Free Seducing the Beast by Jayne Fresina Page B

tongue.
    “You put yourself in great danger,” he said, planting another kiss to the base of her throat. “What if the earl decides to keep you here as his prisoner?”
    “I’m far too disagreeable for any man to want for long.”
    He paused. She thought she heard him laugh. It was an odd, stilted sound she longed to encourage out of hiding. He needed to laugh. She’d sensed that almost from the first.
    “My lord?” Someone knocked at the door briskly, breaking through her balmy daydreams. The loosened bolt rattled, but her captor paid no heed to the noise.
    He kissed her hot cheek and then reclaimed her lips. Eyelids fluttering shut, she arched toward him, her body yearning. She wanted to put her arms around his neck again, but his fingers were unrelenting iron cuffs around her wrists.
    The visitor at the door knocked harder.
    With little kisses he brushed one eyelid, then the other, his breath blowing playfully on her lashes.
    She wanted to cry out, beg him not to stop. Instead she whimpered pathetically, “Someone comes for your master.”
    “Ignore. I’m not done putting you in your place for slapping me today.”
    “You’d best make haste. I haven’t all day.”
    “Are you always so irritating?”
    “Irritating?” she muttered wryly, “I thought I was on my best behavior.”
    “I’d like to see you at your worst.”
    “Be careful what you wish for.” Heat radiated from her belly now; lust held her ransom against the door.
    He growled gently in her ear. “What is it you want from my master? Say the word and I’ll see that you have it. Anything.”
    “Captain Downing’s pardon. How many times must I say it?”
    “There must be more.” His tongue swept over her mouth again as if he couldn’t resist, yet when she parted her lips, ready for him, he left her waiting this time. “What could he give you? What could he do for you, not for Downing?”
    A third, insistent knock rattled the door.
    “Is there nothing you want? No fine pearl earrings? No purse of gold? No silk petticoat?”
    She’d never thought of anything like that for herself. Earrings she would undoubtedly lose, a petticoat she would tear, and a purse of gold would only make her terrified of robbers. Where did one keep a purse of gold safely? She knew spending it all at once would be quite impossible. Even sixpence caused her palpitations, trying to decide what to spend it on.
    “I want nothing else,” she mewled, raising her lashes.
    His breath was ragged, her own even less steady. In his eyes, pure gold gleamed through layers of dark and shadow, but despite the riches they held, they were the strangest, saddest, neediest two creatures she’d ever seen. She shivered.
    His eyelids lowered slowly, shielding his thoughts and likewise that priceless plunder from her captivated gaze--as if it was not too late for modesty. As if her ideas didn’t mirror his in that tense moment.
    * * * *
    Griff contemplated keeping her there. She was, it seemed, conflicted, and he was certainly loath to let her go. The sparks in her wide eyes lured him with promises of bounty he’d never believed in. He should know better. Glancing down at her full bosom, straining against his leather doublet, he expelled a quick groan of frustration. She was temptation incarnate. He was rigid with this torment. His seed surged vigorously with too much life after an extended dormancy.
    If he didn’t send her out now, he would embarrass himself like a green youth.
    “Best leave now, wench,” he muttered.
    She hesitated.
    “Go,” he snapped, clawing through his hair.
    She opened the door and pushed her way by the man who stood there, waiting impatiently. One hand clutching her breast, she ran as if the devil himself was on her heels.
    “Who was that, milord?” asked Wickes, shuffling in.
    “Nobody.” He strode to the window, retrieving the fallen candle. The wine goblet rolled across the floor, almost causing him to trip. He swore.
    “What happened,