Quinn lay awake for much longer. His own body was on fire, and not just from his bullet wound.
No doubt it was a mistake to share a bed with Venetia. He had always lusted after her, and her proximity was trying his forbearance to the limit.
Amusing, really, that he finally had her in his bed but couldn’t honorably do a damned thing about it.
Far less amusing, however, were all the conflicting urges warring inside him.
One was Venetia’s response to him tonight. Her rebuff had pricked his pride, yes. Rejection was a first for him, since women usually craved his touch, but her skittishness downright offended him. He had never had a woman fear him, especially since he gave his lovers only deep pleasure.
Another was his own inexplicable response to their nuptials and the vows they had taken just this morning. Venetia had made a stunning bride—elegant, graceful, beyond lovely. Your wife now, Quinn reminded himself.
The acknowledgment roused a powerful possessiveness inside him.
A possessiveness he didn’t want to feel.
It hadn’t helped that in the firelight tonight, she had looked perfectly enchanting. Her skin glowed with a luminous quality, while her enormous eyes drew him in with their limitless depths. And her hair…long, lustrous, dark. He could easily fantasize about those silken strands skimming over his skin as she bent over him and used her satin lips to bring him to climax.
Regrettably, for now the picture would remain strictly a fantasy.
It was also odd how the most desirable woman he had ever encountered was also totally inexperienced. Venetia’s innocence was endearing, perhaps because he was unaccustomed to consorting with virgins.
Lying next to her barely clad form now, Quinn felt the same rush of hunger he’d felt at first kissing her at Tavistock’s, only this was even more forceful. He could readily imagine what lay beneath her nightdress…the luscious body, the ripe breasts, the long slender limbs.
He wanted Venetia badly, more than any woman he’d ever known.
Yet his strongest urge had nothing to do with the physical. Most of all, he wanted to win her trust. A challenge that would be difficult at best.
And his strongest internal conflict had everything to do with his own past. Venetia not only stirred his blood but aroused long dormant emotions inside him—excitement, fascination, anticipation, to name a few. Emotions that he had worked hard to crush over the past decade and ardently wanted to repress now.
His most dangerous feeling, though, was enjoyment. Even in pain, he was finding unreasonable pleasure in her mere presence and even more pleasure in their verbal battles. Quinn very well knew he needed to keep his distance from Venetia, and he’d thought riling her was one way to do it. But deplorably, their sparring was like an aphrodisiac for him.
Trying to ignore the sleeping beauty beside him, he gingerly shifted his position to lie on his back and shut his eyes while preparing to endure a long night.
It would be damned hard to sleep with the aches in his side and loins, and keeping his feelings for Venetia under strict control might prove futile.
—
Venetia woke to the most enchanting sensations. Warmth. Contentment. Sweet arousal. She had been lost in a captivating dream. Traherne was kissing her, making exquisite love to her….
Her eyes fluttering open, she recognized the inn bedchamber. It was early morning, with golden rays of sunlight filtering beneath the window curtains.
Behind her, Traherne lay unmoving, his front cradling her back beneath the covers, one arm draped casually across her waist. From his slow, even breathing she thought he was still asleep, but his body was hot enough to stoke a furnace.
Or perhaps the heat came from her. Her derriere was snuggled against his loins, her softer curves pressing against his hardness.
She knew enough about sexual relations to realize that he was fully aroused, even in his sleep. His desire was instinctual, of course, the result of primal nature, but Venetia couldn’t help relishing the sinful thrill of being captured against his muscular male form.
Then again, savoring his embrace wouldn’t be sinful if they were truly man and wife.
A strange longing swept over her. For a moment she found herself wishing this was their nuptial bed.
She let her eyes drift shut, pretending for now that Traherne was her husband in more than name. Amazing how the fantasy made such a vast difference in her feelings toward him. She would have no thought of resistance. Instead she would surrender willingly. Better yet, she would turn over and slowly kiss Traherne awake. If he were hers, she would embrace the role as his wife and lover and respond with every ounce of ardor she possessed….
The rush of longing increased. She was quiveringly aware of him, enveloped as she was in his warmth and scent.
When she felt the slightest shift in his position, Venetia went very still. Traherne had awakened, she realized.
In another heartbeat, his hand began lightly stroking her belly through the thin cambric of her nightdress. His lips were very near to her ear. As she debated how to respond, he pressed even closer to nuzzle her hair with his face, burrowing deeper. His mouth was warm, his breath moist at her nape.