Page 31 of The Devil's Bargain
His hands came to rest on either side of her head, caging her in. “Cooperation?” A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Are you suggesting you’ll use our intimate relations to bargain with me despite our agreement?”
“Perhaps.”
His laugh was rich with genuine amusement. “My Caroline, and here I thought I was the devil in this marriage.”
“Consider it fitting punishment for your sins,” she said icily.
He leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “You underestimate my skills of seduction.”
“And you underestimate mine.” Her tone turned honey-sweet as she traced his jaw with one finger, feeling the rough stubble beneath her touch. Her thumb ghosted over his bottom lip, and she let out a soft sigh at the fullness of it.
“You appreciate what you see,” he murmured.
“Indeed. Quite a shame that such a sensual mouth belongs to a scoundrel.”
“Sensual?” His eyebrow arched. “High praise from you.”
“Makes me want to...” She wet her lips deliberately, watching his eyes track the movement.
“What does it make you want?” His voice had dropped to a dangerous purr.
Meeting his heated gaze, she whispered, “Sit on it.”
He choked, stumbling back with a shocked cough. Colour flooded his face as he struggled to regain composure.
“Are you quite well, Mr Elmstone?” She smiled sweetly. “I thought you made of sterner stuff.”
“I hadn’t realised you were quite so... bold,” he managed while rubbing his throat.
Caroline approached him with feline grace, trailing her fingers up his chest. “Remember this. I will never surrender to you, never learn to like you.”
His smile held equal parts frustration and admiration. “But you will. For now, I’ll play the patient husband.” He caught her wandering hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll be in my study. Until later then.”
The connecting door closed behind him with quiet finality.
Caroline’s mind filled with fury.Damn the man for his arrogance! So pig-headed! Always so sure of himself!
She sat at her new desk, staring unseeing at the engineering diagrams before her. The technical challenge should have captured her complete attention, yet her mind kept wandering to the thought of Devlin coming to her bed. His arrogant words echoed in her head: “My house. My wife. My bed.”
Insufferable man.
By midnight, she had given up any pretence of work. She donned both her warmest chemise and thickest night rail, the layers forming what felt like inadequate armour against a manwho had already proven himself capable of taking whatever he wanted. Her hand hesitated at the door lock, uncertainty gnawing at her. Would he come tonight? More troubling was the realisation that she wasn’t sure which answer she dreaded more.
She paced her chamber, irritated by her own restlessness. She ought to despise him, yet her traitorous body remembered the heat of his gaze, the commanding presence that made her pulse quicken despite her fury. How dare he make her feel this way? How dare he stir such forbidden wanting even as she loathed him?
No, she wouldn’t lock the door. It would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he affected her at all. Let him come or not. She refused to show either fear or anticipation.
Sleep proved elusive as she lay rigid beneath the covers. The tick of the mantel clock marked each second of her captivity. Eventually, exhaustion won over fury, and she drifted into an uneasy slumber.
The mattress dipping woke her instantly. Her body went taut as Devlin’s solid warmth settled beside her, his unwelcome presence changing the atmosphere of the room. The darkness seemed heavier, more charged, as if even the air recognised this violation of her private space.
“Get out,” she said coldly, keeping her back to him.
“No.” His voice held that infuriating calm that made her want to scream. “This is my bed too, wife.”
“Don’t call me that. You have no right—”
“I have every right.” She heard the rustle of sheets as he settled more comfortably, deliberately making himself at home in her space, she was certain. “And I note you didn’t lock the door.”
