Page 32 of The Pleasures of Passion
“So Trevor married you for your beauty alone, since you had no dowry to give him,” he said coldly. “And you married Trevor for what? Love? His property?”
She tensed up. “I told you, I don’t wish to discuss my marriage with you.”
“Why not?” Resentment welled up in him. “Afraid that I’ll find out exactly how disappointing he ended up being?”
“He was a good husband,” she bit out. “And he gave me my son. For that, I will always be grateful.”
“Yet according to my cousin, he abandoned that son—and you—by gambling away all your funds, then drinking himself into oblivion and stumbling into the river, where he drowned. That’s not what I’d call a good husband.”
She gaped at him. “Warren told you that?”
“He mentioned it, yes.”
“Don’t you think it’s rather like the pot calling the kettle black to accuse Reynold of abandoning me, when you abandoned me first?”
“That’s not how I remember it, Bree,” he said softly.
“Well, no matter how you remember it, that’s how it happened.”
His temper flared. “Admit it, you would have been better off with me, exile or no, than with a fool like that.”
“Don’t call my husband a fool,” she hissed. “You don’t know anything about him.”
Her defense of the bastard really irked Niall. “I know that he didn’t appreciate you, or he wouldn’t have left you to raise your son alone.” He leaned across the carriage. “I suspect that he didn’t have your heart. That he didn’t fire your blood or make you feel the things thatImade you feel. That Istillmake you feel, blast it.”
Panic flickered in her eyes before she shuttered her features and slid to the other end of the seat to escape him. “That’s not true,” she whispered.
It was, and the need to hear her admit it settled in his gut like a chunk of lead. Damnation, he’d keep pushing her until she admitted that she’d made a mistake. That she should have run off withhim.That she regretted her choice. Only then would he be satisfied.
Throwing himself into the other seat, he dragged her into his arms. “The hell it isn’t.”
Then he caught her head in his hands and kissed her. Hard. Intimately. He pressed his tongue against her teeth to gain entry, the way he’d never dared to when they were courting. The way he knew she would like now that she was a widow, now that she’d experienced a man’s bed.
The way he’d dreamed of kissing her for seven years.
When she froze, he feared he’d gone too far and put her even further on her guard. But as he slid his hands into her hair and ran his tongue over her trembling lips, she opened her mouth, and he exulted.
In this at least, she was his again. And he meant to make the most of it.
Six
Brilliana tried to resist Niall’s kiss, but it was impossible. She’d dreamed of this for years, and now that his mouth was on hers, she realized her memory hadn’t done it justice. Especially since they’d never kissed this way in their youth. How she wished they had! She’d never liked it when Reynold did it, but with Niall it was glorious. He plundered her mouth like a pirate at sea, commanding everything before him. His breath mingled with hers, his lips molded every line of hers, and his tongue . . .
Oh, it took and gave and played and drove, as if he meant to possess her again. Only this time, he meant to take both heartandbody.
The thought of it made her so light-headed that she clung desperately to his arms. Just to steady herself. Not to pull him closer soshecould possesshim. No, indeed.
And what well-wrought arms he had, much more so than she remembered. She wanted to stay in them forever, to keep kissing his warm mouth, smelling his sandalwood scent . . . feeling the flex of his muscles through his coat sleeves.
The urge was so strong that when he broke the kiss, she nearly moaned. Then he murmured her name in a tone that sounded as full of wonder as she felt, and tugged her right atop his lap.
Goodness gracious!
And the kissing began all over again, even fiercer and hotter than before, so hot she thought she might go up in smoke. So hot that she knew sheoughtto halt him. He was a rogue—she shouldn’t encourage this. It meant naught to him but seduction.
But she couldn’t bring herself to stop him. She wanted this taste of him too badly, this taste of their past together. This sweet, heady reminder that she was a woman with needs that he could satisfy, if she let him.
She couldn’t,mustn’t, let him. And yet . . .
