For the Roses (27 page)

Her arms were wrapped around his neck. Her fingers were driving him to distraction because she was still stroking him.

She leaned up and kissed his chin. She tried to let go of him. It was the decent thing to do, given their circumstances. She couldn't make herself behave, though. He felt too wonderful against her. She tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes. "Could we please sleep like this? We'll stay warm," she promised. "Just for a little while?"

He kissed the top of her forehead. "Just for a little while," he agreed. She leaned back so she could look at him when she whispered her goodnight. She stared into his eyes, saw the tenderness there, and felt her heartbeat quicken in reaction. "Your eyes have turned as dark as night. You're a very handsome man."

His hands moved to cup the sides of her face. "And you're a very beautiful woman." His thumb rubbed across her lips. They were rosy and swollen from his kisses. Her eyes were still misty with passion, and, God help him, he couldn't stop himself from kissing her again.

"You are so amazingly soft," he whispered a scant second before his mouth settled on top of hers. It was hard, demanding, incredibly arousing. Passion ignited within each of them. She was every bit as wild as he was in her bid to explore the taste and texture of him.

His hands caressed her neck, her shoulders, then moved lower until he was cupping her sweet backside. She moved restlessly against him. Her pelvis pressed against his knee. A surge of pleasure poured over her. He angled his head to the side and kissed her again, then shifted his position. He moved his knee away and gently forced her to straddle him. He pressed his groin against the junction of her thighs, caught her gasp with his mouth, and growled with his pleasure. He was mindless now to everything but pleasing her.

Passion flowed between them with an intensity of white-hot lightning. He couldn't seem to get enough of her. His hand slipped beneath the flannel shirt to caress her more intimately. He pushed the light fabric of her chemise out of his way and boldly took one full breast into his hand. His thumb rubbed across her nipple again and again, until it had become a hard nub ready for his mouth to devour. She loved the way he caressed her. She moaned and arched up against his hand, silently pleading for more.

She never wanted to let go of him. She craved his closeness, the tenderness in the way he held her. She could feel his strength in the corded muscles under her fingertips and glorified in the knowledge that with each of her own gentle caresses, she gave him as much pleasure as he gave her. His nonsensical, sweet, loving words against her ear told her so.

She was overwhelmed by him. She knew he had enough strength to crush her, yet also knew he would give up his life to keep her safe. She tasted the saltiness in his skin as she placed wet kisses along the column of his neck, inhaled his male scent, entwined now with her own, and heard his heart beating wildly and in perfect harmony with her own racing heartbeat.

His caresses became more demanding, for her soft whispers of pleasure drove him now. He became desperate to get closer to her heat, to touch and stroke what he most wanted to possess. His hand moved down between her thighs, and he shuddered with yet another burst of uncontrollable passion. Her skin was as silky and sweet as he knew it would be. His fingers slipped underneath her clothing and found her at last. When he touched her and felt the warm dampness in her soft curls, he forgot all about holding on to his discipline. He stroked the fire inside her and burned with his own. His fingers brushed across the very spot he knew would drive her wild. He nearly came undone when she arched up against him and let out a soft cry of ecstasy.

He wasn't going to stop. He started to undo the buttons of his pants. His hands were shaking so much he could barely get the top one unhooked.

She felt his hard arousal pressed against her, and yet she didn't become afraid or worried. In her heart she knew he would stop touching her the minute she asked him to.

Her trust in Harrison was absolute. He was an honorable man. He would do whatever she asked of him, as long as it was honorable.

Dear God, what was she asking of him now? Wasn't he going to sacrifice his honor to please her?

She was sickened with shame. She didn't know if she had the power to destroy him, but she cared about him too much to risk the possibility.

She went completely still and squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn't be able to cry.

"We have to stop now."

Her voice was a ragged whisper against the side of his neck. The words registered in his mind almost immediately. It took him a little longer to react.

And then he let out a loud, shaky breath, clenched his jaw tight, and forced himself to move away from her. It almost killed him.

The physical agony of his own frustration, and his stupidity, made him furious. What in God's name had he been thinking? Lust had driven him beyond any semblance of control. He hadn't been thinking at all. No woman had ever been able to get to him the way Mary Rose did. She was different all right, and dangerous.

She was having trouble catching her breath. The second Harrison had rolled away from her, she felt abandoned, alone. She shook with cold and with regret. Her shameful conduct humiliated her. No man had ever touched her so intimately. He had stroked her breasts, her belly, her backside, her… Oh, God, she was out of her mind. She couldn't stop the tears from forming in her eyes. What if she hadn't asked him to stop? She knew the answer. He would marry her. The thought didn't please her. No, it horrified her. Because of his integrity he would do the right thing. God only knew, he was used to the weight of responsibility. His shoulders should be stooped by now, for she knew he'd been carrying obligations from the time he'd been just a little boy. Responsibility had robbed him of his childhood.

She wasn't about to take anything more from him. She felt sick to her stomach and almost doubled over with her guilt. Trapping a man into marriage with lust was beyond shameful. It was unforgivable. She sat up with her back toward Harrison and stared at the wall while she straightened her blankets. Her hair was hanging down over her face. She impatiently brushed it back and only then realized her hands were still shaking.

She knew she had to say something to him, offer him some sort of apology or explanation for her behavior, but she couldn't seem to find the right words to convey to him her feelings. Nothing she came up with seemed to be even barely adequate.

Harrison couldn't get comfortable. He sat up, moved back, and then leaned against the stone wall. He let the frigid rock cool his shoulders.

He still burned for her. He could taste her in his mouth and tried not to think about how good she'd been, how sweet and hot, and wet and…

"Hell." The word came out in a low groan.

She turned to look at him. He was staring at her. The coldness in his eyes shamed her even more than her own guilt.

He continued to stare at her for a long minute, until he realized she was making him hard again. Her eyes were still misty with passion, and her lips were swollen from his kisses. He'd scratched her face with his whiskers. He found the marks aroused him too. He knew that if he pulled her back into his arms, he would inhale his own scent.

Hell, he'd been all over her. He turned his gaze to the ceiling and tried to burn a hole through the rock.

"Do you understand what almost happened?"

She flinched over the anger in his voice. "Yes," she answered. "I understand. I suggest we don't ever let ourselves become… involved again. It's too dangerous."

"Damned right it's dangerous."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He didn't have anything to say about that. She turned to look at him again. Another clump of her hair fell over her left eye. She impatiently brushed it away.

His hair was as tousled as hers was. He looked as though he'd just awakened. She thought he was the most handsome man on earth.

She turned away from him. The silence was making her nervous. She looked at the fire, realized it was nearly out, and immediately added more twigs to the flames.

"Are you going to stay angry for long?"

"Go to sleep, Mary Rose, before I forget all about protecting your honor." She whirled around to look at him. "Is that why you stopped?"

"No," he answered. "I stopped because you asked me to." He looked at her again and immediately lost some of his anger. There were tears in her eyes. It finally hit him that he hadn't been thinking about her tender feelings at all. He was too busy being self-centered. God, he was a cad. She had never experienced raw passion before, the way she'd responded to him was proof of that truth, and the burning need inside her must have scared the hell out of her.

"Then what does my honor have to do with anything? You said you stopped because I asked you to stop."

He let out a sigh. He couldn't believe he had to tell her. "Sweetheart, I damned near took your virginity and your honor. A couple of minutes more and I would have."

It wasn't what he said but how he said the words that soothed her. His tone was softer, more civilized. And almost loving. She instinctively relaxed her shoulders and stopped gripping her hands together.

"So that is why you became angry?"

"Yes."

She took a deep breath. "I beg to differ with you."

"You do?" The sudden outrage in her voice made him smile. It wasn't the reaction she was looking for.

"You're being very smug and male about this, aren't you?"

"I don't believe I am."

"Then I shall enlighten you. You didn't almost take anything. I could have given you my virginity and my honor. I chose not to. I'm the one who asked you to stop. You were busy unbuttoning your pants. Remember?"

He was astonished by the vehemence in her voice. He could feel himself getting angry again, and all because she reminded him of his own lack of discipline. "Tell me why you stopped." She shook her head. 'You're a lawyer. You figure it out."

"You were afraid."

"No."

"Look, I know you wanted me. You were as hot as I was. I can still feel the marks your nails made on my shoulders. You do remember where your hands were, don't you?" She could feel herself blushing over his reminder of how she'd behaved. She watched him draw one leg up and drape his arm over his knee. Every movement he made seemed to arouse her. God, she was despicable. She wasn't any better than a rabbit in heat.

"Of course I remember. I'm not sorry."

"Neither am I."

The emotion in his admission made her shiver and feel warm at the same time. Her reaction to him didn't make any sense to her.

She decided it was his fault. The man was deliberately making her crazy.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You know."

He did know. He turned to look at the fire. "You still haven't told me why you asked me to stop."

"And you aren't going to let up until I do. Isn't that right?"

"Yes," he agreed. "If you weren't afraid, what was it? You liked the way I touched you. Don't pretend you didn't. I remember how your body reacted. You were hot and wet for me." Her gaze flew to his. He was staring at her again, and the look in his eyes made her want to melt. "Stop talking like that," she ordered in a voice that sounded horribly weak to her.

"Tell me why you stopped," he ordered once again. "Then I'll stop reminding you." She closed her eyes. It was the only thing she could think to do to get away from him.

"For a lawyer, you're really dense. It wouldn't ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe I stopped because of your honor, not mine."

"My honor?"

She knew he didn't believe her. She told herself she didn't care. Were all men as arrogant as Harrison and her brothers were? Heavens, she sincerely hoped not.

"Yes, Harrison, your integrity," she said again.

"You are serious, aren't you… My honor." The words came out in a whisper. Well, hell, he still didn't know if he believed her or not. Yet when she opened her eyes and looked at him again, he could see the sincerity. He was thunderstruck and humbled.

"Your honor," she whispered back. Then she rolled her eyes heavenward and turned away from him. She was obviously disgusted with him now. He didn't have time to think about that. He was fully occupied trying to figure out how he felt about her protecting him.

"You've got more discipline than I do."

It almost killed him to admit it. She thought he sounded offended by the possibility.

"How like a man to think he's the only one to ever consider such noble things as honor and integrity. Believe it or not, women can be protective too. It isn't a novel concept. It's plain reality. Haven't you ever heard of Joan of Arc? She gave her life for France's honor, and for her own."

"Joan of Arc?" He would have laughed over the comparison, but he didn't want to get killed. "I don't believe she ever did what we just did, Mary Rose."

"Of course she didn't. The woman was a saint, for heaven's sake. I'm not. I wasn't comparing myself to her. I was simply saying that I knew you couldn't have lived with yourself if you had been intimate with me."

"Iwas intimate with you. Remember where my fingers were?"

"Oh, go to sleep."

She moved over to the edge of her blankets so she could get as far away from him as possible. She pulled the covers up, closed her eyes, and tried to get some rest.

He knew he should have stopped tormenting her, but her reaction was so incredibly pleasing to him he couldn't resist. The prettiest blush came over her cheeks when she got flustered. He was also thankful she was irritated with him. He'd tried to make her angry on purpose, and knew that if they had continued to argue with each other, he would have succeeded. He wasn't being a cad. No, he was being noble, or at least he believed he was. If she was angry, she'd stay away from him. No woman wanted to kiss a man she was thinking about killing. It all made perfectly good sense to him. Hell, who was he kidding? He was really trying to protect himself. She had already proven she had more discipline than he had. It wouldn't take much to make him forget all about his good intentions. All she had to do was crook her finger in his direction, and he'd be all over her again. He had gotten a taste of heaven, and he had to try to pretend he hadn't loved it.