Not aware enough to understand what he was referring to, she squeezed intimate muscles around him in a reaction as old as time itself. Throwing back his head, he tightened his hold on her and began to move. His rhythm was fast, his strokes deep. She screamed and screamed as he pushed her over the edge in a tempest of hot breaths and powerful thrusts.
And when she fell, it was as a marked woman. Gabriel Dumont’s woman.
Jess felt raw, exposed. He’d shattered her, claimed her passion and left her powerless. And she’d let him. Begged him. Now that the haze of desire had faded to reveal harsh reality, she couldn’t accept or understand the depth of her capitulation.
He wasn’t supposed to be the man who made her yearn!
It felt as though she’d given up her dream in that bed…given up Damon. Every time she’d felt pleasure, every time she’d screamed, she’d betrayed the love that had lived in her heart for a lifetime. And she didn’t understand how that could have happened. Gabe wasn’t the kind of man she could ever love. She wasn’t even sure she liked him.
Sliding quietly out of bed, she pulled on the first thing that came to hand. Unfortunately, it was Gabe’s shirt. The scent of him was in the fibers, on her skin, in the air. It mocked her with echoes of what he’d taken…what she’d relinquished. As she searched for her dress so she could get rid of the shirt, she heard the sheets rustle.
“Where are you going, Jess?”
A bedside lamp came on.
Blinking against the glare, she tucked her hair behind her ears and buttoned up the shirt. “To my own bedroom.”
His eyes were cold, focused. “I was under the impression you were already there.”
“Look,” she said, finding courage from the ragged tatters of her pride. “We’ve consummated the marriage. There’s no need for us to be in the same bed anymore. I’d rather sleep on my own.” She hugged her arms around herself. “I’ll…I’ll let you know if we were successful.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not that arrogant—it’s probably going to take more than one try.”
She bit her lower lip, trying not to look at the muscled upper body she’d caressed so feverishly less than an hour ago. “Well we can’t do anything for a couple of days anyway. It didn’t hurt during but I’m sore now.” Despite the humiliating awkwardness of the admission, she forced herself to meet his eye, aware that Gabriel would capitalize on the slightest indication of weakness with brutal efficiency.
He flicked off the light. “Suit yourself. But don’t try to use sex against me. I don’t play those kinds of games.”
“I’m not playing a game.”
“Aren’t you?” He snorted. “If you think I’m going to agree to carry on with a marriage where my wife saves herself for another man, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Four
“How dare you!”
“I asked you to be my wife, not my roommate. Decide what you want.”
Not replying, Jess slammed through the connecting door between their rooms. Gabriel folded his arms behind his head and unclenched his jaw with conscious application of will. No woman had ever made the rules in his bed. And Jess wasn’t going to get the chance to be the first. He’d meant what he’d said—he had no intention of living in a sexless marriage, not when bed was the one place where he…Shoving away that thought, he sat up.
Sleep was not what he wanted right now. He’d been more than ready for a replay of their first time together before Jess had pulled her little stunt. The woman had turned into pure lightning in his arms, the most responsive lover he’d ever had. He hadn’t wanted passion when he’d chosen her, hadn’t thought she’d incite it in him. But she had. He was willing to live with that fact, so long as it was confined to the bed. The primitive in him liked knowing he’d been the only man to taste his wife’s screams.
Hard on the heels of that thought came a far less pleasant one. Damon. Gabriel had made it his business to keep tabs on the other man since learning of the separation and knew that he’d recently been sniffing around for information about Jess.
His hand fisted.
Jess could love Damon all she liked. It made no difference to Gabe except that it meant she’d never expect anything emotional from him. But he had no intention of putting up with a “friendship” between his wife and the younger man.
Jess might hate Gabe for it but she’d known who and what he was when she’d married him. He held on to what was his and Jess was now his. End of story.
Jess woke with gritty eyes. Checking the clock, she saw it was a few minutes before five. “Four hours of sleep. Great.” A sound reached her from the bedroom next door and she realized Gabe was probably already up. Trying not to think about him or what they’d done in the tantalizing privacy of the night, she tugged the blanket to her chin.
The scent that rose up around her was that of the very man she’d been attempting to ignore. Thoughts derailed by anger, she’d forgotten to take off Gabe’s shirt and now the lapse taunted her into full consciousness. “Arrgh!” She decided she might as well get up and shower.
The hot water poured a balm over muscles unused to the kind of activity she’d indulged in the previous night. An activity she definitely did not want to think about, but which she couldn’t seem to excise from her brain.
She’d just finished dressing and was standing in front of the window brushing her hair when a perfunctory knock sounded on the connecting door. Gabe walked in a second later. Clad in an old pair of jeans and a rough work shirt, his sexuality was somehow even more intense, more powerfully real. Her nerves quickfired, recalling the demands he’d made in the dark, the exquisite pain of sensual pleasure.
“Good morning.” He gave her an amused smile, clearly aware of his effect on her.
That arrogance snapped her back to her senses. “I didn’t say you could come in.” Pulling the brush hard through her hair, she returned her attention to the predawn darkness.
He closed the gap to stand next to her, a powerful presence she’d touched intimately but knew only as a shadow. “Be ready to head out at seven.”
“Where are we going?”
“To visit your parents.”
Her animosity disappeared. “Thank you.” Placing the brush on the windowsill, she forced herself to face him.
The eyes that looked back at her were completely unreadable. “Kiss me good morning, Jess.”
“I don’t take orders well.”
“Funny, you followed them perfectly last night.”
Her spine stiffened to ruler-straightness. “Exactly the kind of thing a woman wants to hear after her first time.”
He winced. “Point taken.”
Her mouth fell open at the oblique apology. Gabe took full advantage, sliding his hand to her nape and claiming the kiss he’d asked for. Still sensitive from the unbridled sexuality of the previous night, her defenses were pitifully weak. She was horrified to hear herself make a sound of protest when he began to pull away. But Gabe liked it. Folding her into his arms, he kissed her with even more intensity.
By the time he finally left the room, she was in complete emotional disarray. This had not been in the plan, this acute response to his touch. She’d always talked about love and sex in the same breath, always assumed she’d care deeply for any man she made love with. Yet here she was, shattering every time Gabe touched her. It shamed her deeply.
And