Sara Craven - Desperate Measures

When his hand began to slide the hem of her nightgown up towards her thigh, she stopped him with a little cry.

‘Don’t!’

‘Then take it off for me.’

‘No!’

‘What is the problem?’ Although she wasn’t looking at him, she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘You have some deformity that you’ve been keeping from me, mignonne ?’

‘You know quite well I haven’t,’ she said bitterly.

‘How can I know?’ he said. ‘When I have only uncovered your body in my imagination—until now.’

Philippa, quivering with shame and indignation, found her nightgown deftly drawn over her head, and discarded on the floor beside the bed.

‘Oh, God,’ she said, half sobbing. ‘At least put out the light.’

‘No.’ Gently but implacably he turned her to face him again. ‘I want to see what my money has bought me.’

She closed her eyes, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she endured his lingering scrutiny.

‘What are you so afraid of?’ he asked at last.

‘I’m not afraid. I—I’m disgusted. I thought I could trust you, but you lied to me.’

He laughed softly. ‘And now I’m going to lie with you, my little one. Why don’t you stop fighting me in that stubborn mind of yours, and learn a little about yourself? Who knows? You might get a pleasant surprise.’

‘Being betrayed and degraded hardly features on my list of enjoyable experiences,’ she said raggedly.

‘So you find my presence here with you a degradation.’ His voice held a sudden chill. ‘My profound regrets, madame . But it changes nothing. You can behave as childishly as you wish, but tonight you are going to learn what it means to be a woman. You might find it easier if you made a conscious effort to stop hating me,’ he added drily.

‘Never!’ she said fiercely. ‘I won’t forgive you for this!’

His teeth glinted in a brief, unamused smile. ‘Tant pis , ’ he said, and began to kiss her again, his lips warmly, deliberately arousing as they moved on hers, then down the long line of her slender throat to her breasts.

The touch of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue against her flesh was a revelation—a pleasure that was almost pain.

I can’t stand this, Philippa thought, as his lips delicately encircled each throbbing nipple in turn.

‘Don’t,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Just—do whatever it is you’re going to do, then leave me in peace.’

‘In my own good time, mignonne .’ Alain’s fingers feathered against her rounded thighs and lingered with persuasive purpose. ‘Couldn’t you defy your stern principles and meet me halfway?’

There was a new, almost disarming warmth in his voice. Philippa found herself shivering suddenly, tempted beyond all bearing to yield, to let him lead her down whatever sensuous path he wanted.

Her lashes lifted slowly, and she looked into the dark face so close to her own, registering just in time the flicker of amused triumph in the green eyes as he recognised her inner struggle.

It was the expression of a man, she thought dazedly, who was used to succeeding with women. The arrogant seducer who did not intend to fail with his—bargain basement bride.

She brought up her hand and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

His head jerked back almost incredulously, then he swore under his breath, and his hands came down hard on her shoulders, pinning her to the bed.

She began to fight him in earnest then, her body struggling to be free of the weight of his, her hands flailing at him, nails clawing at his shoulders and chest.

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