Free Samantha James by My Lord Conqueror Page B

sure, with a great deal of pleasure—on my part and yours. And I do not think you want that, do you, Saxon?”
    She glared at him. “God rot your soul,” she said fervently. “If that is what you intend, I would rather you just…just take me and be done with it!”
    “Would you now?” He gave a husky laugh. “In time, sweet witch. In time. Perhaps on the morrow, eh? Perhaps not. Oh, you need not worry,” he added when her eyes flew wide, “for I will spare you this night. But hear me, Saxon, and hear me well, for it seems you are a stubborn wench indeed.”
    Alana shrank back as he leaned close, but there was no escaping him. He reached her easily, running a single fingertip across the fragile span of her collarbone. His expression had gone utterly unyielding, utterly intent.
    “Aye, I will take you,” he went on, and alas, the seduction was wiped clean from his voice. “You will not know when. You will notknow where. But you will be mine—indeed you are already mine. Were I you, I’d not forget it.”
    It was both a warning—and a promise.
    With that he rolled over and turned his back to her. Her mouth dry with an ashen dread, Alana stared at the width of his bare shoulders gleaming in the firelight. He spoke no more, and indeed, there was no need.
    You will be mine, Saxon—indeed you are already mine .
    She knew then, she knew what he intended…He did not spare her out of mercy or kindness. Only now did she begin to truly understand him.
    He’d said he would possess her, and so he would. Alana did not doubt it. But he would make her wait. Wondering what the night might bring. Not knowing when…Oh, but he was cruel as the devil from whom ’twas said he was sprung!
    Her fingers twined in the sheet. She stared blindly at the shadows flickering on the ceiling. Bitterness forged a burning ache in her breast.
    Aye, he had come. He had conquered. The battles he fought were over.
    But hers had just begun.

Chapter 6
    F or Alana it was the longest night of her life.
    The taste of fear was like ashes in her mouth. At first she was convinced that Merrick was merely out to trick her by pretending to sleep. She was certain he would reach for her at any moment, that he would do as he promised and take her, willing or no. Even when she came to realize he did indeed sleep, she lay stiffly, afraid to move, certain that the slightest movement might wake him and stir his anger—even worse, his desire.
    The moon had begun to fall and the night nearly spent before she finally slipped into a restless sleep.
    It seemed she had just closed her eyes when she felt him leave the bed. She had lain huddled on her side the night through, as far from him as she could get. Now, though her eyes were closed, her every sense was quiveringly alert. She could hear him moving about the chamber, stirring the fire and coaxing it to life, the rustle of clothes and weapons.
    Then all was silent.
    “Saxon.”
    Alana froze. The voice was soft as swansdown…and came from directly above her.
    He gave a low, husky laugh. Warm fingertips traced the slope of one bare shoulder. “You do not fool me, Saxon. I know you do not sleep.”
    Alana did not share his good humor. She screwed her eyes shut and directed a most fervent prayer heavenward that he would leave. But alas, God was otherwise engaged, for the next thing she knew, the mattress dipped low.
    “Come to me, Saxon,” came his whisper.
    Alana flounced to her back, her eyes open now and glaring at him with blistering intent. “I will not—” she began furiously.
    He bent low and smiled, that arrogant smile she was coming to despise. “Ah, but you will. Have you not learned that yet?”
    With a cry she shoved at his chest. But alas, his arms slid around her and brought her close—so very close she could feel the rise and fall of his chest. What protest she would have made was never to be. With the pressure of his body full upon hers, he held her in place. Alana could not move; she could