Free Cheryl Holt by Deeper than Desire Page A

him joy and pleasure?
    Knowing her, perhaps?
    “What were you fighting about?” she brashly probed. With anyone else, she’d never have dared inquire.
    “My life; his women.”
    His father’s
women
? It was such a curt, strange reply that she wasn’t certain where to go next. “Does your father live at Salisbury?”
    He chuckled. “Yes.”
    “And your . . . mother?”
    “Died ages ago.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    He shrugged again, then he altered the configuration of their hands, so that he could stroke his thumb across her palm.
    “I don’t want to talk about my parents.”
    “What would you like to talk about?”
    Tired of waiting for her to make a decision, he tugged on her wrist, and the slight tension spurred her to do what she couldn’t accomplish on her own. She clambered onto the sofa, just to her knees, her skirt trailing behind and dangling over the edge.
    He gripped her waist and tipped her forward so that she would fall against him. The intimate contact wascoming too soon, too fast, and she braced herself on her arm to prevent it.
    “Have you ever dallied with a man before?”
    “No.”
    “There are things I yearn to do with you,” he proclaimed. “I want to touch you and kiss you. Will you let me?”
    A vivid picture from the erotic book flashed into her mind—of the stranded sailor with the mermaid snuggled between his legs so that he could fondle her breasts.
    Was that what he proposed? Was he inclined to that sort of outrageousness? Did he want to view her in the nude? Maybe massage her private parts?
    The notion was so beyond her ability to process, and had been dropped so speedily and so early in the conversation, that she was paralyzed. She couldn’t move or speak, but apparently, no reply was required.
    He leaned toward her, and she yelped with astonishment as she thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he dipped down and nuzzled at her nape.
    His chin rasped her, and her stomach tickled as she realized it was rough from his whiskers, that he needed to shave. A man’s face could feel rugged? What a fascinating fact to mull over!
    She tried to calm herself, to focus on what he was doing. Bizarrely, he was tasting her, as if absorbing her very essence.
    He bit her! His teeth latched on to the most tender area of her shoulder, and he nipped. She jerked away, glaring at him and rubbing the spot. Though it throbbed, it didn’t ache.
    “Why did you do that?” she snapped.
    “I like the way you smell,” he asserted, which wasn’t really a clarification.
    He studied her, and there seemed to be a confidencehe wanted to share, a secret he wanted to divulge, but he said nothing.
    “What do you want from me?” she finally asked, when she couldn’t bear the silence.
    His response was to drape her across his lap. Her hip was pressed to his groin, her bottom burrowed onto his thighs.
    Her breasts were flattened to his chest, her nipples growing hard and erect, and poking into him like shards of glass. Whenever he shifted the tiniest amount, they abraded in a fashion that was exciting and sublime.
    “You shouldn’t be here.” He forced her breasts closer. “Where you’re concerned, I haven’t a single honorable intention.”
    “I don’t care.”
    “You should.”
    He reached for the erotic book and balanced the spine on his palm. The pages fell open to one of the lewd scenes, but she didn’t glance down, terrified of what she might see, of what he might say.
    “Look!” he commanded. “Look at it.”
    Her eyes darted to the side, then widened. It was an illustration she didn’t recall from her prior review. A satyr—half man, half animal—had snared a woodland nymph. He was clutching her back to his front and restraining her against her will.
    The female was frantic, fearful, while the satyr was arrogant, undaunted, satisfied with his pursuit.
    “Do you have any idea what he’s doing to her?”
    “No, no . . .”
    “He’s mating with her; rutting with her