He was an unholy temptation, she thought, feeling dazed.
Then he bent close, so that his breath ruffled her hair. “You smell like sin, wife,” he murmured, nuzzling her temple. “Like rain and sweet, warm woman…”
His scent was sinful, too. A hint of musky desire rose between them, while heat radiated upward from his body, enveloping her and holding her spellbound.
When he drew back, the look she saw in his eyes made her heart thud erratically. Then Damon untied the ribbons of her dressing gown and parted the lapels, exposing her chemise. Her nipples were excruciatingly hard and blatantly outlined beneath the fine cambric.
“If I were to make love to you, this is how I would start…”
Lifting a suggestive finger, he found her parted lips and traced slowly downward along her throat. His touch was light, delicate… searing. Then raising both hands to fondle her breasts, he traced her shape through the fabric, rubbing his palms with teasing pressure over the mounds.
An intense surge of pleasure rippled through Elea nor as he lightly squeezed each nipple, but she couldn't bring herself to object. She wanted to feel his hands all over her body.
“Let me keep you warm, Elle.”
Her heart was pounding wildly when he shifted his hands. Sliding them around her hips to cup her buttocks, he pulled her firmly against his tightly muscled frame, into the cradle of his thighs. “Feel how much I want you.”
One of his knees separating hers, he pressed his arousal against her stomach, and Eleanor forgot to breathe. She could feel the rigid, heated length of his sex branding her like hot steel. And the thought of him moving inside her, completing her, made her heart labor even harder. She was overwhelmed with longing, the burning need in her loins to feel him driving deep into her, to feel his thick shaft filling her, plunging rhythmically… Which was precisely what he wanted her to feel, a protective voice warned in her head.
Damon knew how desperately she longed for him, how she craved his passion.
Yet she was stronger than that, Eleanor scolded herself. She wouldn't give in to his enchantment this time. She wouldn't let him win, wouldn't let herself get lost in the fire in his eyes.
On the contrary, she had to turn the tables on him. She had to make Damon feel the same unquenchable yearning for her, so that someday he would come to love her.
“Perhaps you are right,” she whispered, her voice an unsteady rasp. “We need a bed.”
Her apparent change of heart seemed to take him by surprise, but he didn't question her when she took his hand and led him to the bed.
“Lie down, my lord husband.”
Damon obeyed, climbing onto the high bed and stretching out on his back.
He looked starkly beautiful, sprawled there on the dark gold counterpane. Shadow and light roamed over him, accentuating the strong, sleek lines of his body.
Eleanor felt a fresh surge of primitive arousal just looking at him-and so did he, judging by the heat in his eyes.
She took a deep breath, though, bracing herself against her yearning, and placed a palm on his broad chest.
Feeling the firm resilient muscle beneath the warm velvet of his skin, she stroked him for a moment, her touch light and caressing, but then her hand stilled.
“Damon, do you recall how you always manage to fluster me by kissing me to distraction?”
“Yes, love.”
“This time I mean to do the same to you.”
Bending down to him, she took his lips in a long, sweet, lingering kiss.
Then despite her own yearning to continue, she tore herself away.
“That is all for now, husband. I told you, I am not interested in a marriage of convenience. However, if you ever think you can give me more-if you come to want a true marriage as I do-pray, let me know.”
With that she turned and fled to the safety of her own bedchamber.
She had violated Fanny's precepts with a ven geance, Eleanor knew, by declaring her objective so boldly, but she couldn't bring herself to regret her blunder.
It was time Damon learned just how serious she was about wanting him as a true husband and not merely a lover. About wanting his heart and not only his body.
Dismayingly, however, the choice was entirely his to make.
The shout woke her from a restless sleep.
Her heart thudding in alarm, Eleanor sat up in bed and searched the darkness, wondering what had startled her awake.
The hoarse shout came again from Damon's bedchamber, muffled by the closed door between their rooms. Springing out of bed, Eleanor quickly lit a candle and hurried to unlock their connecting door.
By the time she reached Damon's bedside, his shouts had turned to a low, moaning sound. He was thrashing in his sleep, obviously in the throes of a nightmare.
The tangled covers had lowered to his waist, leaving his torso bare. His skin was damp and chilled with perspiration, Eleanor realized when she put a gentle hand on his shoulder and shook him.
He didn't respond, even when she called his name softly, so she shook him more forcefully. “Damon, wake up!”
At her order, his eyes flew open.
He lay there rigidly, his expression dazed, confused, raw. In the glow of candlelight, she could see his pulse pounding in his throat, could feel the coiled tension in his body beneath her palm.
“You were having a nightmare,” she said in a low voice.
The eyes he turned to her were tortured. He stared at her, looking almost lost. Wild locks of mahogany hair framed his face, while a shadow of stubble darkened his jaw.
His shoulders shuddered. Then, brushing off her touch, he sat up and rubbed a hand raggedly down his face.
“What is troubling you, Damon?” Eleanor asked quietly.
“Nothing.”
His tone was harsh, abrupt, dismissive. Just as abruptly, he seemed to notice her attire-that she was standing there in her nightshift and bare feet.
“I am fine,” he added tersely. “Go back to bed, Elle.”
She wasn't proof against his utter vulnerability, though. She ached to smooth away the lines of pain from his features, to hold him until that desolate look had faded from his eyes.
Raising a soothing hand, she cupped the side of his face. “I wish I could help,” she murmured.
At her gentle touch, Damon froze for a handful of heartbeats. Then he pulled back sharply, away from her offer of comfort.
His lashes swept down to hide his eyes, shuttering his expression, shutting her out. “I don't need your help.”
Eleanor hesitated. “Would you at least like me to stay with you a while?”
“No. I don't want you here.”
Lifting his gaze, he stared back at her, his eyes as dark as a moonless midnight. His voice was brittle when he repeated, “Go back to sleep, Eleanor.”
Reluctantly she obeyed at least part of his command; she returned to her own bed. Yet she definitely did not feel like sleeping.
A tightness welled in Eleanor's chest, in part because Damon had professed not to want her, but mainly because his emotional state dismayed and disturbed her.
What was causing him such pain that he suffered nightmares from it?
It was a long, long time before Eleanor felt herself drifting off to sleep. And when finally she did, her last thought was that Damon was not only shutting her out of his heart. He was shutting her out of his life.
