he was, but he had forfeited the right to her regard? Perhaps she was no longer concerned for her wizard’s wellbeing since she had met him face to face. Possibly she was even anxious to send him out onto the field. If he defeated the baron, she would be reinstated in her proper place. If he lost, he would receive what he deserved for daring to abduct her and show such blatant disregard for her person.
He had to know which theory was right. He must test her somehow.
As she returned with her bread, he swung around in his chair and stretched out his long legs so they blocked her path. “I believe I’ll have a cup of coffee to keep you company while you eat.”
“As you please,” she said, and lifted her skirts in one hand as though she intended to step over him.
“I meant for you to bring it,” he said in lazy suggestion as he shifted to prevent her passage.
“Did you?” she said pleasantly. “I can’t imagine why.”
“I thought we had settled this issue.”
“You were wrong. We settled that I would fend for myself in the matter of my own food preparation. Nothing was said about acting the servant for you.”
“We settled that I am able to command you,” he corrected her before allowing his voice to soften. “Still, you might, if you wished, do it to please me.”
Her gaze was defiant. “And why should I feel any desire to do that?”
He smiled and deliberately tilted his head. “You know why.”
He saw her eyes narrow slightly, and felt a tingle of alarm along his spine. Then her lips curved in a slow smile. Reaching over him to put her bread on her plate, she swung away and moved to where the coffee pot sat on its warmer.
Rayne watched her find a coffee mug and fill it, leaving the brew black and unsweetened, as he had taken it earlier. Gaze lowered, she turned and walked toward him with it, moving with slow care so as not to spill a drop.
He should have known. He might have, had he not been so gratified by her ready compliance with his wishes, so puffed up with conceit that she had noted and remembered his preference for black coffee. He didn’t notice the grim set of her mouth, didn’t see the tremor in her fingers—not until she reached across him at the table, until the cup was poised over his lap.
The cup tilted. Hot brown liquid poured out, streaming, steaming as it cascaded downward.
Rayne cursed as he flung away from it, overturning his chair behind him. Mara danced away from him and the falling chair, but slipped in the coffee splashing across the floor. The cup flew out of her hand as she fell. He grabbed for her, but became entangled in her skirts. Taking her with him, he twisted with her as he landed on his side, absorbing the brunt of the crashing fall.
He lay for a winded instant before heaving over, dragging her under him, placing her on her back with her wrists captured in his hard fingers. Drenched in coffee, breathing hard, he settled a portion of his weight upon her.
His right thigh burned from hip to ankle, though his body against her soft, warm wetness grew hotter still. Mara, protected by her layers of skirts, appeared to have taken no injury.
She recovered first. She braced, and then arched her back in a frantic effort to throw him off. Shifting, he used his weight to hold her immobile. She heaved this way and that, struggling while he pressed her down until his body felt welded to her every curve and hollow, until he could feel her panting breaths in the very center of his being. He shifted a fraction, and the heated hardness of his arousal nudged against the softness between her thighs. Her writhing under him pressed her more firmly against it.
Abruptly, she ceased struggling to lie perfectly still.
“Let me go!” she demanded in tight rage. “Did you think that I would obey you, all meek and mild, for the sake of a single kiss?”
“I never said it was for a kiss.” His voice was less than even as he sought to control the urges that boiled in his blood
He had to know which theory was right. He must test her somehow.
As she returned with her bread, he swung around in his chair and stretched out his long legs so they blocked her path. “I believe I’ll have a cup of coffee to keep you company while you eat.”
“As you please,” she said, and lifted her skirts in one hand as though she intended to step over him.
“I meant for you to bring it,” he said in lazy suggestion as he shifted to prevent her passage.
“Did you?” she said pleasantly. “I can’t imagine why.”
“I thought we had settled this issue.”
“You were wrong. We settled that I would fend for myself in the matter of my own food preparation. Nothing was said about acting the servant for you.”
“We settled that I am able to command you,” he corrected her before allowing his voice to soften. “Still, you might, if you wished, do it to please me.”
Her gaze was defiant. “And why should I feel any desire to do that?”
He smiled and deliberately tilted his head. “You know why.”
He saw her eyes narrow slightly, and felt a tingle of alarm along his spine. Then her lips curved in a slow smile. Reaching over him to put her bread on her plate, she swung away and moved to where the coffee pot sat on its warmer.
Rayne watched her find a coffee mug and fill it, leaving the brew black and unsweetened, as he had taken it earlier. Gaze lowered, she turned and walked toward him with it, moving with slow care so as not to spill a drop.
He should have known. He might have, had he not been so gratified by her ready compliance with his wishes, so puffed up with conceit that she had noted and remembered his preference for black coffee. He didn’t notice the grim set of her mouth, didn’t see the tremor in her fingers—not until she reached across him at the table, until the cup was poised over his lap.
The cup tilted. Hot brown liquid poured out, streaming, steaming as it cascaded downward.
Rayne cursed as he flung away from it, overturning his chair behind him. Mara danced away from him and the falling chair, but slipped in the coffee splashing across the floor. The cup flew out of her hand as she fell. He grabbed for her, but became entangled in her skirts. Taking her with him, he twisted with her as he landed on his side, absorbing the brunt of the crashing fall.
He lay for a winded instant before heaving over, dragging her under him, placing her on her back with her wrists captured in his hard fingers. Drenched in coffee, breathing hard, he settled a portion of his weight upon her.
His right thigh burned from hip to ankle, though his body against her soft, warm wetness grew hotter still. Mara, protected by her layers of skirts, appeared to have taken no injury.
She recovered first. She braced, and then arched her back in a frantic effort to throw him off. Shifting, he used his weight to hold her immobile. She heaved this way and that, struggling while he pressed her down until his body felt welded to her every curve and hollow, until he could feel her panting breaths in the very center of his being. He shifted a fraction, and the heated hardness of his arousal nudged against the softness between her thighs. Her writhing under him pressed her more firmly against it.
Abruptly, she ceased struggling to lie perfectly still.
“Let me go!” she demanded in tight rage. “Did you think that I would obey you, all meek and mild, for the sake of a single kiss?”
“I never said it was for a kiss.” His voice was less than even as he sought to control the urges that boiled in his blood
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