Free Devil’s Kiss by Zoe Archer Page A

boldly sexual look. As if he imagined the shapes their bodies would make when intertwined. “You intrigue me so.”
    “God,” she said bitterly, “how I wish I didn’t.”
    He took a step toward her. “Come, Zora. It need not be this way between us. We might enjoy one another. I promise you, I can give you quite a lot of pleasure.” His confidence was indisputable, and she did not doubt him. He murmured, smiling, his lids lowered, “Let’s to bed together.”
    “Will you force me,” she asked, then added acidly, “ my lord ?”
    He looked startled. The mask slipped. “Never,” he said at once. The notion seemed to appall him.
    Good. Maybe there was yet hope for him, and for her. “That is what it will take to get me into your bed.” Her voice was cutting. “Force. I won’t go otherwise.”
    His eyes narrowed. “Do you hate me?”
    “Yes,” she said immediately.
    Again, his surprise. As if he found himself suddenly on stage in the middle of a play and discovered he was performing not the role of the hero but the villain. “Do you desire me?”
    The magic that controlled her would not allow her to lie. “Yes.”
    A quick blaze of triumph in his face. “Let me show you how I desire you.” He stepped nearer. His head lowered, bringing his mouth close to hers. She felt the warmth of his breath as his lips hovered a scant inch from hers, the heat of his body as strong as a fever. This close, she saw stubble along his jaw, intoxicatingly male, the short dark fringe of his eyelashes, a multitude of tiny details imprinting themselves on her mind and her deepest self.
    His kiss would devastate her. She knew that if his lips met hers, she would mistake him for who he had been, not who he was now, and the resistance she needed would burn to ash.
    She turned her head to the side. His breath fanned her cheek. “By force alone. That is the only way you’ll ever have me.”
    For a moment, she thought she had pushed him too far. His expression grew shadowed. Animal need gleamed through him, tightening him. He reached for her and she stiffened, readying herself. She would fight him, if she had to.
    He did not grab her. Did not haul her to him, or use bruising, punishing hands.
    Instead, he ran a fingertip lightly down her neck. She shivered.
    “Care to bet on that?” he asked.
    She had to answer, yet before she spoke, he turned away.
    As if speaking to any guest, he said, “A bedchamber will be readied for you.”
    The thought of sleeping in a gorgio bed, in a gorgio house, felt like entombment. She had seen their cumbersome beds and thought them massive and terrifying, especially the ones with hanging draperies like shrouds.
    “If I’m held prisoner in this place,” she said, “then I will stay in this room.”
    Of her many responses, this was one he hadn’t anticipated. He looked around at the room, frowning. “You can’t stay in the gaming room.” This was a clear fact to him. Nobody slept in a room not designed for sleeping. Typical gorgio .
    “Until you let me go, this is where I’ll stay.” She folded her arms across her chest.
    “The other chambers are much more comfortable.”
    “Not to me.”
    Whit studied her for half a moment, as though she truly were a fox that had somehow been trapped within his home. A strange, wild creature in a place where it didn’t belong.
    He bowed, smiling. A gentleman’s bow, elegant and effortless, highlighting the sleek muscularity of his body. “As my lady wishes.”
    “I’m not your lady,” she fired back. “Not as long as the Devil has his claws in you.”
    He frowned, seemingly torn between his two selves. Then he gave another bow, retreating behind his aristocrat’s polished veneer. “Good night, Zora. Or rather,” he said, eyeing the pale dawn sky, “good morning. If you change your mind about wanting a bed, any bed, it’s yours for the taking.”
    She knew exactly which bed he wanted for her. Before she could spit back a retort, he strode from