Free The Flighty Fiancee by Evernight Publishing Page B

I’ll tell you nothing ever
again, Bartholomew. Nothing. We’re done.”
    She turned towards the door, though where she
thought she was going completely naked, with the marks of their
passion all over her skin, Bartholomew didn’t know. Hell, he
wouldn’t put it past her to flounce to her room thus. “You wait
right there,” he called out. “I mean it, India, don’t you
dare—”
    “Go to the devil,” she screamed.
    And the anger pulsed and the outrageous plan seemed
eminently and suddenly very sensible. There was only one way to
deal with her. Only one way to get the answers he needed. So he
strode over to her, grabbed her arm and twirled her around.
    “What are you—”
    He cut off her exclamation by lifting her into his
arms and striding over to the chair at the head of the table. She
wriggled and shrieked but he ignored her. Settling into it instead
and lying her directly across his lap.
    She gasped as his intentions became clear and cured
him. “How dare you!”
    “There is no other way with you, India,” he growled.
“I can not believe I played the gentleman so long around you. Quite
clearly I should never have bothered. I need answers and you are
going to give them to me. If this is the only way so be it. You,
Lady India, need a spanking.”
     
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
    The arms of the oak chair were cold on her thighs
and chest and India wriggled in an attempt to get away. What the
hell was Bartholomew thinking and how could she stop him!
Everything was turning on its head all over again. Her plan to
seduce him, ease the ache and then be on her merry way to her own
estate was crumbling in front of her and she didn’t know how to
right it again. What did you expect? her mind shrieked. It
was never going to work and you knew it! Did she, did she really?
The question burned her mind and India gasped as Bartholomew’s hand
palmed her ass cheek.
    “Tell me why you’re angry,” he demanded.
    “I will not.”
    A light tap hit her cheek and she gasped again.
    “Tell me.”
    “Go to hell.”
    Another tap, this one not as light and to her utter
mortification India felt her nipples harden against the oak.
Bartholomew’s prick prodded her belly, huge and erect all over
again and she bit back a moan. Her mind was muddled. Confusion
seeping into her brain. Her plan had seemed so brilliant sat in her
room in the Curzon Street. Make him wait as he’d made her wait.
Only she hadn’t thought on Bartholomew’s will. Or maybe just
willfully ignored it?
    “Every time I ask you a question and you refuse to
answer I am going to spank you,” he said. “And they’ll only get
harder and harder.”
    “This is barbaric,” India shrieked, trying
desperately to ignore the fact that his words had shot a ridiculous
thrill of pleasure through her. Really, she thought, what
was wrong with her! Normal ladies would not enjoy having their
breast bit or their ass cheeks slapped. Surely they wouldn’t?
Surely it wasn’t normal. Conventional….
    Unconventional, just like her Papa. Hammermsith’s words came back to her then and India wriggled again,
a blush staining her cheeks.
    “Don’t do this,” India said slowly. “Please.”
Because already the pleasure was boiling. Her body thrumming at the
thought of Bartholomew inside of her again and then what? She’d be
nothing but putty in his hands. Left to languish for months on end
until he decided it was time for them to marry? Where’s you
spirit, India? she asked herself. Where’s that Indian fire? One
kiss and you give in?
    You have never been a conventional miss…. And
she wasn’t so maybe it was time to live up to that?
    “Don’t,” she demanded, her tone much firmer.
    “Because it will hurt?” Bartholomew asked, the
weight of his cock burning into her.
    “No, because….” She paused not wanting to say the
words she was thinking.
    “Remember,” he continued, sipping one finger along
her ass until it reached her wet folds. India moaned from