His Heir, Her Honor by Catherine Mann

inside him then, releasing a gnawing need that dogged him until he gave in to temptation the night of the Christmas party.
    A log dropped and popped as he knelt in front of her.
    He knuckled a fresh tear from her cheek. “Are you all right?”
    â€œYes and no and I don’t know.” Her words jumbled on top of each other. “I almost wish I could blame it on hormones.”
    â€œThe past couple of days have been overwhelming.” For him, too.
    â€œAn understatement.” She nodded tightly, her last bit of control obviously brittle.
    Hooking his arm around her shoulders, he slid up beside her on the couch and drew her to his chest. Her shoulders trembled as she choked back sobs, then finally let go, crying into his sweater. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her shampoo, lightly floral and so different from the antiseptic world they usually inhabited together. His hands skimmed up and down her spine, the soft cashmere reminding him of the massage he’d given heron the plane. Right now, though, her zipper would stay firmly in place. She needed something different from him and, by God, he would deliver.
    He stroked her back, made what he hoped were soothing noises and held her until her tears slowed. Each gentle breath pressed her breasts to him. He gritted his teeth against the temptation to pull her closer and savor the lush curves of her. Nearly three months of no sex—of no Lilah—sent desire grating through him.
    He felt like a bastard for being turned on while she was so blatantly upset. Protectiveness and passion got tangled up inside him. All the barriers he’d worked to resurrect around her crumbled.
    Sniffling, she finally eased away, swiping her hair from her face and straightening her dress. She braced her shoulders and faced him, chin jutting with determination.
    â€œOkay,” she said simply.
    Huh? “Okay what?”
    â€œLet’s make the most of this time away and have sex 24/7.” She reached behind her neck to tug down the zipper on her cashmere dress. “Starting now.”
    Shock stunned him still until the rasp of her zipper brought him out of his stupor. Yes, he’d wanted her naked, but not this way, not when she wasn’t thinking clearly.
    Not when his own mind was such a mess.
    â€œWhoa.” He gripped her shoulders to keep the top in place, confused as to what brought her abrupt about-face and concerned about what had upset her. “Hold on there a second, Gypsy Rose Lee.”
    Her forehead pleated in frustration. “You’re telling me to stop?”
    â€œAs much as it pains me to say this…” He took in the generous swell of her breasts so close, only an inch away from where he clasped her wrists. But he had to hold strong. “We need to talk this through.”
    Confusion faded from her face, replaced by increasing anger snapping from her as tangibly as the crackles in the stone hearth. “I’m not sure what kind of head game you’re playing here, but I do not appreciate it. I could have sworn back in the plane today that you were totally turned on.”
    â€œBelieve me, I was.” He winced. “I am.”
    A slow, sexy smile creasing her face, she swayed closer, her green eyes glinting jewel tones. “Then what’s stopping you?”
    As much as it pained him, he forced out the words that would push her away for the night. “It would be wrong to take advantage of a woman when she’s drunk or crying.”
    When they went to bed together again—and he was damn determined that they would—he wanted her every bit as certain as he was. Although the anger tightening her face made it clear his road back into her arms might not be smooth. He’d wounded her pride.
    â€œFine, then.” She yanked up her zipper and swiped her fingers under her eyes a final time, clearing away all signs of tears.
    Except for a tiny smudge of mascara