realm. As if he’d fallen under some spell-the house’s or hers. Perhaps both.
Regardless, Mon Coeur increasingly felt like the lock his key fitted.
The door opened. He turned his head as Linnet came in.
Locating him, she set the candlestick on the tallboy and walked deliberately, with certain intent, toward him. She was wearing another of her fine woollen gowns, a plain, modest creation in smoky green, yet the sleeves outlined the graceful lines of her arms, the scooped neckline drew his eye to the swells of her breasts, while the clinging skirts flirting about her long legs teased his senses.
Fixing his gaze on her face, he steeled himself to hear her push to continue their “arrangement,” with him repaying his obligation to her by educating her, tutoring her, in the ways of the flesh.
Her flesh, and his.
He didn’t want that-didn’t want to, couldn’t bring himself to, treat her like that, to view her and her body as part of some bartered exchange. He, body, mind, and soul, would be delighted to make love to her if she wanted him-if, freely, she wanted to lie with him, to explore that side of paradise with him without any hint of obligation or coercion.
He wanted to deal with her on a different plane-man to woman, gentleman to lady, lover to lover. He wanted nothing, no other consideration, tainting what they shared, coloring it, corrupting it.
As she halted before him and looked into his eyes, he wanted to tell her, to find the words and rescript their relationship, nudging it onto the simple, direct, conventional path, one he’d followed with no other woman but wanted to follow with her.
He knew what he needed to say, but he didn’t have the words.
Regardless, he couldn’t speak them. Uncertainty, lack of memory, forced him to silence.
He didn’t yet know his recent past-didn’t know if he had a wife waiting for him. He didn’t think he had, yet the possibility was there.
Making love to Linnet at her instigation, more, at her insistence, was one thing-something his honor didn’t approve of but could live with given he had no real choice. That she would leave him no choice. But to speak, and lead her to believe there could be more between them when he didn’t know if that were so, would be the action of a cad.
He looked into her eyes, lucent in the moonlight, and knew he wasn’t going to like where she would lead him. Yet until he knew all about Logan Monteith, the man he was now, the commitments he’d made and had yet to fulfill, he was helpless to, on her own turf, take the reins from her.
Linnet studied his eyes, examined what she could see in his face, in the chiseled angles and planes. “You’re thinking too much.” He was thinking of ways to argue, to discuss their situation. She trapped his dark gaze. “Stop resisting. You know there’s no point. Your obligation to me is mounting, so how are you planning to balance the account?”
She felt utterly brazen-and just a touch guilty-holding to such a line, compelling him in a way she knew he didn’t like, yet that way would keep her firmly in control, dictating their relationship.
Ensuring it remained superficial.
Ensuring she did nothing to encourage him to think it might be more. Could be more. That she might ever wish for more.
His eyes narrowed on hers. “What do you want of me? What lesson am I supposed to teach you tonight?”
His voice had lowered; she hid a smile. He was, it seemed, going to fall into line. “I want to learn more-I want you to show me more beyond what we’ve already shared.”
His lips thinned. “You’ll need to be more specific.”
Her own eyes narrowed. Perhaps she’d been too quick to assume his capitulation. How could she be specific if she didn’t know?… she smiled. Smugly. “I want you to treat me as you would a slave-a pleasure slave.”
His eyes widened.
She let her smile deepen. “As a female given to you to do with as you wish-
His lips tightened to a grim line. His eyes were deepest midnight. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. Try again-you don’t want that.”
She raised her brows higher, haughty and assured. “I know what I want-your desires unfettered. I want to know-to experience-what meeting those desires means. What fulfilling your most potent desires feels like.”
Logan stared into her witchy green eyes, took in her prideful, arrogant expression-and felt everything within him quake.
He felt like a predator about to pounce. To be offered such a sexual feast, to have it forced on him… but he shouldn’t. She shouldn’t. Desperately he sought some way to deny her.
She tilted her chin and stared back at him, stubbornness in every line of her face, of her body. “Tonight,” she stated, her tone a ringing challenge, “that’s my price.” Her gaze held his. “And I believe you’re obligated to pay.”
He struggled not to react. All but shook with the impulse to seize her and devour. How had he got into this? Every time he thought he’d be able to control her, she took another step into deeper waters-and effortlessly dragged him with her.
If he did as she asked…
Truer words he’d never spoken-he knew to his bones she had no idea. Compared to him, she was an innocent. Why she was pushing him in that particular direction he didn’t know, but given said innocence, if he complied, even half complied… perhaps she wouldn’t push him again. At least not along such a dangerous path.
The last thing he wanted was to see fear in her eyes, yet just a lick, a suggestion, would with luck have her shying from any further dangerous games-not with him or anyone else.
God forbid she tried this with anyone else.
That thought sealed his fate. Better him than any other. If he wanted to protect the damned witch, then picking up the gauntlet she’d just flung at his feet was the right course.
To make sure she never flung it again.
“All right.” He nodded. “You’re my pleasure slave for the night. You don’t speak unless asked a question, and you obey every order I give instantly-without hesitation.”
Her lips curved in subtle triumph as she inclined her head.
“Fetch the candlestick.”
She turned and walked back to the tallboy. He flung himself into the armchair angled before the wide window. She returned, candlestick in hand.
“Put it on the table by the bed.”
She did, then looked at him.
He pointed to a spot a yard before his feet. Obediently, she crossed to stand there. Cloud-veiled moonlight and starlight washed through the window, combining with the candle glow to illuminate her while leaving him largely in shadow.
He met her gaze. “Take off your clothes.”
Her lips curved, and she obliged. She patently understood enough of her role to do so without haste, yet without unnecessary hesitation.
He watched as she revealed herself, the long lines of her limbs, her delectable curves, all encased in alabaster-white. He debated, but didn’t instruct her to let down her hair; the rippling mass would conceal too much of her body, and he was leaving her no modesty tonight.
That was part of his plan. As he watched, he worked out more.
When she tossed her chemise aside and it floated down to join the rest of her clothes scattered to one side on the floor, he openly examined her, ran his gaze slowly over the white curves and hollows, over the full peaks of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the flare of her hips, the thatch of red-gold curls at the apex of her thighs. Long, sleekly muscled thighs, sculpted knees, svelte calves and delicate feet.
Slowly, still blatantly assessing, he ran his gaze back up, to her face. “Put your hands on your breasts. Cup
