I heard his low hiss of breath, then a rising growl at the back of his throat as he pulled me tighter against his naked body. His hands ran over me possessively. He kissed my lips hard enough to bruise, then nibbled my lower lip. He flicked his hot tongue in each corner of my mouth before he slowly moved down, kissing my chin. Kissing my neck.
My head fell back, my hair tumbling down my shoulders. The cottage seemed to spin around me, as if I were at the center of a tornado. My skin felt hot, burning like the desert. I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t open my eyes. If I did, I’d see Edward St. Cyr—my handsome, arrogant boss—kissing down my neck to my chest. If I saw that, I was afraid my mind would explode—along with my body....
His hands brushed roughly over my breasts, over hard, aching nipples. He cupped them over my thin cotton shirt and bra, stroking the sensitive tips with his fingers. My breathing became ragged.
“Take it off,” he murmured in my ear, and I felt the flick of his tongue against my ear. Prickles of desire, flashing cold then hot, raced up and down my body. Leaning forward to kiss me, he whispered, “Take it all off.”
His hands were insistent against my naked belly as he reached beneath my T-shirt. He reached higher still, toward my thin cotton bra that barely seemed to contain my breasts, which felt strangely tight and heavy, heaving with every gasp of breath. He kissed my lips hard, filling my mouth with his tongue, as he reached to take a breast in his hand. He squeezed an aching nipple.
Sensation ripped through me, and I gasped, gripping his bare shoulders. Electricity coursed through my veins, and blind raging need that frightened me with its intensity.
“I’ll help you,” he whispered, and pulling on my sweatshirt, he started to push me down, back onto the massage table.
Abruptly, my eyes flew open.
I realized he intended to take me right here. In the gardener’s cottage, surrounded by gym equipment and free weights. Against the massage table. He would ruthlessly help himself to my virginity without any more thought than that he had a hard-on, and I was conveniently available to slake it.
He didn’t want me. He wanted a woman. He intended to make use of me, in the same way I’d scarfed a bag of chips, the times I’d come home from work too starving to wait for a proper meal.
When Edward had kissed me so passionately, when I’d felt his naked body hard and powerful against mine, I’d been overwhelmed with the intensity of sensation. I’d been lost in fantasy and need.
In another moment, I would have let him rip off all my clothes, or—if that was too much trouble—simply pull down my stretchy yoga pants and thrust inside me, like an animal grunting as he took his pleasure, until he left me thirty seconds later, sticky and used upon the table.
None of my romantic dreams had fantasized about that.
I pushed on his shoulders. “No.”
Edward’s heavy-lidded gaze suddenly looked confused. “What?”
My hands pressed harder against his shoulders. I stared up at him in the gray, slanted winter sunlight gleaming dully from the window. Outside, I heard the howl of the wind, the roar of the sea. The barking of a dog. I heard my own thin voice. “I said no.”
Looking bewildered, Edward released me, and we stood facing each other beside the table, my clothes disheveled, his entirely absent. I tried not to look down. Tried not to think about how I’d just nearly given him everything—my hungry body and bruised heart—for the sake of blind passion.
But oh, that passion...my body was still trembling with the pleasure of it, with the desperate need. My body hated me right now for stopping. I wanted him still, desperately.
But he had to want me.
Me, Diana, not just any random woman.
All right, so I wasn’t exactly a beautiful movie star like Madison. That didn’t mean I had to settle for being a stale bag of chips. Not to anyone.
Pulling away, I fisted my hands at my sides. “You are my patient. There are some lines I will never cross.”
“Oh, for...” He gave a low curse. “Surely you’ve crossed lines before.”
I shook my head stubbornly.
“Never broken a single rule?”
“No.”
Reaching out, he brushed tendrils of hair from my face, tracing his fingertips down my temple, to my cheek, to my trembling lips. “Then,” he whispered, “you’ve missed a lot of fun.”
He towered over me, unselfconscious and proud, though utterly naked. While my own body was trembling. Blood rushed through my veins and I was breathing too fast. I didn’t let myself look anywhere but his eyes. Just meeting his hot, hungry gaze was hard enough.
“Let me love you, Diana,” he said in a low voice.
For a second, my heart stopped. Then...
“Love me? You said you’ll never love anyone.”
His breath exhaled on a hiss. “That kind of love is overrated. Hearts and flowers and pledging fidelity forever.” His lip curled. “As if you can make emotion permanent by mummifying it in a vow.” He took a step closer. “I do like you, Diana. I respect you enough to treat you as my equal—”
“Gee, thanks.” My voice was tart.
He placed a finger on my lips. “We both know what is going to happen between us. Pretend otherwise, if you like, but you’re fooling no one. Not even yourself.” He traced his fingertips along my cheek. “I felt how you just kissed me. You want me, as I want you.”
I could hardly deny it. “That doesn’t mean I have to act on it.”
“Why not?”
I struggled to remember, and finally managed, “Jason—”
“Ah yes. Jason Black, the bright flame in your heart,” Edward said mockingly. He shook his head. “Let him keep your heart. I will have your body.” He ran his hand gently down my back. “Very soon. And we both know it.”
His words shocked me. But I feared he was right. Even now, it was all I could do not to turn my face into his caress.
It would be so easy to surrender. Part of me wanted nothing more than to be bold—to be a rule breaker like he was. What had following the rules ever done for me, except leave me brokenhearted and alone?
If your employer’s temptation grows too great, Mrs. Warreldy-Gribbley had warned, run as if your life depended on it. It does.
Trembling, I turned and fled.
“Diana—”
I didn’t stop. Tripping over the yoga mat, I wrenched open the door and ran out into the cold garden.
The earlier snowflakes had changed into a chilly, sodden mist that threatened rain. I was nearly crying by the time I made it back to the main house. But the instant I pushed open the heavy oak door, the thick gray walls started to close in on me.
Never broken a single rule?
No.
Then you’ve missed a lot of fun.
Caesar whined at my feet. Wiping my tears savagely, I looked down to see the sheepdog pacing in front of the door. I’d gotten in the habit of taking him for a walk, since his nominal owner, who was actually and surprisingly Mrs. MacWhirter, had little patience for giving him long walks or letting him sleep on the bed. Getting away suddenly felt absolutely necessary. Grabbing my raincoat and Caesar’s leash, I went back out into the rain, the large sheepdog galloping happily beside me.
I walked the opposite direction of the gardener’s cottage, heading for the path that led to the rocky edge of the cliffs. The mist had turned to drizzle,