A Dangerous Love by Sabrina Jeffries (16)

Griff halted to gawk at Rosalind. She’d stuck her tongue out at him? The witch had kissed Daniel, then turned, stared straight at Griff, and stuck her tongue out at him!

Of all the—

Perhaps he’d imagined it: the kiss, the taunt, the whole thing. She and Daniel stood apart now, looking perfectly civilized and cordial.

No, he hadn’t imagined it, damn it. He’d watched them from a distance for some time, watching Daniel use his flatteries to make her laugh and flirt. When Daniel had kissed her, Griff’s blood had flashed hot, then cold. Her return kiss had stopped it entirely.

Then she’d stuck her tongue out at him. Now he didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted.

He’d come out here swearing to rein in his temper, control his jealousy, woo her properly. When she’d refused him because he’d made such a hash of it, he’d sworn he would manage it better this time. She’d been right that night—he hadn’t given her a single reason for marrying him other than desire. And desire never swayed women as it did men.

No, this time he’d tell her everything, no matter what her response. Half of her refusal was based on her mistaken perception of his behavior toward Daniel, and there was only one way to set that straight.

Not that he’d changed his mind about the certificate—he wasn’t that besotted. But he would marry her in spite of it. If she would marry the pretend Knighton to protect her sisters, then she’d marry the real one for the same reason, wouldn’t she?

One way or the other, he had to have the Amazon. He needed her, every eccentric inch of her. It made no sense—she wasn’t the sort of wife he’d thought to acquire. Earl’s daughter or no, she and her forthright tongue would certainly never further his aims for Knighton Trading. Besides, she wouldn’t be an earl’s daughter once he acted on the certificate.

And yet…And yet two days of attempting to ignore her had maddened him. He’d accomplished almost nothing. He hadn’t found the damnable documents, because he’d spent all his time pacing his room and wondering what she and Daniel were up to.

Well, now he knew, didn’t he? Griff swore under his breath, then continued toward them like a cannonball headed unerringly for its target. A week ago, Griff would have sworn Daniel would never attempt to steal a woman from him. But that was only because Daniel never had. It didn’t mean the scoundrel wouldn’t try it now.

What if Daniel had told her everything, showing Griff in the worst light? That night in her bedchamber she’d said that Griff’s lack of income wouldn’t bother her. So it wouldn’t bother her for Daniel either, would it?

If I could have a woman as fine as all that only by swallowing my pride, Daniel had said, I’d be choking it down so fast I wouldn’t taste it.

By God, he’d be choking down Griff’s fist if he even attempted it! How dare the man kiss her! How dare she kiss him back!

But she’d stuck her tongue out at him afterward, hadn’t she? He clung to that thought determinedly. He would never make it through the next hour if he went thundering in like the damnable idiot Daniel took him to be.

Holding to his resolution proved difficult, however, when he approached to find Daniel wearing a self-satisfied grin. Griff dearly wanted to wipe it off the Irishman’s face, especially after Daniel rested a proprietary hand on Rosalind’s waist. She seemed far too comfortable with the man for Griff’s satisfaction. Griff had never hated his man of affairs’ easy manners with women as much as he did at that moment.

Although a cursory glance reassured Griff that her bonnet was intact, her gown unmussed, and her face devoid of any unusual glow, he still wanted to strangle Daniel for that kiss. Even if Daniel’s motives were innocent, it was intolerable. And Griff wasn’t at all sure they were innocent.

“Hello there, Griff,” the devil himself said. “What brings you out here? Joining us for our picnic?” He exchanged a smile with Rosalind. “I’m afraid you’ve missed the best part, hasn’t he, m’dear?”

The endearment so enraged Griff he nearly forgot the excuse he’d dreamed up for following them. It took him another second to get his temper under control enough to speak it reasonably. “You’ve been out here so long Lady Helena grew worried. She sent me after you.”

“Did she now?” Daniel smirked at him. “Well, then, we’d best go in, hadn’t we?”

He offered Rosalind his arm, but as she took it, Griff stepped forward to grip her other arm. “No. She and I have matters to discuss. She stays here with me.”

“What am I supposed to tell Lady Helena?” Daniel asked.

“Whatever you must to keep her from coming out here.”

“Wait a minute!” Rosalind wrenched her arm from Griff’s hold and moved closer to Daniel. “I believe I have some say in this matter, and I’m not staying anywhere with you alone, Griff Brennan.”

Brennan? Well, that was one consolation—Daniel hadn’t told her about the masquerade. It would have sorely ruined Griff’s own plans for breaking the truth to her. “I only want to talk to you, Rosalind.”

Daniel fixed his penetrating gaze on Griff. “To talk, is it? Are you going to tell her then?”

Griff knew what he was asking. He gave a terse nod.

“You don’t want me—”

“No,” he said sharply.

“Very well.” Daniel stared down into Rosalind’s face with a tender look that tore through Griff’s gut. “Stay here, m’lady, and hear the man out. It’s important.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes, you do.” He patted Rosalind’s hand, then added, “It’ll be all right, I promise. A woman’s got three parts, too, you know, though hers are made up differently. Just make sure you use all of yours when you listen to what the man has to say.”

She raised an eyebrow. “All of them? I believe there’s one I’d best keep firmly in check.”

“Weeell…” He bent down, whispered something in her ear that made her blush violently, then tipped his hat and strolled off, laughing.

That blush sorely rankled. “What did he say?” Griff bit out as soon as Daniel was out of earshot.

With a coy toss of her pretty head, she glided to the swing and resumed her seat on it. “It’s private. Surely you don’t expect to know everything that goes on between me and my fiancé merely because you work for the man.”

Me and my fiancé. Must the woman try so hard to drive him mad? Much more of this, and he’d be acting exactly as she’d criticized him for two nights ago.

How could he not when she looked so damnably fetching in that gown? Her color of choice today was a vibrant citrine orange that made him think of brightly wrapped candies only found in sweets stores. He wanted to unwrap it and suck it until it melted…in his mouth, his hands, his…

He bit back another curse. He had to stop thinking with his cock, or he’d never get through this discussion without ravishing her.

As if she knew the dangerous direction of his thoughts, she blithely walked her swing back in preparation for launching it. But before she could do so, he stepped in front and grabbed the ropes on either side to prevent her.

“Get out of my way, Griff,” she ordered with that imperious lift of her chin that always enchanted him.

“First, tell me what Dan—…what Knighton whispered to you. And while you’re at it, what was all that nonsense about parts?” She blushed again. Under any other circumstances, he would have found it intoxicating. Now it merely fueled his reckless temper. “Well?”

“I thought you were supposed to be telling me things.”

“I am. I will.” He released the ropes of the swing, but only to grab her around the waist and lift her fully onto it. The motion parted her legs just enough to allow him to press forward between them, pushing her and the swing back and up. Now she was trapped on it with her legs straddling his waist and her face at his eye level. “First I want to know what Knighton said to you. Tell me what he whispered to make you blush.”

She let go of the ropes to push him, but quickly grabbed them again when she began losing her balance. “Blast it, Griff, let me down!”

“Not until you tell me what he said.”

“Why should I?”

She glared at him, and instantly the line from Much Ado about Nothing, “Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes,” came to mind. By God, Shakespeare would have written ten more plays if he’d ever met this Rosalind.

He shook the swing a little. “Haven’t you ever heard that it’s impolite to talk about someone behind his back?”

“It’s also impolite to spy on a person, but that didn’t stop you.” A gloating smile turned up her vixen’s mouth. “Though I do think you saw more than you wanted.”

“Tease me, will you?” He pushed her higher. “Do you think that’s wise, considering where I’ve got you? You forget that your gentleman fiancé has left you out here alone with me. And your teasing has roused more than my temper.”

He was looking up at her, but with her breasts at eye level, he couldn’t stop himself from bringing his gaze down to where the two halves of her robin-front gown met at a point low enough to reveal a generous amount of bosom beneath the lace fichu.

“I know what you’re thinking, you scoundrel, and I shall not let you—”

He buried his face in that sweet hollow, pressing an openmouthed kiss to her skin through the lace.

“Stop that…” she protested, then groaned when he reached for the fancy ribbon used to hold the gown closed in front.

He’d meant only to demonstrate that he had the upper hand, so to speak. He hadn’t come here to seduce her; he’d come to present the truth logically and then convince her to marry him.

But faced with temptations too potent to ignore—their solitary location, the encroaching of dusk, and most of all, her luscious body trapped in his arms—he abandoned all reason and prudence. Only desire remained.

Feeling it pound in his head, his blood, his cock, he untied the ribbon, then unpinned her fichu and tossed it to the ground.

“Griff, don’t…blast you…” she sputtered as he peeled open her bodice. He made short work of her chemise ribbons and had her chemise open and her breasts bared to his hungry gaze in the space of seconds. Her hands left the ropes to stop him, but he grabbed them and closed them back in place, holding them still.

Her breath came fast and hard, almost as fast and hard as his. He nuzzled one breast, drinking in her rosewater scent, relishing the soft, smooth skin fairly begging him to lavish caresses all over it. Then he kissed her delicious female flesh.

“You bloody—” She broke off with a gasp as he took the plump nipple in his mouth. “Oh…don’t…dear God…ohhhhh, Griff…”

He sucked it fervently, laving the hard nub, teasing it with his teeth until she uttered a low, intoxicating sigh. He released one of her hands to caress her other breast, but she didn’t let go of the swing. If anything, she pressed the weight of her breasts into his avid mouth and fingers.

“Yes, my sweet, yes,” he murmured against her nipple. He wanted her willing, hot, and eager, the way he knew she could be, and by God he’d stay here all evening pleasuring her if that’s what it took.

Though he doubted he’d last that long. Pleasuring her was already driving him insane. He needed to be inside her, to make her his. That way she could never refuse him, could she?

Yes, he thought as he sucked at each of her pebbled nipples in turn, that was his new plan. Make her his, forever.

Her skirts were already hitched up because of her straddling him, but he shoved them up further, then slid his hands beneath them and up along her hose, past her garters to the strips of smooth thigh at the top. No drawers. By God, the woman never wore drawers, and as always that made him frantic with need. He prayed she never adopted the new fashion, though it would mean him walking around in a perpetual state of arousal at the thought of her always bare and open beneath her skirts.

“Griff…I’ll…I’ll tell you…” she choked out. “I’ll tell you what…Mr. Knighton…said…”

“I don’t care what he said anymore.” He found her darling cleft and fondled it with his thumb. She made some aching sound of pleasure low in her throat that sent lust thundering through his veins.

Slowly he rubbed the slick skin, then slid a finger inside her. By God, she was wet for him already, wet and hot and so damned tight. All he had to do was lower her a little to have her right there open and waiting for his cock.

Through the thick jumble of thoughts crying, need to be…inside her…now, he reminded himself she was a virgin. She required coaxing.

“Hold on, darling,” he muttered. He pushed forward, lifting the swing higher until he could hook her legs over his shoulders. Shoving her skirts up past her thighs, he caught his breath at the sight of her so sweetly displayed. He had to taste her. Oh, God, he had to taste her.

Rosalind didn’t know whether to be shocked or thrilled when he put his head between her thighs. Though her bottom was still braced against the upheld swing and her legs on his shoulders further secured her to him, she felt decidedly off-balance floating five feet off the ground.

Then his mouth kissed her there, and her insides went off-balance, too.

She’d never imagined such a debauchery. Its very outrageousness roused her, titillated her…delighted her. Especially once he used his tongue. Sweet Lord in heaven, this was too good not to be the worst sin in the world.

“Griff, you…should not—”

His answer was to drive his tongue deep inside her as he’d done with his finger. Dear God, what was this…how could he…oh, yes…yes…

She grew insensible of anything but the thrust of his tongue inside her. It lit up her insides, ignited them into flame. Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes and let the wild fury build in her as it had before in his bedchamber, her senses acutely aware of his every motion, her thighs gripping his head, her body feeling as if it floated around him while his tongue teased and taunted and made her insane.

Oh, dear God—this was why people warned virgins that these naughty things were wrong and sinful and bad. If they didn’t, there’d scarce be a virgin over sixteen left in England.

She wanted to release the swing and clutch him tighter, but feared it would overbalance them both. And the last thing she wanted right now was to make him stop. No, he mustn’t stop…Sin or no, she wanted to have…this…

Abruptly he did stop, and only after she’d opened her eyes did she realize she’d released the swing to clutch his head and the board was sliding out from under her bottom. He caught her as her legs slid off his shoulders. Locking his heated gaze with hers, he let her body slip down him with aching slowness.

A smile gilded his face. “I think we’d best move to the blanket. I doubt either of us is limber enough to make love on the swing. Besides, I want to touch and kiss every inch of you. I want you naked.”

Sanity began to penetrate her dazed senses. “Oh, but we can’t—”

“Please, Rosalind.” His smile vanished, replaced by a look of such haunting longing it made her shiver. “Let me make love to you, my darling. I need to make love to you. I need you. Goddamn it, I…”

He trailed off, and she remembered what Mr. Knighton had said about Griff not being able to speak the needs of his heart. But if Griff said he needed her, said he wanted to make love, surely that implied some deep feeling. After all, the first time he’d threatened to seduce her, he’d spoken of bedding her.

She glanced around the clearing, still well lit, though the sun had fallen behind the trees. “But here? Where anyone could—”

“If I could get you to my bedchamber without getting caught, I would, but I’m taking no chances. They’re less likely to discover us here than there. And if someone does stumble upon us, it’ll merely ensure that you marry me sooner rather than later. Because you are going to marry me, you know.”

His confident smile made her want to clout him. “You, sir, are entirely too sure of your—”

He stopped up her mouth with the first kiss he’d given her on the lips in two days, and dear God, what a kiss. Sweet, aching, possessive…the way any decent kiss should be. It rapidly became more, however. His hands roamed her body with the proprietary confidence of a lover, tearing off her bonnet, shaking pins from her hair, sliding down her neck to shove her gown off her shoulders.

Then he had his hands inside her open chemise and was kneading her breasts and thumbing her nipples into hard, aching knots. She couldn’t muster an ounce of protest. All thoughts of defying him scattered into the dusky evening sky with his every caress.

For two days, she’d wanted this, and yes, needed it, needed him. She didn’t know why this curst man, of all men, made her feel whole, but he did. He spoke to the wildness in her that chafed under so many restraints. He understood her as no one ever had. And he cared for her. He might not say it, but he did. She was sure of it.

If he hadn’t already asked her to marry him, she might resist his seductions out of fear for the future, but he had asked her and he did want her. At the moment, that was all the reassurance she needed.

Still kissing her with lavish excess, he scooped her up and carried her the few feet to where the blanket was spread on the earth. He set her down on it without breaking the kiss, as if fearing she might change her mind.

But she was beyond changing her mind. And when he began stripping off her gown, she started at once on his waistcoat buttons. He froze and stopped kissing her, but only in order to undress her more quickly. When she jerked at his coat lapels, he shrugged the coat off and then the waistcoat she’d unbuttoned. The rest of his clothes and his boots swiftly followed, leaving him wearing nothing but drawers full to bursting with his hardened flesh.

She scarcely had time to notice, however, before he ran his hands down her corset and said thickly, “Turn around, my sweet.”

She obeyed with some trepidation—not at the thought of his taking off all her clothes, though. That gave her a treacherous thrill. But he’d never seen her without her corset, and she wasn’t exactly…well…trim. He mightn’t want her quite so much if he saw her abundant figure totally bared.

Her heart pounded as he worked at loosening her corset laces. Out here in the open, she felt painfully exposed, though the trees formed a welcoming shield and the time of the day—dinnertime—virtually ensured that no one would be outside on the estate. She wished the sun had already set, however. Then he couldn’t see her quite so well.

By the time he’d peeled the hated corset off her and tossed it aside, she’d braced herself for his disappointment. He dragged her chemise over her head and let it float to the ground. Her stockings and boots were last to go, leaving her totally naked, still with her back to him.

His long silence pierced her confidence. Until she heard him groan tellingly. He stroked her ample hips and waist, sending delicate tendrils of delight stealing around her heart. Reaching from behind her, he filled his hands with her breasts. He nuzzled her hair, then her ear. “Oh, Rosalind,” he said hoarsely. “You shouldn’t wear corsets, darling. You shouldn’t hide all this goddamned beauty in such a nasty contraption.”

She swung around to face him, hardly believing what he said, but she couldn’t mistake the blaze of need in his eyes or the worshipful way he stroked her body. Then he was kissing it…her shoulders, the upper swells of her breasts, the nipples.

He knelt on one knee and pressed a kiss beneath her breast at the top of a long indentation one of her stays had scored on her skin. It was the first of several following the line down her belly. “To mar this…” He kissed her again. “Too sweet flesh…” Another hot, delicious kiss. “Is a grievous…” A series of sizzling kisses. “Sin…”

By the time he’d reached the bottom and pressed a kiss into her thatch of hair, she could hardly contain the tears choking her throat. She’d never thought a man might actually like her body this way. To have it be the man she loved so desperately…

With a moan half of pleasure, half of love, she clutched his head to her. I love you. No matter what you feel for me, I love you.

For a moment they were locked that way, her stroking his thick raven hair, him nuzzling her thigh. Then he gazed up at her, his face marked with a griffin’s predatory desire. “I want you, darling.” He drew her down on the blanket. “I want you now.”

Before she could even think, she was on her back with him kneeling between her spread thighs and fumbling with the buttons of his drawers.

“Wait!” she cried.

He froze, his eyes glowing with fervent need. “No, Rosalind, don’t stop me…I can’t bear it—”

“I won’t stop you.” Despite the blush rising in her cheeks, she sat up and reached for his buttons. “I just want to…Last time you wouldn’t let me…take it out and touch it. Let me do it this time.”

He sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers brushed his drawers. “Curious, are you?” he rasped.

“How could I not be?” Unable to meet his gaze, she shifted to kneeling before him, then began unbuttoning. “You teased me about the blasted thing often enough.”

But now she understood why he’d spoken of it like a creature apart from himself. The second the buttons were undone, it sprang free of the stockingette, a wild beast escaping a cage.

Griff wrangled the drawers off, then knelt once more in front of her. “There,” he whispered hoarsely. “Now you know what’s been filling my pockets.”

She stared at the instrument between them in undisguised fascination. How strange to see it so proud and impudent, springing up between his legs like a cocky lad.

Cocky. Dear God. Another blush heated her cheeks at the memory of that day in his bedchamber and what he’d called it. “So that’s where it came from.”

“What?”

“The word cocky. I never realized…”

He chuckled, then caught her hand and closed it around the thick, rigid flesh. “Yes, my inquisitive virgin. That’s where cocky comes from. Men have nearly a hundred terms for their privates. Even your precious Shakespeare uses several.”

“Does he?” She smoothed her fingers over Griff’s privates, delighting in how it pulsed in her hand.

His eyes slid shut and a dark flush rose in his face. “You’ll find…the plays have a whole new…meaning once you know of such things.”

She stroked his intriguing shaft until he groaned. “Oh? For example?”

He frowned, obviously having difficulty thinking. “Remember Petruchio and Katherina? He talks about having…his tongue in her tail? And being a…‘combless cock’ if she…will be his ‘hen’?”

She released him abruptly. “What! That’s what that means? I never dreamed—”

With a growl, he grabbed her hand and guided it back to him. When she wrapped her fingers tightly about him, he shuddered. “Shakespeare isn’t…the least…respectable, my sweet. You chose your…favorite author well.”

She sniffed. “Are you saying I’m not respectable, sir?”

He glanced down at her fingers and raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t dare. Not when you’ve…got my cock in your hand.”

Regarding the warm length of him thoughtfully, she tugged at it.

“By God, Rosalind, you’ll kill me yet,” he protested as he thrust into her fist.

“I don’t like that word, ‘cock.’ I like ‘St. Peter’ better.”

His eyes flamed at her. “Damnation, where did you hear that term?”

“From Mr. Knighton,” she said unthinkingly.

“What?” He shoved her hand away and forced her back onto the blanket, hovering over her as he pinned her hands on either side of her head. “Why in God’s name did he speak of a St. Peter to you?”

This was a strange position indeed, strange and titillating. Her every sense tingled with the awareness of him kneeling between her legs, the tip of his “St. Peter” bobbing against her triangle of hair. His body was poised above her so close she could see the vivid blue irises of his eyes, glowing down at her with a mix of jealousy and desire.

She swallowed. “He and I were talking about you—the parts of you. And how your…um…St. Peter part wants me.”

He relaxed only a fraction. “That’s not the only part of me wanting you, but I’ll admit it’s the most demanding one right now. Is that what all that nonsense about the three parts was?”

Licking her suddenly dry lips, she nodded.

He frowned, as if trying to remember what they’d said. A smile suddenly lit his face. “Which of your parts did you say you should ‘keep firmly in check around me’?”

“Do you have to ask?” she retorted tartly.

His gaze seared heat down her body. “No, I don’t suppose I do. Though it seems you’ve failed in that respect.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” She was surprisingly cheerful about it. She’d known it would be hopeless if he ever got her alone again. She hadn’t a whit of self-control around Griff.

Besides, now that she knew she loved him, it seemed pointless not to share this with him. Especially since he was going to tell her his secrets and marry her anyway.

Shifting his weight so he could brace himself off her with one elbow, he reached down and fondled her in a very naughty manner, plunging his finger so deliciously deep that it wrung a gasp from her. “When Knighton left, what did he whisper in your ear?”

“It’s a secret,” she taunted him. Griff hadn’t told her all of his yet, so she ought to be able to keep a few of her own until he did.

“Is it?” He thumbed her little nub enough to tantalize her, no more. Half-consciously, she tilted her hips up against his hand, then groaned when his fingers danced away. “Tell me, Rosalind,” he whispered devilishly, stroking oh-too-lightly over her damp skin. “Or I’ll tease you until you do.”

“You’re an awful man,” she said, pouting.

“So I’ve been told many times.” He dipped his finger inside her again, leaving her aching for more, so much more. “Rosalind?”

“Oh, all right! He said I should make you keep your St. Peter firmly in check until you told me the truth.”

For a moment, he froze, a black look crossing his face. Then it was gone, replaced by sheer raw desire. “Too late for that,” he whispered raggedly. “Because I’m about to put my St. Peter inside you, my sweet. And you’re going to let me, aren’t you?”

She barely had a chance to register the words or nod in response before he was kissing her again, rich, ardent kisses meant to distract her from what he was doing between her legs. As if that would work, she thought. She could hardly ignore the rigid staff sliding up inside her, filling her with exquisite pressure.

After all his teasing, it was almost too much. She felt anchored to him, joined to him so intimately they were one entity. She liked the feeling…until he kept moving farther in. She began to wonder how he could put so much of his St. Peter inside her.

She tore her lips from his. “Griff, surely you…it won’t fit.”

Obviously he’d reached the same conclusion, for he looked strained and by no means comfortable. Then he shocked her by saying, “Yes, it will, my sweet. Give it a chance.” With a growl, he pressed farther into her. “God, you’re so tight and…and warm. It feels so good to be…inside you at last.”

“It doesn’t feel quite so good to me,” she muttered, for he was stretching her beyond endurance.

“I know, darling, I know.” He thrust a little, then groaned as if he’d reached his limit. “And now I’m going to hurt you, I’m afraid.”

“H-Hurt me?” she squeaked. “How badly?”

His jaw tightened. “Not too badly, I hope. I must pierce your maidenhead.”

That sounded ominous.

“But it’ll be better once it’s done, I promise,” he added. Bending his head, he sucked at her breast, making pleasure shoot through her veins. When her eyes slid shut and she tossed her head back, he murmured, “Forgive me,” and thrust hard.

Something tore inside her, and she moaned at the sharp spasm of pain. But it was over quickly without hurting nearly as much as the words “pierce your maidenhead” had led her to expect. Still, it planted him so deeply, she couldn’t even move without being utterly aware of his flesh filling her up.

She opened her eyes to gaze up into his taut features. “Can’t we go back…to kissing? This is not…quite as pleasant.” She wriggled her hips a bit, and he cursed.

“It will be even less pleasant if you keep that up,” he warned. When she cast him a hurt look, he softened his tone. “You need to adjust to having me inside you. And I need to adjust to being inside you. Otherwise, I’ll never do this right.” He caressed one breast with his mouth, then kissed a path to the other. “Relax, darling. Try to relax.”

Was he mad? How could she “relax” with him plunged so deeply inside her?

Then he started pressing tender kisses to her chin and her cheeks, teasing her lips with his tongue, nibbling on them with his teeth. With a melting sigh, she opened her mouth and let him slide his tongue inside.

As he fed on her mouth with growing ardor, he released one of her hands to fondle her where they were joined. A delicious thrill darted along her limbs. The more he fondled and kissed her, the more she felt herself opening up, softening…relaxing.

Then he moved inside her again, withdrawing his St. Peter a little, pressing it back, mimicking the velvet caresses of his tongue in her mouth. Her breath dried up in her throat. Dear God…this felt…carnal. Oh, yes, assuredly carnal.

She wiggled her hips. How interesting. She could make it even better just by undulating a little beneath him.

“Damnation, Rosalind,” he tore his mouth from her to growl. “Yes…yes like that…yes…oh, sweet Christ, you’re…priceless…”

So was he. With the sun setting behind his head, she could hardly bear to stare into his beautiful face with its stark, devouring look, a golden griffin swooping down to plunder her. Her griffin. There was something so…intense about being plundered. He was inescapable, thundering into her. His musky scent mingled with the smell of grass and spilled wine, his feverish breaths kissed her face, and his sweat-slick body surrounded her and was inside her, too, igniting wildfire in her loins, making her ache for the unknown, for him, for the two of them together.

His hands had freed hers and were firmly planted on either side of her as he thrust into her, building the excitement, driving her mad again. She gripped his shoulders and arched her body into him, mad with the need he provoked so rampantly inside her.

At last she understood—why lovers trysted. Why women risked all for their men. Why people spoke of the two becoming one. It was for this enthralling dance, this fiery union.

The union meant to be between a man and woman who loved each other. Tears leaked from her eyes. She couldn’t stop them.

Then she felt his lips brushing her tears away. “Don’t weep, my sweet,” he said in a voice of aching tenderness. “I don’t want…to hurt you. I…can withdraw—”

“No!” She dragged his head down to hers. “No. Just kiss me, Griff.” Though his body thundered inside her, he kissed her with a gentleness that melted her heart.

I love you, she thought as he drove into her. I love you, Griff.

“You’re mine now, Rosalind,” he growled with the fierceness of a griffin hoarding his treasure. He pounded into her as if to impress his claim upon her. “Mine forever.”

With those words, the flood inundated her, waves of hot pleasure that made her cry out and writhe beneath him, digging her fingernails into his shoulders, straining up against his lean body. She was still drowning in the ecstasy when he plunged to the very heart of her and found his own release, crying out her name.

Then he collapsed on top of her. She hugged him fiercely to her as tears poured down her cheeks. Mine, she thought, as greedy as he to lay claim to her dark lover. He wanted her for his own. He hadn’t spoken of love, but he wanted her for his own, and surely that meant something?

They lay there in perfect stillness as their breathing slowed, and their blood resumed a more natural rhythm. The sky above them was a miracle of shot silk in plum and rose and gold, the sun’s own final ecstasy before it found its bed in the horizon. All lay still in the woods around them, as if even the birds hushed themselves before both miracles…the one in the sky and the one on the ground.

With a sigh, Griff nuzzled her neck, then pushed himself off her to fall limp on the blanket at her side. Then he tugged her into his embrace, so she lay half-sprawled across him, her head resting against his chest. Feeling shy with him now and terribly exposed lying naked in the woods, she couldn’t bring herself to look into his face.

Yet she so wanted to know if he’d had the same heart-wrenching reaction to their lovemaking. She drew circles on his belly with her finger. “Griff?”

“Mmm?”

Oh, how did one ask such a thing? “Nothing.”

He tipped her chin up so he could see her face, then frowned. Brushing his thumb along the corners of each eye, he wiped away the remnants of her tears. “Why did you cry, darling? Did I hurt you?”

The endearment resonated deeply within her. “No,” she whispered.

“I tried not to. But I wanted you so desperately…”

“So did I,” she reassured him. “I’ve thought of nothing else for two days.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You seemed to have another man on your mind earlier.”

She laughed. “You’re such a jealous fool. All we did was talk about you. Your employer was determined to convince me you cared about me. I remained unconvinced.”

“You talked to him about me?” he said incredulously. “But…you planned to marry him. Didn’t you think he might take that amiss?”

“I hate to tell you this, for it’ll swell your head, but I never planned to marry him.”

“What? My God, you practically offered yourself on a platter to the man!”

His jealous tone made her smile. She pushed up on his chest to stare down into his face. A giddy joy seized her at the thought of marrying him. “I’ll have you know that Mr. Knighton is far more perceptive than you. He guessed at once I had no intention of marrying him. I only wanted to delay him somehow, and I thought if I agreed to marry him, I could lengthen the engagement indefinitely.”

“You’re saying it was a pretend engagement.”

“Precisely.”

“Then why did you let him kiss you?” he growled, temper flaring.

“Because we knew you were spying on us, you ninny, and he wanted to goad you. Besides, it took me quite by surprise.”

He clasped her neck, drew her down for a long, drugging kiss, then whispered, “There will be no more surprises like that, do you hear? Because you’re mine now, my sweet. And if I ever catch Daniel kissing you again—”

“Daniel?” she asked, perplexed.

Griff froze, his face draining of color. “Damnation.”

“Daniel? Who is Daniel? Wait, isn’t your real name supposed to be—”

“Yes. I suppose it’s time I told you what I’d come out here to say in the first place.” He sighed. Moving her gently aside, he sat up. “If we’re to be married, you probably ought to know my real name.”

Fear startled to life in her breast. Why did she sense she wouldn’t like this?

He ran his fingers through his hair in distraction, then gazed at her. “The man you know as Mr. Knighton is actually Daniel Brennan. And I’m not called ‘Griff’ because of the griffin. I’m called Griff because of my middle name, Griffith.”

His long shuddering breath struck dread in her soul. “My entire name is Marsden Griffith Knighton. I am your cousin, Mr. Knighton.”