He rubbed his knee and looked at her. “I need you to calm down so we can talk about this.”
“I hate you.”
He stood to his full height, already recovered from the blow. Clearly he wasn’t that easy to kill as human. Any other man would be nursing a shattered knee from that practiced kick.
“Can’t you give me a chance?”
“No.” He seemed startled by that.
“Can’t you even try?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me you feel nothing for me?”
“I felt for the dragon who rescued me. Took care of me.”
“And the man?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what I felt for him . . . you . . . whatever.”
For the first time, she was lying. She knew exactly what her feelings for the man were. Lust. Pure, simple, and quite exquisite. But she couldn’t tell him that. She could never admit that to him now. Even as she had to cross her arms in front of her chest to hide her hardening ni**les or that damn distracting pulse coming from between her thighs. No, she could never admit any of that to him.
But when she glanced up at him, she realized he already knew. Just by the expression on his handsome face.
Fearghus moved to her again so that he stood in front of her. Brave man, she thought with intense bitterness. He looked down at her, then lowered his head until his forehead rested against hers. He didn’t try to kiss or grab her. He simply rested against her. And it felt wonderful.
She stood stock still, wondering exactly what he was up to until she heard him whisper, “I’m so sorry, Annwyl. Please. Please forgive me.”
No. He wouldn’t get out of this with a simple apology. Not in a million years. Even with an apology as sweet and heartfelt as that.
“There is nothing you can ever say or do that will make me forgive you,” she whispered back.
He pulled away from her and stared. She wondered what he was thinking, but she wasn’t expecting the grin that spread across his face.
“Was that a challenge, Lady Annwyl?”
Her face grew hot as she pushed away from him. “It was most certainly not!” She scrambled away from him, scooting around the table. He stood on the other side, his hands resting against the hard wood.
“It sounded like a challenge.”
“It was not a challenge, but a statement of fact. I will never forgive you.”“Challenge.”
“Stop saying that!” She tried to look away from him, but she kept seeing his gloriously naked body. But when she looked up into his eyes, she kept seeing him. His soul. Staring at her.
She moved around the table again and he slowly followed, every muscle moving, anticipating the chase.
He looked at her and she found herself marveling at how long those black lashes of his were.
“I bet I can make you forgive me.”
Damn him to hell. She hated him. She hated him with every fiber of her being. But her damn treacherous body responded like never before. She kept forcing herself to move away from him, but it became harder and harder. Especially when all her body wanted to do was climb onto the wood table that separated them and let him climb onto her.
“I’m not going to do this.” She cringed. That probably would have sounded a lot more convincing if she weren’t panting when she said it.
“Do what?”
“Stop it!”
“Stop what?”
“You know most men try not to get me this angry.”
He stopped, his dark eyes burning into her very soul. “I’m not most men. I’m not a man at all.”
And that’s when Annwyl charged for the tent opening, but he caught hold of her before she could even get within arm’s length of it.
He pulled her to him, her back against his chest. He snatched the sword from her hand and tossed it across the tent. He leaned in close to her ear, while the hand on her waist skimmed under her shirt. “Forgive me, Annwyl.”
“No.”
His free hand pulled her long hair out of the way. His fingers brushing against the skin of her throat, causing her entire body to shudder. Her damn treacherous body. Then his hot mouth was on her neck, his tongue running along the side. The hand under her shirt went right for her bindings, gliding under them, pushing them out of the way.
It felt like her head and her body were completely separate. Her head kept screaming at her to pull away. Telling her to make him stop. While her body ignored her head. Instead, her body did things like reach her arms back so she could dig her fingers into his hair, while also stretching the entire length of her taut so his fingers against her swollen br**sts would feel that much more wonderful. She hated her body. Hated its weakness. Clearly her body only thought about her immediate pleasure and not what this would all mean later. No, only her poor head thought about that.
He gripped her ni**les with both of his large hands as he gently bit the flesh at her throat. He let the bite get a little harder, and Annwyl realized with horror that she rewarded his actions with a moan.
“Forgive me, Annwyl,” he said again, his voice a dark, husky whisper in her ear.
She knew she should just say it and get it over with. But she wanted him to make her say it, and he had a way to go before that happened.
“Never.”
No female had ever made him feel this way. Dragon or human. But Annwyl stood apart from the others. She wasn’t dragon. She wasn’t human. She was something more. She was his.
He pulled the shirt off her body and tore the bindings from her back. He turned her around, his gaze immediately falling on those br**sts that he so loved. He gripped her close, leaning his head down, sucking a nipple into his mouth.