Devil's Prize by Jane Jackson Page A

her gasp as he pulled her down onto the tumbled bed, his fingers at her bodice. She felt cool air on her skin, then his lips, his tongue. His hand skimmed over her body as if learning every curve and hollow and her flesh leapt to his touch. She quivered, instinctively arching towards him in passionate yearning.
    Beyond thought or reason, conscious only of need, she pushed his shirt open and pressed her mouth to his throat, his shoulder. She licked, tasting heat and salt, held him close, wanted him closer. She felt his hand on her thigh, and her body rose to his. ‘Oh yes, oh please.’
    His grip tightened and a tremor rippled through him as his mouth ravished hers. He lifted her, his breath hot and quick against her face. She gasped at the sharp pain.
    He froze, shock tearing a harsh sound from his throat. But she pressed against him, seeking his mouth and he lost himself in the taste and scent of her, the velvet softness.
    He began to move, a slow rhythm that turned warmth to heat, that swept her up and carried her with him and she knew she would die if he stopped. Inside her something spiralled, lifting her ever higher. Her breath caught in tiny gasps as the coil tightened. A strange tingling began in her toes and blossomed into a silent explosion that broke and wrecked her. As she cried out his arms tightened and she clung to him while his body bucked and shuddered.
    She gloried in his weight, the sensation of his skin against hers, his ragged breath warm on her neck. This then was the joining of man and woman? This was what the marriage service meant? She had dreamed of him. He was always in her thoughts when she walked the cliffs and rode over the moors. But this was beyond anything she had imagined. Now she was his, body and soul.
    But suddenly, abruptly, he rolled away. Bereft, she smothered a cry and reached out, seeking reassurance, an anchor while the storm quieted and she came back to herself.
    Lithe as a cat, he rose to his feet and with his back to her, cursed with intense and bitter fluency as he buttoned his trousers. He hadn’t known. How could he have known? Any girl as bold as she was, who teased and flirted like she did, knew what she was doing, knew what she wanted. So he had obliged.
    But he had been wrong about her, totally wrong. She had come here a virgin, untouched. Shy yet ardent, naïve yet passionately responsive, she had given as he took, taking when he gave. She had reached him in ways he had not expected and did not know how to deal with.
     It was impossible to undo what had been done, to return to ‘before’. Impossible because this had been different. He had lost himself in her. That frightened him far more than any revenue cutter. Never again. He did not want – could not afford – distractions. A woman should know her place and stay there. Tamara Gillis obeyed no rules but her own. He wanted her gone. Out of his home and out of his thoughts.
    Sensing something wrong, Tamara sat upright and drew her skirts down. Her throat was parched and her mouth felt swollen. There were other aches too but they were her secret pride, her proof of womanhood.
    He swung round, one brow arched. ‘‘I don’t play games with you,’’ he mimicked then his mouth curled. ‘You tricked me.’
    Shock blanked her face. ‘What?’
    He might as well have slapped her. He’d known she was intelligent and saw the instant she realised what he meant. What he hadn’t expected, and what deepened his guilt and his anger, was the terrible hurt that widened her eyes.
    ‘You thought – you believed that I – with someone else?’ Her expression reflected her horror and disbelief. ‘How could you even think that I would ever …’ Her mouth quivered and she bit hard on her lower lip as she fought for control. Her breath caught as she lifted her chin. ‘Well, now you know differently.’
    ‘Why?’ It burst out against his will. It didn’t matter why. He gestured abruptly, dismissing the question. He