Heidi Rice - Bedded for His Pleasure - Bedded by a Bad Boy / In the Gardener's Bed / The Return of the Rebel

Jessie could hear the defiance, the desperation in his words. She had been right, was all she could think. He was lonely and he was scared.

No wonder he hadn’t been able to take Linc’s present. It had meant something to him he didn’t understand. It meant love and trust and affection. All things he’d spent most of his life without. He was always so sure of himself, so cocky. But beneath that was a good, caring man who needed things that he seemed determined to deny himself.

Jessie had a huge well of love inside her that she wanted to give to someone. And here was a man who needed it. She wouldn’t ask herself why Monroe denied love, denied family. It was enough for now to know he needed her and she needed him.

She’d been falling in love all along—and now she knew why.

He was the one she’d been waiting for. He was everything she’d ever wanted, standing there before her. So handsome, so vulnerable and so confused. Taking the next step now was all that mattered. The rest of it would sort itself out in time.

‘Everybody needs family, Monroe,’ she said softly.

He swung around, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Damn it. Don’t you get it? I used you. I saw something I wanted, so I went after it.’ His voice was rough with self-loathing. ‘You heard what I said when I jumped you at the party. I’ve been planning this all along. Getting you to like me. Getting you to trust me. It was all just a damn game so I could get you into bed.’

She laughed, the mix of arousal and excitement making her light-headed. He wanted her. ‘If that was the plan, you seem to be mucking it up a bit now.’

‘What?’ His mouth dropped open.

She stepped forward, drew her hands up his chest, wrapped her fingers around his neck. He smelt wonderful—linseed oil, turpentine and the musky smell of man. He felt even better. The hard, rigid muscles of his chest quivered against her breasts, as if he were a racehorse, ready to leap out of a starting gate. She had the power. For the first time, she was the one in control.

‘You know, Monroe.’ Her voice came out on a soft purr; she heard him swallow. ‘It was really nice of you to do all the work, up to this point.’ She caressed the back of his neck, threading her fingers through the soft hair of his nape.

He shuddered.

‘But it looks like I’m going to have to take over now,’she said.

He pulled her into his arms, forcing her hard against him. ‘You’re playing with dynamite, Red. I’m no saint.’ Slowly, he drew his palms up her sides, his thumbs caressing the swell of her breasts through the linen of her dress. ‘If you keep on going the way you are, I’m going to have you and to hell with the consequences.’

She drew in a sharp breath at the harsh demand on his face. The fire in his eyes made her knees go to jelly, but she kept her voice steady. ‘Promises, promises.’

The teasing words were barely out before his lips cut her off. He feasted on her mouth, thrusting his tongue in as his hands came up to fist in her hair. She began to shake, her breath gushing out when he lifted his head.

‘Are you sure about this?’ he rasped in her ear, his voice low and barely controlled. ‘You’ve got to be sure.’ His lips skidded up her neck as he spoke.

‘I’m positive,’ she murmured.

His lips covered hers again. His tongue probed, demanding entry. Her mouth opened, allowing him to explore her, to devastate her.

He stopped, rested his forehead on hers. ‘I want to look at you, Red.’

His fingers came up in a brief caress, then he tugged the straps off her shoulders, pushed the dress down to her waist. She pulled her arms free.

Nudging the lacy cup of her bra down, he bent his head to watch as he exposed her breast. Fire flared in her belly, flooding between her thighs. His lips, hot and insatiable, closed over the swollen peak, suckled strongly. Her breath caught as the arrow of lust shot down to her centre.

Fumbling, he released the clasp, pulled the bra off. He stood back, holding her away from him. She flushed as his eyes devoured her body, naked from the waist.

‘You’re beautiful, Red,’ he murmured. He cupped the ripe breast in callused palms, rubbed his thumbs over the engorged nipples. She went lax under his stroking hands. The heat was so intense now, she felt she might faint.

He pulled the dress down the rest of the way, taking her hand as she stepped free on teetering legs. He hooked his finger in the thin cotton of her panties and ripped them off. She gasped, totally exposed before him, drifting beyond pleasure to panic.

Lifting her limp body high in his arms, he stalked to the sofa, laid her down. She watched him, dazed and unsure, as he stripped off his jeans. He seemed savage, overwhelming all of a sudden. What had she done?

The muscles of his chest heaved from his staggered breathing. His arousal jutted out. He looked magnificent, like a powerful male animal.

She wanted to cover herself, but seemed powerless to do anything, enthralled by the sight of him as he knelt beside her. He stroked his fingers across her belly, making her jump as he reached lower and gently probed the folds of her sex. She could feel how wet she was as his thumb glided over the nub he exposed. She shuddered violently and cried out.

‘I’m sorry, Red. I can’t wait.’ He lay on top of her, his weight making her sink into the soft cushions. He grasped her hips, his eyes harsh on her face, and she felt trapped beneath him. Still she was dazed, detached, as he positioned himself, probed and then thrust within. She cried out, the shocking fullness and discomfort hurling her out of the strange trance and slamming her hard into reality.

She grabbed at his shoulders, pushed frantically. ‘Stop it. It hurts,’ she cried out.

He reared back.

She could see the surprise and confusion in his eyes and the rigid control as his arms tensed at her sides.

‘What’s wrong?’ He pulled out of her, cupped her face in unsteady hands. She could see the bitter regret in his face and she shattered—the pent-up emotions of long years of inadequacy and denial bursting out.

‘I can’t do this. I’m no good at it.’ She began to shake, raw with humiliation. The misery engulfed her. Why had she thought that with him it might work? For a while, as they’d kissed and caressed it had been so wonderful. She’d been spun up in a whirlwind of passion and excitement. But then, it had been dragged away. She’d failed, as always.

He held her gently, drawing her into his arms, settling her close.

‘Shh. Don’t cry. I rushed you. I went too damn fast. It’s my fault.’

‘It’s not.’ She snuffled, determined to tell him the truth. ‘I’m rubbish at this. I’ve been told I’m frigid.’

She wanted to get up, get away. But his arms tightened around her, holding her in place.

‘Please, I have to go.’ She could hear the pathetic whimper in her voice and despised herself for it.

She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes, or, worse, the pity. But then he tucked his finger under her chin, forced her face up to his.

‘Don’t go, Red.’ There was no pity, just concern. He touched his lips to hers, the kiss so gentle it was like a whisper. ‘Who’s the dumb bastard who said you were frigid?’

‘Toby. His name was Toby Collins.’

‘Toby, huh?’ He pushed the hair from her brow, brushed it back carefully as he met her eyes. Then his own went hard with anger. ‘I’d like to get Toby Collins and string him up by his nuts.’

‘Oh!’ What else was there to say?

He looked so fierce and forbidding she almost felt sorry for her former fiancé. If Toby hadn’t been on the other side of the Atlantic, his nuts would surely be in grave danger.