Surrender to the Fury by Connie Mason

in a pool of lamplight.
    “Why are you avoiding me? Were you going to break your word?” Aimee shook her head in vigorous denial. “Then I’m going to love you, sweetheart,” he continued, “and nothing short of death or an enemy attack is going to stop me. It’s what you want, too, isn’t it?”
    Her body screamed yes while her mind rejected the idea utterly. But no matter how desperately she tried, she couldn’t purge her memory of that night Brand was conceived. Conceived in lust, not in love.
    Earlier, waiting for Aimee to come to him, Nick had paced his room like a caged tiger. He burned, he ached, he wanted Aimee with a need that went far beyond lust. He could still taste her kisses, smell the musky odor of her passion, feel her trembling flesh beneath his fingertips. If it wasn’t lust he felt for Aimee, what was it? Unfortunately Aimee’s hatred for him made it impossible to explore his feelings for her. But tonight … tonight she had admitted she wanted him, had come to his room to be with him. At first he was skeptical, then puzzled, then inordinately pleased. Finally he could wait no longer. Assuming Aimee was putting Brand to bed, he had quietly entered her room to wait for her.
    “I—told you I’d come to your room,” Aimee hedged. “What if Brand should awaken and come in here?”
    His answer was to sweep her up in his arms and carry her out the door the short distance to his room. He set her on her feet. “Is this better?” he teased. His voice was low and evocative. “I always aim to please a lady. I’d rather have you in my room anyway.”
    Aimee quickly took a step backward, his heart nearly overpowering her. “I—didn’t Savannah tell you I had a headache?”
    A lazy smile hung on the corner of Nick’s mouth. “You’re not getting off that easily. Do you really have a headache? Or are you fishing for excuses now that the moment we’ve both been yearning for has arrived?” Suddenly his face grew thoughtful and he looked at her probingly. “Could there possibly be another reason you came to my room?”
    Hot color flooded Aimee’s cheeks. Did he suspect? “No, no other reason. I meant what I said.”
    Nick’s smile deepened, making his dimple even more prominent. “Good. And I meant what I said. God, Aimee, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment. I couldn’t bear your hatred.”
    He stepped forward. He was close—so close the heat emanating from him seemed to scorch her. She could almost smell the acrid scent of his arousal, taste the delicious flavor of his need. Her expression must have conveyed her thoughts, for his response was immediate and overwhelming.
    “Take off your clothes, sweetheart; I want to see all of you.”
    Aimee’s mouth went dry. “Perhaps we should wait.”
    “No, I’ve already waited too long. You’ve bewitched me, Aimee; I’m like a kid with his first woman. I want you, now.”
    The wanting within him moved her in a way she couldn’t explain. When he drew her into his arms, the taste of his kiss was bittersweet. So many nights she had lain awake tortured by memory. So many times she had dreamed about him when she knew they would never meet again. And now here he was, as handsome as ever—no, more handsome—more demanding, his need for her just as great as it had been the first time. His devil’s eyes still tormenting her.
    He was her son’s father, the man she had vowed to hate forever. The only man who had the power to arouse her sleeping passion.
    His lips upon hers were fervent, ardent, swiftly igniting the passion between them. She returned his kiss, eager for it, responding with a fervor nearly as great as his. Their tongues met, dueled, retreated, then met again as the kiss deepened. Panting for breath, Aimee broke away, staring at him.
    His tongue moved over her throat, slowly, teasingly, gliding down the length of it, spreading fire in its wake.
    She closed her eyes, reveling in his touch, gasping in delight when