Kiss Me, Annabel
Page 62

Ewan scowled at her. “Nana could do so if she put her mind to it.” In truth, he couldn’t think of any of his intimates who had done such a thing. Why should they have? None of them had ever been stranded in a cabin in the woods. “I would judge my grandmother as able to conquer any situation,” he stated.
“Well, there we differ,” Annabel snapped. “I am not a farmwife with the skills to succeed in this sort of life.”
“I can see that,” Ewan returned. He was smouldering with anger.
“And this has nothing to do with your grandmother’s supposed skills! The truth is that you’ve lived a life of such privilege that you couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not have Mac to cater to your every wish. You thought it would be easy to be poor, and now you find out it’s not so, you’ve turned disagreeable.”
“I may not have grasped how difficult it would be to live in the Kettles’ cottage with a wife who was incapable of heating a pan of water without spilling it—”
“I am not your wife,” Annabel said icily.
“That gives me two things to be thankful for,” Ewan snarled. “One that I’m not so poor that I have to live in a damned hovel, and second that—” He stopped.
Annabel was white with anger. “Too late! Never mind the scandal, after last night, you have to marry me. No matter how much we may both regret it.”
Ewan took a deep breath and moved to the side of the little house. Deliberately he leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. Silence fell on the courtyard.
Annabel could actually feel her heart breaking inside her chest. She’d always thought that a broken heart sounded rather romantic. But in truth it was physical. Her whole chest ached, as if she’d been struck with a knife. With all her witless calculations about how to make a man desire her, she’d never realized that the most important thing was to make him like her. Or even love her. What a fool she was.
“So you regret making love to me?” His voice was soft, casual almost. Normally Ewan had a lovely burr that sounded pleasurable and amused. But there was something dangerous in his voice now.
She cleared her throat. “I’m sure that we both regret something that leaves us with so few choices.”
He straightened and took one step toward her. Annabel held her ground. The easygoing, amused expression that seemed Ewan’s natural expression was gone. His eyes were a wild green, smoldering with anger. Suddenly she was afraid of what he was going to say. If he told her that he didn’t like her—if he put it in words—she might not be able to bear it.
“Just because you’re angry,” she said hastily, “is no need to say something you might regret. We have no choice but marriage. We have to make the best of it.”
“True,” he said slowly, and his voice was still a growl. He took another step toward her.
There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. Pain wrenched her heart. All those skills she had developed so painstakingly as a girl were apparently going to destroy a dream that she’d never had the courage to hold. “I understand how you feel toward me,” Annabel said carefully.
“Yes?” he said, breathing it. He was standing just before her, reaching out to pull her to him.
“Don’t!” Annabel cried, stepping backward.
“Why not?”
She might as well say it. “It’s only desire,” she explained, watching his eyes. “Desire is an artificial thing, created by—by—”
He reached out and curled a hand around her neck. “By what?”
“By artificial things,” Annabel said obstinately. “Smiles I practiced, Ewan.” She stepped back from him again, and the warmth of his hand fell away. She raised her chin and stared at him, willing her tears back. “You don’t understand how fabricated it all is. I wear corsets made in France: they make my breasts look twice as large, and no man can resist that. I let my hips sway when I walk, because men like it. You like it.”
His eyebrow rose. “Your hips don’t sway naturally?”
“No. Or perhaps they do by this point, but only because I consciously changed my walk when I was younger. But it’s all just a facade, put on to inspire desire.”
His eyes were inscrutable. “I’ve seen your breasts without a corset, Annabel, remember?”
“It’s all for show,” she said impatiently. “Nothing but show. Nothing but to create desire. It’s been like a game, don’t you see?”
“A game of desire?”
“No. A game to get what I wish from men.” She swallowed back more tears and met his eyes. “I—I like you, Ewan. That’s why you need to know just how good I am at this, and how artificial those feelings of desire you feel are. I’m no good at cooking. But I’m very, very good at making men do as I wish.”
He reached out again and there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. “You’re not listening—” she cried, jumping backward.
Inevitably, she tripped on her skirts. There was a ripping sound. He caught her in his arms, but he couldn’t stop their tumble, only protect her from the ground. So she fell on top of him, and he rolled her over before she could protest and crushed his lips onto hers.
“Nothing but a game, is it?” he growled.
“You can’t kiss me here,” Annabel said, pushing against his shoulders. “Let me up! I’m lying on the ground!”
“I can’t. I’ve lost my mind. Fallen victim to your feminine wiles. Besides, the sheet is sopping.”
“Don’t make fun of me!” He was pushing up her skirts, his fingers leaving a trail of fire on her legs. “Don’t even think—Ewan, please!”
Flames danced over Annabel’s body. “We’re out-of-doors!” she said desperately.
But then his hand took her and she cried out, even though she was lying on the ground.
“A game,” he growled. She twisted against his hand, her breath burning in her chest. “I’m nothing more than a slave to your corset, if I understood you correctly.”
Some small part of Annabel was resisting the strength of his fingers. But pleasure simmered in her legs, coursing in waves that followed every move of his fingers. Still, she gasped, “It’s not so—”
His fingers stopped, leaving her on fire. “Don’t move,” he commanded.
She froze.
Then his thumb rubbed across her once, twice, deliberately slow. “You can move now,” he said softly.
Fire surged through her bones, and she involuntarily shivered, gasping. His hands stilled again.
“Now, what were you trying to tell me?” he asked conversationally.
“Let go of me,” she said. Every nerve in her body was connected and they were all dancing with fire. “This is intolerable. You must let me rise. Someone might ride down that road any moment.”
One slow movement took her voice away. “I want you to tell me why our marriage won’t work.” He was kissing her jaw, his lips brushing against her skin.
“Because—because—” But she couldn’t. She couldn’t think, not when her whole body was pulsing around his hand, silently begging him to do things she could never say aloud.