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Sometimes he wondered if he took her, dishonored her, would she then see the need to say yes to marriage? Or in her stubbornness would she ignore her lost virtue and turn her back on him once more?
When he glanced at her again, her eyelids were half-masted and her gaze burned with a fire he had never seen in her. Not the fire of stubbornness, the fire of passion.
Instead of throwing her to the floor and mounting her, as his dark self longed to do, he gently pressed his lips to hers. The velvety softness made him think of flower petals, and then the wonder of whether a petal could ever be as soft as her lips.
He was chaste, but she strained toward him, flattening her lips, her inexperience showing…and innocently thrilling. Her eyes were clenched as if she would see something awkward and sinful. One of her hands gripped his shirt and waistcoat.
He cupped the back of her neck, holding her still. He would lead this expedition to Elysium and teach her along the way. He tilted his head, slowing nibbling at those puffed petals, the honey-sweet fruit of the gods. She moaned and the sound vibrated against his kiss. And sizzled all the way to his groin.
The few pecks they had shared were forgotten, time and distance dulling the memories.
This was what was needed to change her mind. Real passion.
She slid her arm about his neck. Roman opened his mouth over her lips and swiped his tongue along the seam, encouraging her to respond. Was she delirious? He could not tell if she knew what she was doing or if she was consumed by uncontrollable lust.
She trembled beneath his hands and kisses. Every touch elicited a moan, until she was humming—and burning. It was a wonder she did not burst into flame. He certainly had; his cock rested hard against her thigh. She hadn’t noticed yet.
Finally, she opened her mouth to him.
He’d kissed other women with more abandon. He kissed Shelene as if she gave him the breath of life.
Their tongues touched. Roman pulled her tighter against his chest, one hand fitted against her ass.
“Ahhhem.”
Roman opened his eyes to see the shadowed figure in the doorway, stern and unsmiling.
Shit.
He broke the kiss, only to glance at Shelene’s confused and embarrassed expression. She was still lost in the throes of lethargic desire.
“Shelene,” he said, opening his leg so that her feet could touch the floor.
Martina shook her head in disapproval.
“Shelene, my love,” he whispered in her ear, “it is time to return to your room.”
“Roman.”
“Martina is here to escort you.”
Her eyes widened, the situation becoming uncomfortably real. Couples had been required to marry for lesser indiscretions. Forced by watchful parents.
Shelene jumped to her feet, ignoring Roman and adjusting the blanket so that she was covered once again. She hurried toward herduenna, unwilling to acknowledge what had happened in a candlelit room between two who loved each other but could not find common ground.
Martina bestowed him a glacial stare before she turned and followed.
He sat for a moment until he heard one door slam. He wondered if it was Shelene’s door or Martina’s which closed with such force.
What was he trying to prove? That he could entice her into losing her virginity? Or maybe he hoped they would be caught in this public forum and be required to marry in order to save Shelene’s reputation.
He blew a steadying breath, took the chair Shelene had so recently vacated and plucked up the quill once again.
Should he propose marriage again tomorrow?
For certain, he would not sleep tonight, knowing Shelene was nearby and no closer to being his. He spoke French, but he doubted whether his sheep would listen to him either.
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