Page 28 of An Outlaw’s Desire

He spoke the words convincingly enough, but in truth, he didn’t just want to talk. Her warmth, her scent, her squirming reminded his body of how long it had been since he’d lain with a woman. Of how much he’d desired Blythe.

He mentally shoved his hunger aside. Of utmost importance now was to convince her not to sound the alarm the instant he released her.

“If you promise not to cry out….”

In the midst of renewed fighting, she paused. Her head, against his shoulder, turned slightly to the left, as though she tried to gauge his expression. Perhaps she hoped to look him in the eye? To see if she perceived truth or deception in his gaze?

“I will free your mouth.” Perhaps that offer of trust, on his part, would be enough to sway her.

He heard her swallow. Felt the shiver that wove through her. Then, she nodded.

“Good.” He lifted his hand.

She dashed forward, but he still had hold of her arm. He curled his fingers into the sleeve of her chemise. Halted in forward momentum, she lurched, gasped, while the garment slid down from her shoulder and exposed smooth, pale skin.

Snatching hold of the front of her chemise to keep it from baring her cleavage, she spun to face him. Her eyes blazed. Her face reddened, while her bosom—barely covered—rose and fell with her indignant breaths.

How beautiful she was; frightened, but above all, brave.

The fire in the hearth snapped and hissed.

“Unhand me.”

Reluctance burned, for he didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to coax her back to him, to quiet her with soft words and even a gentle kiss. But, he nodded once and loosened his grasp. The gossamer fabric slipped from his fingertips.

Still clutching her garment, she pushed her shoulders back. The movement, though, caused the shiny hair tumbling down her front to shift and accentuate more of the rounded swell of her breasts beneath the gauzy linen.

He longed to trail his eyes over her, to savor the curves of the exquisite form before him, but he snapped his gaze back up to hers. Her gaze flickered slightly but remained steady.

“How did you get in my chamber?” she asked, her voice low but firm.

“Later, I will answer—”

“You will answer me now, or I will scream.”

Damnation. “You will break your promise, then?” he said quietly. “A moment ago, you agreed you wouldn’t cry out.”

“A moment ago, you hadn’t partly removed my chemise.”

“I have no hold on you or your clothing now.”

“Still, I do not know your intentions—”

“As I said, I wish to talk. In good faith, I released you; part of the agreement forged between us a moment ago.”

Her eyes narrowed. Then her gaze darted to the dagger on the table.

Pitt shook his head. “Reach for that, and our truce ends.”

Her fingers buried deeper into the front of her chemise. “You cannot blame me for wanting to protect myself. How do I know I can trust you?”

A raw ache settled in his gut.

“How do I know I can believe a word you say?”

He heard misgiving in her voice, but also a plea. She wanted some kind of assurance—and if he were in her position, he’d want the same.

“My intentions toward you are noble,” he said, “even though I cannot prove—”