“Because I cannae afford to lose control with ye.”
She stared at him. He saw the warning reach her. He also saw the way her breath hitched after, the way her fingers tightened in his shirt before she released him.
“What would happen if ye did?” she asked.
Connor looked at her mouth, then at the blanket pulled over her. He drew it higher across her chest with one careful tug. If he did not keep doing small, sensible things, he would forget every reason to stop.
“Ye cannae imagine the things I would do to ye,” he rasped.
Violet swallowed. “What if I want to ken?”
His hand gripped the edge of the blanket, hard enough to wrinkle it. “Nae like this.”
“Like what?”
“Pale from the market. Full of bitter tea. Hiding something from me? Right now isnae the best time to ask for something like this.”
Her hand moved to her midsection, quick and unthinking, and caught in the blanket before she could lower it. Connor saw it. He kept his gaze on her face, though the small motion gave more meaning and shape to the fear she had denied him.
“If I take ye, I may get ye pregnant,” he warned.
Her blush deepened, fierce and helpless.
“That is what ye forbade,” he reminded her. “So tell me why ye are suddenly willing to risk it.”
She looked at him for several breaths, but no answer came.
Connor pushed himself upright before desire could make a coward of him. The bed ropes creaked as he shifted to sit beside her, putting space where his body wanted none. He kept one hand on the blanket near her hip—a poor compromise, perhaps, but he needed to know she was steady.
Violet watched him with bruised pride in her eyes. “So that is yer answer?”
“Me answer is that ye will tell me the truth before I make a child with ye.”
“I didnae say anything about making a child.”
“Nay. Ye tried to speakaroundit.”
Her chin lifted again. “Ye make sense sound deeply unappealing, do ye ken that?”
“Aye. That is because it often is.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, though her eyes still blazed with anger. “Ye could simply admit ye enjoy denying me.”
Connor looked at her squarely and tried in his own way to let her see the cost. His hand in the bedding and his breathing and the way he had sat beside her, because lying next to her had become too dangerous.
“I want ye, let me make that clear,” he said, watching her eyes darken. “Daenae mistake me restraint for lack of want.”
“Then what should I call it?”
“Sense.”
She tutted, turning her head slightly. “Well, that is a dull word.”
“Ye will be surprised, wife.”
Violet looked toward the table while Connor reached for the piece of bread he had torn off earlier. He held it out to her.
“Eat,” he said.
