He touched her dark, smooth shoulder lightly with the back of his knuckles and let his breath caress her perfect neck, marveling again at what true beauty he’d sailed away from.

      “Oh, but I want to know you, wife,” he whispered.

      At that, Emiline spun quickly, too quickly for Reinier to catch her small hand before it connected with his cheek with more force than he’d ever imagined she could have. The smacking sound reverberated throughout the room, the candles on the mantel flickered, and even the natural music of the West Indian night outside seemed to stop in time.

      His last words had definitely struck a chord—his tingling cheek was proof of it.

      They stood as they were for what seemed like hours but could have been only seconds. In those moments the morning tide was completely forgotten. Reinier couldn’t think of anywhere else he wanted to be tomorrow. He had no intention of rushing things, he decided as he rubbed his cheek tenderly. He was always in the mood for a good challenge—thrived on it, in fact. Right then he was quite determined to spend a few days learning all about this new side of Emiline, the angry, passionate, and quite alluring facets of his wife he’d never seen.

      Well, learning and then teaching, of course.

      Emiline’s eyes were wide. She seemed horrified by her loss of control. The memory of how she shivered to his touch earlier was still echoing in his mind, but now hatred must be tickling her palm as well. Was she just as furious at herself as she was at him?

      In a slow movement, meant to give her enough time to react while the dark light in his eyes dared her not to, his hands lightly gripped her forearms. When he spoke, he hoped the rich sweetness of sensuality in his voice was adding insult to injury for her.

      “You’ve changed, Emiline. I have definitely seen—and felt—that now.” He laughed lightly. “But the facts are as they are: You are my wife. And this is my home when I choose it.”

      His fingers started to move over her skin on their own accord. There was a brief moment when he asked himself how he could have forgotten how magical her skin felt. His hands followed his fingers, slowly moving up and down her arms.

      Telltale goose bumps rose on her flesh, but he could see she was determined not to show any reaction either to his words or his touch. Reinier might not have known in the beginning, but he had been waiting for this moment since he’d first stepped foot back on the island. He leaned down until his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers.

      “I have rights here—like it or not.” His breath tickled her soft lips. “I think there’s been enough discussion for our first night. Now, come to bed, wife, and we can continue this tomorrow.”

      Emiline stood frozen as she watched his pale, freshly shaven cheek turn an angry crimson and quickly start to fade again. In some small way it should have been a satisfying feeling, but it wasn’t. Nothing about her wayward husband was as it should have been. Looking farther up, she saw those cool, pale citrus-colored eyes twinkle.

      Her spine tingled at the thought of what his kiss might feel like. For only a split second she let herself remember what his lips tasted like, how gently they could draw her in. But then she pulled away from Reinier’s arms with all her might.

      He had no rights here after sailing out of her life on the ship her money had built. Oh, she would make sure those papers were signed and he was off her island sooner rather than later.

      “As I told you, Monsieur Barhydt”—Emiline thrust her chin up indignantly to make her point clear—“I rule Bougainvilla, and I surely do not take your commands. But you are right about one thing, sir. We will continue this discussion tomorrow. Good night.”

      Turning away and marching toward the door to the main hallway, the breath flew from her lungs as Reinier quickly came up behind her. His muscular arm gripped her small waist when he crushed her tightly against his body. Through the silk of her dress, she felt him aroused and straining against his breeches. Once again, a deep blush moved from her cheeks to the tightening tips of her breasts.

      His breath was hot and demanding against her throat. “You may very well rule Bougainvilla, madam,” he purred into her ear, passion and promise all rolled into one. “But before I leave here again, I will rule you. And rest assured, wife, you will beg me to do it.”

      Emiline’s whole body stiffened in resistance. As suddenly as he’d captured her, he let her go.

      She wasn’t sure if it was his words or the definite twinge of excitement she felt that scared her most, but she knew she hated him for it. For that and the fact that this man she now considered barely more than a stranger somehow saw into the farthest part of her mind—a part that she only admitted to herself in the darkest of dark and lonely nights.

      Not looking back, Emiline moved out of the room as quickly as she could without breaking into a dignity-killing run.