Page 123 of Forbidden

“That’s not true. Your desire and mine are different faces of the same coin.”

Duncan raked his hand through his hair, then unfastened his rich mantle and tossed it aside.

“No,” he said, turning back to her. “My desire drowns yours. It would be the same for you with any man.”

At first Amber didn’t understand.

When she did, she was furious. Her eyes narrowed to slits.

“You believe I have no passion that isn’t secondhand, is that it?” she asked carefully.

He nodded.

“You believe that any man who touched me with passion would set fire to me.”

Duncan hesitated, then nodded again.

“You shame both of us,” Amber said icily, making no attempt to conceal her rage.

He started to speak, but she overrode him, clipping each word as though it were thread in a finished weaving.

“Thrice in my life I have felt a man’s passion. The first time I ran like a deer until I was safe. Then I knelt and vomited until I was too weak to stand.”

“How old were you?”

“Nine.”

Duncan said something vile beneath his breath.

“At that age, you were too young to respond to passion,” he said. “But now that you are old enough—”

“The second time,” Amber interrupted, “I was nineteen. More than old enough to respond to passion, wouldn’t you agree?”

Duncan shrugged.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” she persisted.

“Yes,” he said, his voice harsh. “And you did, didn’t you?”

“Respond with passion?”

He nodded curtly.

“Oh, yes,” Amber said. “I was consumed by passion—”

Duncan’s mouth flattened.

“—if you concede that anger and loathing are passions,” she said sardonically. “I drew my dagger, stabbed the hand that was groping under my skirt, and ran until I was safe. Then I vomited until I was too weak to swallow.”

“Who were those animals?” Duncan demanded.

“The third time I felt a man’s passion,” Amber continued, ignoring Duncan’s question, “a stranger’s hand was tangled in my hair and chills of golden pleasure coursed through me.”

“A stranger?”

“You.”

“I don’t understand,” Duncan said.