fists to the lapels of his coat.
James
pulled back, and she expected him to look self-satisfied. But there
was no room for satisfaction in an expression so darkly lustful, so
tense from unleashed passion.
“Let
me go,” she whispered, tears beginning to burn the backs of her
eyes.
His
grip tightened. “Oh, no. That’s not the bargain. If you
don’t cooperate then you are interfering with my
participation.”
“Do
you expect me to simply waltz over to that bed and let you have your
way with me?”
“Overdramatic,
Amanda, and again you presume. I’ve not asked that of you. Yet.
However, yes, when the time comes, I will expect that very thing.”
“What
is it you expect now?” she asked in a small voice.
“First
and foremost, I do not want you to disclose the difficulties we are
having to my family. What is between us stays in this room.”
Amanda
nodded. “Of course.”
“Second,
you promised to be a willing wife. If you cannot keep that promise, I
want to know now.”
His
face was still close to hers, his hand still in her hair, and though
she wished more than anything to look away from him, neither his
demeanor nor his compelling stare would allow her to do so. Rather
than answer him, she began to struggle but he held her fast.
And
the oddest thing, despite his pique she knew he was aroused. His
member was pressed against her hip, as hard and demanding as his
gaze, and he did nothing to hide his condition. Rather, she sensed he
was flaunting it, forcing her to acknowledge the violent emotions
that simmered between them.
“I
want you to answer me,” James ground out. “I want to know
I can trust you on this.”
“As
I can trust you?” Even as she spoke she regretted the words,
but she was on the verge of tears now and desperate to be free.
James
stepped away from her as though she had slapped him. Almost as
quickly as the shock appeared, however, it was gone to be replaced by
a shadowed, moody look. He straightened his coat, making an extra
show of hand-pressing the wrinkles from his ruined lapels.
“You’ve
purchased a few extra hours, Amanda. But tonight I expect an answer.
And be forewarned, I have no intention of living in an armed camp.”
James stalked across the room stopping at the door. “You can
choose to forgive me or not, but believe me, you have as much to lose
as I do.”
His
anger was palpable, an explosive mixture of lust and outrage, and he
emphasized that anger more clearly with the gentle way he clicked the
door into place than if he had slammed it shut.
Amanda
went limp. She walked with as much dignity as she could muster—and
she wondered why it mattered since she was alone—to a chair by
the bed and sat down. She was weak with expended emotion, the tears
that had threatened receding quickly, leaving her eyes arid and
tender. There was a throbbing in her right temple, and she pressed
her fingers to the ache, surprised by how badly her hand shook.
James
was right, of course. And how easy it would be to simply give in. But
Amanda wanted him to love her— needed him to love her.
She hadn’t waited until an age when most young women had been
married a long time, only to have made such a disastrous mistake. She
had waited for the right man. She thought she had found him.
If
she put the lie behind her without coming to terms with it, they
could go on, have a comfortable if indifferent marriage. And
indifference was the only way she could survive it because that lie
would always be there, waiting to sneak up on her, to pain her when
she least expected it.
Every
time he was late, every innocent explanation that didn’t quite
ring true, she would wonder. She would slowly shrivel, the confidence
that had driven her young life evaporating into a suspicious old age.
She owed not only herself, but James also, to find a way to forgive.
Truly forgive.
She
hoped she had the courage to try.
***
James
descended the stairs in a rush, his mood foul. Fortunately, he saw no
one
James
pulled back, and she expected him to look self-satisfied. But there
was no room for satisfaction in an expression so darkly lustful, so
tense from unleashed passion.
“Let
me go,” she whispered, tears beginning to burn the backs of her
eyes.
His
grip tightened. “Oh, no. That’s not the bargain. If you
don’t cooperate then you are interfering with my
participation.”
“Do
you expect me to simply waltz over to that bed and let you have your
way with me?”
“Overdramatic,
Amanda, and again you presume. I’ve not asked that of you. Yet.
However, yes, when the time comes, I will expect that very thing.”
“What
is it you expect now?” she asked in a small voice.
“First
and foremost, I do not want you to disclose the difficulties we are
having to my family. What is between us stays in this room.”
Amanda
nodded. “Of course.”
“Second,
you promised to be a willing wife. If you cannot keep that promise, I
want to know now.”
His
face was still close to hers, his hand still in her hair, and though
she wished more than anything to look away from him, neither his
demeanor nor his compelling stare would allow her to do so. Rather
than answer him, she began to struggle but he held her fast.
And
the oddest thing, despite his pique she knew he was aroused. His
member was pressed against her hip, as hard and demanding as his
gaze, and he did nothing to hide his condition. Rather, she sensed he
was flaunting it, forcing her to acknowledge the violent emotions
that simmered between them.
“I
want you to answer me,” James ground out. “I want to know
I can trust you on this.”
“As
I can trust you?” Even as she spoke she regretted the words,
but she was on the verge of tears now and desperate to be free.
James
stepped away from her as though she had slapped him. Almost as
quickly as the shock appeared, however, it was gone to be replaced by
a shadowed, moody look. He straightened his coat, making an extra
show of hand-pressing the wrinkles from his ruined lapels.
“You’ve
purchased a few extra hours, Amanda. But tonight I expect an answer.
And be forewarned, I have no intention of living in an armed camp.”
James stalked across the room stopping at the door. “You can
choose to forgive me or not, but believe me, you have as much to lose
as I do.”
His
anger was palpable, an explosive mixture of lust and outrage, and he
emphasized that anger more clearly with the gentle way he clicked the
door into place than if he had slammed it shut.
Amanda
went limp. She walked with as much dignity as she could muster—and
she wondered why it mattered since she was alone—to a chair by
the bed and sat down. She was weak with expended emotion, the tears
that had threatened receding quickly, leaving her eyes arid and
tender. There was a throbbing in her right temple, and she pressed
her fingers to the ache, surprised by how badly her hand shook.
James
was right, of course. And how easy it would be to simply give in. But
Amanda wanted him to love her— needed him to love her.
She hadn’t waited until an age when most young women had been
married a long time, only to have made such a disastrous mistake. She
had waited for the right man. She thought she had found him.
If
she put the lie behind her without coming to terms with it, they
could go on, have a comfortable if indifferent marriage. And
indifference was the only way she could survive it because that lie
would always be there, waiting to sneak up on her, to pain her when
she least expected it.
Every
time he was late, every innocent explanation that didn’t quite
ring true, she would wonder. She would slowly shrivel, the confidence
that had driven her young life evaporating into a suspicious old age.
She owed not only herself, but James also, to find a way to forgive.
Truly forgive.
She
hoped she had the courage to try.
***
James
descended the stairs in a rush, his mood foul. Fortunately, he saw no
one
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