Dark Obsession by Allison Chase

the back of her hand to wipe away mirthful tears. In the aftermath of chaos and laughter she felt a sudden glow, an entirely new, somewhat startling but at the same time comforting impression that Grayson Lowell had somehow transformed into more than the man she’d been forced to marry.
    That he was her . . . friend.
    He held out a hand, large and broad, a tempting place to rest her own. ‘‘Come,’’ he said, his smile equally broad and tempting.
    She placed her hand in his, experiencing a surge of heat when his fingers closed and claimed her. Her breath hitched as he gave a sudden tug that yanked her against his chest. His lips plunged, hard and wet, leaving her breathless, drowning, just the tiniest bit frightened again.
    His mouth came away with a rueful twist. ‘‘So you can handle me, eh?’’
    ‘‘I’d hoped that comment had escaped your notice.’’
    ‘‘Perhaps I enjoy the idea of being handled.’’ A devilish slant tipped his brows. ‘‘Perhaps I’ve finally determined how to handle you.’’
    His baritone dipped on a note that ran under her flesh, raking her nerve endings and stealing her new-found ease. Comfortable? A mere friend?
    No, Grayson Lowell was anything but. Right now he was a sensual rival, a seductive foe. Looking down at her with that rapacious gleam in his eye, he seemed predatory, bent on satiating an appetite she was only beginning to comprehend.
    A shivering current hovered between them. She tried to widen the gaps between their bodies. His arms locked around her, giving no quarter.
    ‘‘My mother misspoke. You must not think—’’
    ‘‘Don’t be indignant.’’ His fingers stroked up and down her bare arm, raising telltale goose bumps that revealed her confusion. He grinned. The strokes became longer, deeper, a lusty rhythm that swept through her, seizing control of her heart and pulse, her breathing, her thoughts.
    ‘‘I’d say my methods of handling you were well under way to reaping some rather interesting rewards— for both of us. Until a little mouse put a halt to things, that is.’’
    She felt the same paralyzing fear as before. He was moving too fast, exceeding her understanding, her ability to make sense of the sensations threatening to overwhelm her. And while part of her longed to be overwhelmed, another part needed time. Needed gentling, as her father had said.
    Why must he push, rush so? Yes, they were married, but couldn’t he court her? Even just a little? Could he not understand her inability to simply leap into this new sphere of pleasure?
    His hand rose to trace the curve of her cheek. ‘‘Shall we carry on where we left off?’’
    He felt a quiver beneath his fingers just before she broke away, showing him a smooth, bare shoulder.
    ‘‘Carry on? You make it sound tawdry.’’
    Teasing again. The aloofness emanating from the elegant line of her neck, the arch of her back, had him pining for her again. Painfully. Ah, the woman truly was an artist, an expert at the arts of seduction.
    He slid a hand beneath her hair onto her warm nape and drew her toward him. ‘‘Don’t turn away from me, and yes, we’ll be tawdry if it pleases us to be so.’’
    The look she cast him scorched. Ah, this woman played a far different game than any he was accustomed to, but he was more than willing to follow her lead.
    He didn’t remove his hand from her nape, but eased as close as he dared. ‘‘I meant no offense. I merely thought we were enjoying ourselves rather much. If I am mistaken, tell me and I’ll bid you good night.’’
    A little ridge formed above her nose. Her lips parted, the bottom a pouty morsel he wished more than anything to suck between his own. He resisted the temptation, but brushed his nose against a silky lock of hair. ‘‘I’d prefer to stay if you’ll permit me.’’
    He waited, and was rewarded when she ever so slowly listed toward him, arching her neck and turning her face until her lips hovered an inch or two from his.