’Twould truly have been a pleasure to run the man through.”
There was nothing that would have given her greater pleasure, either, Brianna thought, feeling the tautness in her body ease as she came to realize more and more that she was truly safe—for the moment at least.
And yet, as she looked at Sloan Treveryan, the trembling seized her again. Treveryan. He, too, was a man to be feared. And she was in his debt. What price was she going to have to pay?
She had already paid with her virtue, she reminded herself bitterly. She did not regret the cost—but the blow to her pride still wounded her deeply. In less than an hour’s time she had become more intimate with him than she’d ever envisioned possible. Already she knew the pleasant masculine scent of him; it was like a sea breeze. She knew the depths of those sea-jade eyes, the timbre of that deep male voice with its soft lilt.
She knew the feel of muscle play beneath his taut bronzed flesh. She knew the strength of his arms, the rough feel of manly hands that could be infinitely tender.
She wished she could trade all the intimacy for his respect. She hurt and felt humiliated to the core of her heart.
Nervously she pulled the sheets more tightly about herself, clearing her throat. A hot trembling riddled through her with the memory of their passion. Her flesh burned from his mere glance and her body recalled the touch of him—warm, secure, steely. She couldn’t control these feelings, these automatic responses to his eyes, the handsome planes of his face, the caress of his lips, and the masculine scent that was both earth and sea.
Confusion gripped her. Not because she had paid this price to save her life but because he had touched a part of her that had never been touched before.
But she had lost her pride and honor today and she must resign herself to that loss. Perhaps she had also lost the ability to love—along with her dreams of love, and the adoring knight of her imagination. She was not completely naive. Pegeen had taught her something of the physical expressions of love between men and women, but she had really only learned today.
But what she had learned had not been love. It was lust—primal desire. Treveryan had proven himself to be a courteous lover, but still, his touch had had nothing to do with love. He had taken her and then defended her because he was, it appeared, a determined fighter. He was smiling slightly. Full mouth curved, eyes ever so slightly mocking that seemed to hold within them a smoldering fire. Truly a hint of the devil.
Brianna straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. A sob was welling within her and she choked it back. The look in the Treveryan’s eyes and upon his handsome rakish face spoke desire. There was something totally male and predatory about it. He had saved her, and indeed, he thought that she was his.
In his debt, yes, she decided angrily—but his possession? Never! All she wanted to do was find a place of refuge, time to heal her wounds with her family. Dear God—how she wanted to forget him and the terrible fear and humiliation.
He lowered his cutlass and took a step toward her. She backed away, blue fire snapping in her eyes. “No! Don’t come near me! Would you add the gravest insult to one you’ve injured?”
“Injured?” he thundered. Infuriated, he swept his gaze over her. “Damn it girl, but you’re—” He broke off, grating his teeth so hard that she heard the sound. He took a swaggering, taunting step, but only to snatch up his shirt and slip quickly into it. He warned her sharply, “If you are fond of living, Mistress Brianna, I suggest you don your clothing quickly. I have no men nearby to respond to an alarm. Matthews will be back in full force. I assure you that he is carefully planning my demise and even more carefully planning yours. Of course, you will not die quickly. I may be the devil, but the anticipated rewards feeding the fires in his eyes are hardly godly, if
There was nothing that would have given her greater pleasure, either, Brianna thought, feeling the tautness in her body ease as she came to realize more and more that she was truly safe—for the moment at least.
And yet, as she looked at Sloan Treveryan, the trembling seized her again. Treveryan. He, too, was a man to be feared. And she was in his debt. What price was she going to have to pay?
She had already paid with her virtue, she reminded herself bitterly. She did not regret the cost—but the blow to her pride still wounded her deeply. In less than an hour’s time she had become more intimate with him than she’d ever envisioned possible. Already she knew the pleasant masculine scent of him; it was like a sea breeze. She knew the depths of those sea-jade eyes, the timbre of that deep male voice with its soft lilt.
She knew the feel of muscle play beneath his taut bronzed flesh. She knew the strength of his arms, the rough feel of manly hands that could be infinitely tender.
She wished she could trade all the intimacy for his respect. She hurt and felt humiliated to the core of her heart.
Nervously she pulled the sheets more tightly about herself, clearing her throat. A hot trembling riddled through her with the memory of their passion. Her flesh burned from his mere glance and her body recalled the touch of him—warm, secure, steely. She couldn’t control these feelings, these automatic responses to his eyes, the handsome planes of his face, the caress of his lips, and the masculine scent that was both earth and sea.
Confusion gripped her. Not because she had paid this price to save her life but because he had touched a part of her that had never been touched before.
But she had lost her pride and honor today and she must resign herself to that loss. Perhaps she had also lost the ability to love—along with her dreams of love, and the adoring knight of her imagination. She was not completely naive. Pegeen had taught her something of the physical expressions of love between men and women, but she had really only learned today.
But what she had learned had not been love. It was lust—primal desire. Treveryan had proven himself to be a courteous lover, but still, his touch had had nothing to do with love. He had taken her and then defended her because he was, it appeared, a determined fighter. He was smiling slightly. Full mouth curved, eyes ever so slightly mocking that seemed to hold within them a smoldering fire. Truly a hint of the devil.
Brianna straightened her spine and squared her shoulders. A sob was welling within her and she choked it back. The look in the Treveryan’s eyes and upon his handsome rakish face spoke desire. There was something totally male and predatory about it. He had saved her, and indeed, he thought that she was his.
In his debt, yes, she decided angrily—but his possession? Never! All she wanted to do was find a place of refuge, time to heal her wounds with her family. Dear God—how she wanted to forget him and the terrible fear and humiliation.
He lowered his cutlass and took a step toward her. She backed away, blue fire snapping in her eyes. “No! Don’t come near me! Would you add the gravest insult to one you’ve injured?”
“Injured?” he thundered. Infuriated, he swept his gaze over her. “Damn it girl, but you’re—” He broke off, grating his teeth so hard that she heard the sound. He took a swaggering, taunting step, but only to snatch up his shirt and slip quickly into it. He warned her sharply, “If you are fond of living, Mistress Brianna, I suggest you don your clothing quickly. I have no men nearby to respond to an alarm. Matthews will be back in full force. I assure you that he is carefully planning my demise and even more carefully planning yours. Of course, you will not die quickly. I may be the devil, but the anticipated rewards feeding the fires in his eyes are hardly godly, if
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