must go.’
‘What’s the rush?’ he murmured against her ear and brushed warm kisses along her throat. ‘I’d like to show you that I in no way resemble those fancy bucks who dance attendance on you night after night, pouring flatteries and endearments into your ears they do not mean.’
‘Leave me be. And don’t get any high-handed ideas that you are any better than they,’ she stated shortly.
‘Say what you like, Belle, but I suspect that you’d prefer a real man to warm your bed than any of them.’
His statement brought a bright hue creeping into Belle’s cheeks. ‘I find that remark extremely insulting and uncalled for. The conduct of the men I meet at the affairs I attend has been exemplary and I have no complaints. You speak as if you are some great gift to womankind, whereas you could learn a lot from them. And now I wish to leave. Anything is preferable to this. At least they are gentlemen and wouldn’t take advantage of a woman as you are doing.’
‘Don’t you bet on it, but relax, Belle. I’m not going to hurt you.’
An iron-thewed arm slipped about her waist and brought her against that broad chest. Belle thought to remain passive in his embrace and did not struggle as his mouth lowered upon hers, but they flamed with a fiery heat that warmed her whole body. That was when she realised the idea was ludicrous and a gross miscalculation of her power to deny him, for the kiss went through her with the impact of a broadside.
Her eyes closed and the strength of his embrace and the hard pressure of his loins made her all too aware of the danger she was in, that he was a strong, determined man, and that he was treating her as he would any woman he had desire for. Her head swam and she was unable to still the violent tremor of delight that seized her, touching every nerve until they were aflame with desire. Her world began to tilt, and she was lost in a dreamy limbo where nothing mattered but the closeness of his body and the circling protection of his arms.
Moments before she had thought herself knowledgeable about men, but now, as Lance slid one hand down to her buttock and pressed her to him, she became acutely conscious of her innocence.
His lips caressed and clung to hers, finding them moist and honey sweet, and for a slow beat in time, hers responded, parting under his mounting fervour. She leaned against him, melting more closely to him, as though the strength had gone from her. Aware of her weakening, he raised his head and lifted her in his arms.
‘Put me down,’ Belle panted breathlessly, panic rising. ‘This is not at all what I want.’
‘To hell with what you want, lady,’ Lance muttered thickly. ‘I can feel your need, Belle. It is the same as my own.’
‘Please,’ she cried. ‘This game has gone on long enough.’
‘Games are for children. But this is something more between a man and a woman.’ His eyes burned into hers as he strode purposefully to the bed with her. Kneeling on the mattress, he lowered her to its softness and before she could move his arms came down on either side, trapping her between them.
‘You beast,’ she hissed. ‘You filthy beast. How dare you lay your hands on me.?’
He silenced her with his lips, kissing her long and deep and hard. She struggled, but her physical resistance was useless against his strength and his unswerving seduction. Lowering his weight on to her body, he cradled her head between his arms. He was strong, muscular, savage even and very determined, and for a moment Belle felt her insides lurch—she didn’t know why—and in the pit of her stomach flared a spark of something, and again she didn’t know what or why.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he breathed against her throat. ‘I won’t hurt you. Let yourself enjoy it.’
‘I can’t,’ she argued.
‘Yes, you can.’
Again he found her lips and parted them. Shuddering excitement passed through her, and the strength ebbed from her limbs. Not for a moment did Lance break the kiss that was inciting her. His mouth was hungering, turning to a heated, crushing demand. Her anger had become raw hunger, cindered beneath the white heat of their mutual desires. It was sudden, the awakened fires, the hungering lust, the bittersweet ache of passion such as Belle could never have imagined.
His position gave him full access to her body. Pulling her shirt out of the waistband of her breeches, his hand slowly snaked its way up to the tantalising fullness of her naked breast, cupping it, teasing her nipple until it was a hard bud. She made a sound deep in her throat. She wasn’t sure if it was a protest or merely a sound of pleasure she couldn’t contain, so wonderful did it feel. She was kissing him voraciously as the pleasure swiftly escalated, her entire body trembling with desire. She moaned again and wrapped her arms around his neck, shoving her fingers in his hair without even thinking about it, for she couldn’t seem to help herself and it seemed the most natural thing to do.
Lance closed his eyes, intense desire for this woman torturing him and making him acutely conscious of the celibate life he had led for some time now. As he caressed the sweet, young body, his flesh betrayed his need, rising up against his will. He was hungry for her and could hardly restrain himself to free her from her garments, possibly even tearing them if they resisted his fingers.
His hands slid from her breast and Belle felt him fumbling with the fastenings of her breeches. Instantly her sanity returned and with a horrified gasp, she broke away from him, her whole manner conveying her fury, which reappeared with shocking speed. With a tremendous effort of will she flung herself away from him and rolled off the bed. She stood glaring at him, breathing hard, her hair tangled in disarray about her shoulders, her green eyes burning, completely unaware of the vision she presented to his hungering eyes.
‘How dare you?’ she hissed. ‘How dare you do that to me? I will not be forced.’
Struggling for control, finding it with effort, getting off the bed, Lance straightened his clothes. ‘Come now, Belle,’ he managed to say, smiling, though he himself was shaken by the moment. ‘It was only a kiss—an innocent kiss, nothing more sordid than that.’ But he was not convinced by his words. With her long sleek legs encased in breeches, he was led to think that he had never caressed any that had evoked his imagination as much as those. The lingering impression of those trim thighs entangled with his own had done much to awaken a manly craving that had gone unappeased for some months.
He cursed himself for letting Belle Ainsley affect him in this way. He went from hot to cold, a sensation not normal for him, a man who had always had a woman at his whim, had enjoyed a woman casually and made love to her for his pleasure. Now this young woman needed to be taught a lesson and he could hardly keep his hands off her.
Belle’s anger was boiling. Every single word she uttered seemed to make it worse, as if it were feeding upon itself. And having no other outlet for this anger, it would continue to grow and fester.
‘A kiss that would have led to other things—which was what you had in mind you—you lecher—had I not had the presence of mind to end it,’ she flared, furious with herself for not only responding to it, but liking what he had done to her. ‘You forced your will on me, forced me to kiss you. I did not invite you to do that.’
‘I forced nothing,’ he said, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘You brought it on yourself when you decided to invade my bedchamber, don’t forget.’
He sounded entirely too smug in saying that. ‘Only because I thought it wouldn’t have you in it. I am here because I had no choice if I was to retrieve the necklace.’
‘Choice? Yes, indeed.’ He turned her angry words aside as he walked round the bed to stand before her, the burning heat back in his eyes. ‘Choice you are, my love.’ He ran his fingers down the soft curve of her cheek. ‘The very cream of the lot.’
His soft answer and soothing caress awoke once again tingling answers in places Belle tried to ignore. This betrayal by her own body aroused an impatient vexation. She had foolishly thought that all the quickening fires she had just felt in his arms had been thoroughly