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At that, he rounded the desk in hard strides and posted himself right before her. “He threatened you.”
The anger darkening his glare gave a glimpse of his Scottish temper. “It’s nothing, really.” She tried to calm him.
“How can you say it’s nothing?” He paced back and forth, a hand spiking his slick hair, the other on his tapered hips. “The villain does not know the meaning of the word ‘no’!”
“Listen, Samuel,” she strived to use a level tone as he turned and met her gaze, “he cannot do anything. He’s not even a student anymore, or in an academic career for that matter.” He would never come close to the brilliant man before her. “You should not cease contact with him because of this.”
“You mean I must be civil with a potential rapist?” his tone implied it was utterly ludicrous.
“I mean there was no real harm done.” Of course she could not see the guts of him without becoming upset, but nothing had happened to her.
“Promise me you will come to me if he dares so much as to be near or less than ten feet from you.”
He looked too determined for her to hesitate. “Alright, I promise.” Her acquiescence seemed to appease him. “Can we resume our sorting here?” She took a deep breath, trying to put this out of her mind.
A long moment elapsed with him scrutinising her with detained attention. “Yes, let’s do it,” he answered at last.
They went back to work as hours passed without her realising it and she exclaimed in surprise when the housekeeper announced luncheon.
By mid-afternoon, the files had grown with their respective papers, and they came close to finishing.
Sam had taken a long time to put his rage under control after what Harriet had told him. Not in a thousand centuries would he have guessed the reason she disliked his former classmate. The knowledge had infuriated him. He did not have a single violent bone in his body, but he swore the force of it hit him hard with outrage.
Outrageous must be one way of putting it because the other sour feeling had undeniably been jealousy. Trent had made a pass on the woman he had wanted every day of these last seven years. The other man had not showed a particular preference for her, or any feelings by the looks of it. Certainly, he had propositioned out of a need for self-affirmation and to exert power. The notion not only sickened him, but also made severe possessiveness erupt in his guts. Another first for him.
He rose his eyes to her clad in a blue practical dress, the afternoon sun falling on hair rolled in a simple bun, transforming the wisps dangling from it in pure gold. Standing, half-bent on the desk, her demure neckline gave him a tantalising—and scarce—view of her full breasts. Arousal hit him like a furnace.
The above-mentioned possessiveness rocketed sky high with the idea that she was his, only his. And then he went hard as a rock.
Unbidden, he skirted the desk to reach her. His tall frame bent at her back, his splayed hands gliding on the blue fabric for his arms to band her firmly.
A feminine gasp saw the light of the afternoon. “Samuel! What are you doing?” she breathed.
His palms lined her breasts. “Let’s go to my chambers,” he invited hoarse before his mouth lowered to the curve of her neck.
The pressure of his body made her hands brace on the wooden surface now. “Are you crazy?” she asked, but her spine arched to him.
“Yes,” he nibbled her nape, “for you,” he rasped, cradling his erection in the crease between her buttocks.
Her breasts pressed into his hands. “The hour is—” Her head moved to give him more access.
“I know the hour,” he cut, and moved his pelvis further. “Please.” One hand slid down to her skirts. “Only once, I promise.” And bunched the fabric. “Not four or five times like these past nights.”
“Samuel,” his silky name on her tantalising lips did not help things even if it came as a reprimand.
Which drove him to boiling point. “I’ll go first.” He made himself go upright. “Give it five minutes.”
Swift, she righted herself and swung to
him. “Samuel Bryce McDougal!” With an intake of breath, she crossed her arms over those delectable mounds, to dish him with a schoolmistress look.
His mouth twitched on the verge of grinning. “Yes, miss.”
“Your behaviour is deplorable.” When her eyes lifted to his he saw that she was not so serious as she led him to believe.
“I agree, miss.” Spectacled gaze lowered to her.
“You deserve a lesson,” her stern voice held a hint of amusement.
