Page 33 of Outrageous

Her perfect features shifted into a mask of loathing. “I hate you.”

Ah, so they were back to that.

Good. It was better that she hated him; there was less chance of his bending her over the table and fucking them both to ecstasy if she wanted to brain him with a poker.

Godric forced himself to give her a superior smile of amusement—the sort of expression guaranteed to turn any residual desire she might feel for him into detestation. “So you’ve said, sweetheart. Why don’t you do your hating in your own room, so that I might get some sleep?”

For a moment he thought she would snatch up the nearest weapon—a plate, a butter knife, even a wine goblet, and attack him. Instead she drew herself up with the dignity of a duchess and dropped an icy curtsy.

“Good evening, my lord. I wish you pleasant dreams.” She exited the room with a back as stiff as a plank, only spoiling her cold exit when she slammed the door hard enough to knock a piece of damp plaster off the stained wall beside it.

Godric inhaled until his lungs felt as if they might explode and then held the breath for a long moment before noisily expelling it.

Well done, my lord. Weren’t you the one who said just this morning that you’d prefer not to fight and scuffle every day?

“Oh, get stuffed,” he muttered to himself, filling his still half-full glass of wine until the liquid touched the brim.

It was going to be a long bloody night.

* * *

It was full dark when Eva woke up, and she had no idea where she was—at Exham? In London? Her eyes flickered to the small window covered with thin, ragged curtains; no, this was somewhere else. This was—

Godric.

It all flooded back to her: abducting him, arguing with him, and then, tonight, throwing herself at him.

Ugh. Eva shuddered at the memory of earlier this evening. She reached toward the nightstand for her pocket watch, which Godric, no, Visel, had allowed her to keep when he’d taken the rest of her things. She checked the time: amazingly, she’d been asleep for only a few hours and it was not yet two.

Eva sat up, which was when she noticed the soft candlelight flickering beyond the cracked door. He must have opened the door because she’d slammed it shut upon leaving him. Something about the thought of him spying on her as she slept gave her a tight feeling in her stomach. She pushed back the blankets and winced as her feet hit the cool, clammy wooden floor. The fire in the grate was glowing hotly, so he must have come in to stoke the fire.

That was considerate of him.

Eva’s eyebrows slammed together at the unwanted thought. Godric Fleming was a toad without a considerate bone in his body. If he opened the door, he’d have his own reasons for doing so. Besides, she hadn’t asked him to take care of such things—she could take care of herself; she refused to be grateful. Especially to such a bossy, superior, odious—

She ground her teeth together to stop the buildup of anger inside her. She really needed to gain control of her emotions or he would continue to prod and poke and manipulate her as easily as a child.

She tiptoed toward the door, which was open enough for her to make out that he wasn’t in his bed. He was sitting in the same chair he’d occupied earlier, but he’d shifted it slightly until it almost faced her, as if he might have been watching the door, although he was not doing so right now.

No, he was most certainly not watching her right now.

Eva swallowed so noisily she was astounded he didn’t hear it—but it was clear that his current thoughts were elsewhere. His head was tipped against the back of the chair, allowing her an uninterrupted view of the powerful column of his throat and the broad V of golden, muscular chest that was exposed by the open neck of his shirt.

That alone would have been enough to make her bones turn to water, but then there was his hand. A hand that was stroking softly over the front of his buckskins.

Eva pivoted sharply away from the door and sagged against the wall, fighting to catch her breath. She knew what he was doing because she’d done the same thing to herself time and again. Oh, not exactly the same thing, of course, but it was the same, really—only their bodies were different. Eva swallowed convulsively, her heart pounding like war drums in her chest. What he was doing was private. Perhaps the most private thing a person could do. To watch him would be wrong—despicable.

It would also be delicious.

She bit her lip at the hard throb between her thighs, pushed her hair off her face so that none of it would interrupt her view, and turned back to the cracked door.

The view had become even more entrancing while she’d been wasting precious moments dithering. Now he was lazily rubbing his chest with the hand not busy on his breeches. His movements were smooth and sensual, his fingers splayed as he stroked in large circles, slipping beneath the edge of the fine linen, pushing it open to expose a small, dark pink nipple.

Eva had to swallow almost constantly to keep from drooling. Of course she knew men had nipples, but she’d never really given any thought to that fact before.

The tips of his fingers brushed the small disc of flesh and he gave a low groan, his body tensing and his hips arching off the chair.

Eva didn’t know which shocked her more, his body’s reaction to the slight touch, or hers. Her own breasts had tightened in response, seeming heavier, the soft cotton of her nightgown feeling like rough burlap against the hard points of her nipples.