Succumb to Me (5 page)

An agonizing moment ticked by. Winter stopped
breathing, awaiting discovery.

He did nothing but shut the door. She started
breathing again, shallowly as she watched his movements, but her
breath sounded so loud in her ears she feared he would hear her.
The light flickered as he picked up the candle, then the room
brightened as another candle was lit.

Contrary to the frightening images her mind
had conjured, he did not drop instantly to his knee and snatch the
dust ruffle up, exposing her.

Her hammering pulse began returning to normal
when she wasn’t immediately discovered. Perhaps he thought a
servant had left the candle for him. There was still some hope she
could get out without being caught. If she waited until he slept,
she was certain she would have a good chance.

He walked around the bed to the chest,
dropping his jacket to the floor with a soft rustle not a foot from
her head, moving behind her where she couldn’t see. She remained
perfectly still, barely breathing, listening intently.

Strong hands gripped her suddenly by the
ankles with surprising strength. Winter yelped, clutching with her
nails at the carpet for a handhold, but she was yanked from under
the bed with little effort. Stunned, she lay frozen on the floor,
blinking up at him as he crouched above her, one knee braced on the
floor.

He smiled crookedly, making no move to rise,
his dark eyes gleaming with unholy amusement. “What have we
here?”

CHAPTER FOUR

Winter said nothing, could only gape at him
while slow thaw set in to her frozen limbs.

“Now what,” he murmured thoughtfully, “would
a livery boy be doing under my bed?”

Winter’s heart leapt with a mixture of hope
and disbelief. Could it possibly be that he hadn’t recognized her?
Was her disguise that good? The room that dim?

She licked her lips, but before her harried
mind could conjure a convincing lie, Logan leaned forward, as
casually as you please, and placed a hand on one breast, squeezing
gently.

“Ah … I thought you a little too pretty for a
boy.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A lady bird, then. The
question is, have you come to rob me? Or, had you planned to earn
your coin?”

Still frozen, unable to think of much beyond
the fact that his hand remained on her breast, Winter felt her jaw
drop. If there had ever been a time in her life when she had needed
her wits about her, her unflappable calm, that time was now.

Unfortunately, she seemed to have left both
behind in her room at home, where she should have been at this very
moment, cursing Logan Cordell for a blackguard, instead of lying on
the floor of the blackguard’s room with his hand on her breast.

Logan tilted his head. “I’m not certain but
what you’re a bit too boyish for my tastes,” he murmured
thoughtfully. Moving his hand over her breast experimentally, he
cupped it, as if judging the weight of it, then tested her other
breast. He hesitated a moment and ran his hand down, along her
sides, over her belly. When his hand cupped her femininity, Winter
jack knifed up right, instinctively swinging at him.

He caught her hand mid-air. A deep, wicked,
chuckle rumbled from his chest.

Winter screamed her outrage.

He clapped a hand to her mouth. “Unless you
want all of my servants in here gaping at you, I’d suggest you
practice a little decorum.”

Winter glared daggers at him, muttering
against his palm.

Slowly, he moved his hand away from her
mouth, reached up and snatched the cap from her head, dangling it
before her nose on his fingers. “Why, Miss Stevens! I’m shocked! It
is you, is it not?”

Winter snatched her cap from his hand. “As if
you didn’t know, you vile blackguard!”

He pretended shock. “Such language ... and
from a ... ah ... lady.”

Winter gasped, outraged. “How dare you!”

“I could ask the same of you, my dear,” Logan
said, apparently unfazed. “What brings you to my humble home?”

“As if you didn’t know, you ... you complete
scoundrel!”

Logan studied her a long moment. “As it
happens, I had a feeling you would come tonight. Admittedly, I’d
thought you might have something else on your mind besides
seduction. Were you going to wait until I undressed before coming
out from your hiding place? I must tell you, you needn’t have
bothered with such an elaborate ploy. I do not account myself as an
easy mark, but, for the right woman, I can be had.”

“I’ll just bet you can,” Winter said acidly,
hardly believing his arrogance. Handsome men always had that
particular conceit, as if all women were dying to give in to them.
She’d encountered it far too often in the past few years since her
father’s death had left them vulnerable to such attacks.

Abruptly, he hooked his hands under her arms
and pulled her to her feet, his palms sliding down to her waist,
caressing the sides of her breasts. “Apparently, my memory fails
me. I would never have thought you, of all women, would be one to
engage in a clandestine affair, Winter.”

Winter slapped his hands away and backed up a
step to look up at him with false bravado. “As if I would ever let
you touch me, you ... you....” She couldn’t think of anything bad
enough to call him that would also fall under the category of
ladylike dialogue.

He frowned, studying her thoughtfully a
moment. “Did you come here to apologize?”

A start of surprise went through her. She had
considered it, but that was before he’d behaved so badly. “No.”

“I see.” He rubbed his chin as if puzzling
the riddle.

“What made you so certain I would come?”

He advanced on her, trapping her against the
bed. The only way to escape now was go through him—or across the
bed. She swallowed, glancing quickly at that route and vowing not
to stray there.

He lifted his brows. “The cherished memories
we share? Unfinished business?”

Was he so delusional he thought she didn’t
know he had the painting? She studied him, trying to decide whether
it was a possibility, or just hopefulness on her part. She’d
smelled brandy on his breath. Perhaps he was so clouded with
drink—and lust, she could still gain what she’d come for? If she
could distract him long enough....

But what liberties would she have to allow to
distract him?

She focused on him with an assessing gaze and
discovered that he had transferred his attention from her face to
the clothing she wore, his gaze heated and thorough as it skated
down her length. Her skin tingled from his lingering look, and she
regretted choosing the form fitting outfit, aware suddenly just how
tightly it hugged her legs and hips, the turn of her waist.

“You don’t know how much it pleases me to
find you in here,” he said, his voice a husky murmur.

“I can imagine,” she said wryly, watching
transfixed as he casually removed his waistcoat. He untied his
cravat, throwing it atop the waist coat before loosening the neck
of his shirt. She dropped her gaze, embarrassed at her own boldness
and the knowing look he gave her, but her eyes immediately settled
on a bulge straining against the front of his breeches. She
swallowed, her throat gone dry, knowing instinctively the danger
his arousal presented.

She’d never been privy to a man undressing
before. Somehow, seeing him in such a state of undress made the
blood pulse in forbidden places of her body. She felt her
treacherous heartbeat quicken.

Her plans, and her boldness, shriveled away
at the thought of what he would do now that she was at his mercy,
and he was obviously under the influence. How much could she trust
that good breeding would reign in his lust?

He reached for her, and she startled,
scrambling atop the bed to escape him before it even occurred to
her that doing so was exactly what he wanted. He lunged for her,
his greater reach catching her easily. She gave a strangled cry and
kicked him in the shoulder, missing his face by inches. He rolled
her on her stomach, straddling her buttocks, trapping her hands
beneath her stomach. She could get no leverage to fight him and
growled in frustration.

“Where is the proper lady now I wonder?” he
taunted, mocking her.

“I will show you if you but let me up,” she
gritted out through clenched teeth.

He laughed. He actually laughed at her. His
hands gripped her waist, holding her in place, his fingers inches
from the tops of her buttock cheeks.

“Stop touching me like that. You have no
right,” she ground out, blowing loose tendrils of hair from her
eyes. She couldn’t see anything but the bed.

“Like what? This?” His hand slipped lower,
and she went rigid all over at his bold touch.

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, touch you?” He bent, speaking low into
her ear. “You should have told me this was what you wanted. I would
have accommodated you sooner.”

“This is not what I want and you know it,”
she yelped, her voice muffled by the bed. Her mind whirled as panic
raged through her. She struggled, trying to free her hands, trying
to buck him from her back and finally collapsed weakly to the bed
in exhaustion.

Moments ticked off, and he did not move. Her
rapid breathing slowed as she realized he’d made no attempt to
ravish her on the spot. The need to know what was going on finally
outweighed her reluctance to behave in any predictable manner.

What is he going to
do
, she wondered, turning her head to the side. She
could see nothing from her limited field of vision, however. She
blew her tangled hair from her face, to no avail.

“Should you be punished for breaking into my
house? Perhaps a spanking?” he said finally, his voice tight,
sounding strained.

“You are not my father!”

“No. I most definitely have no paternal
feelings for you, but something must be done.” He was silent a
moment, as though contemplating what he would do.

“Call the guard if you are so eager for
justice,” she gritted out desperately, certain nothing could be
worse than her current predicament. She wanted to strangle him for
holding her this way. How dare he think he could do anything he
wanted to her, to insinuate that he could punish her. She’d rather
be publicly whipped than allow him his way.

“Ease down. I’m of no mind to cause you
injury, though I’ll admit I find the idea of paddling your bottom
more than a little intriguing.”

“You bastard.”

“I assure you, my parents were married. Save
your tongue for other things, sweet Winter. I would think a
moment.”

She tensed, expecting that he had lied and
would deliver a blow to her buttocks. Instead, after several
minutes passed in tensed expectation, he began rubbing her back,
his fingers working deep into her muscles, easing the stress
knotting them.

Despite her reservations, despite her initial
tensing at his touch, Winter felt her muscles begin to relax with a
will of their own, found that it was actually a pleasant sensation
having his strong hands kneading her.

She’d just begun to truly enjoy his
ministrations when he stopped, shifting atop her so that he lay
against her, pulling her hands from beneath her where they had been
trapped, lifting her arms above her head and clamping them to the
bed.

She tensed as a hard object pressed against
the cleft of her buttocks, as he began to move against her, his
breath harsh against her ears, sending shivers of sensation through
her. His arms covered hers, his hands gripping her hands, his body
shuddering—with tension, or his efforts to support his weight so
that he didn’t crush her, she wasn’t certain. But her body
responded as if it were no longer hers to control, a strange
excitement seizing her, causing her pulse to race, her breath to
catch in her throat.

A strange fog seemed to cloud her mind. She
found herself moving, almost unconsciously, with him. Becoming
aware of what she was doing, Winter stopped, trying to calm her
racing heart, trying to regain control of her raging senses.

As abruptly as he’d begun, he stopped,
rolling off of her and coming to his feet beside the bed. He
grasped her, rolling her onto her back to face him. She stared at
him for several moments, unmoving and finally sat up with the
careful movements of a mouse suddenly freed by a cat, regarding him
warily, shakily smoothing her jacket down where it had ridden up
her chest.

His eyes flashed a warning, and she stilled.
“If you give yourself to me willingly, we will go down to my study
afterwards and you can take the painting and go. I will not plague
you again.”

Shaken from his caresses, Winter stared at
him blankly for several moments, certain she hadn’t heard him
correctly. His expression was deadly serious, however, his eyes
dark, hot, and hungry.

She should have felt outraged … not
breathless and confused.

She should have leapt to her feet and slapped
his face for the liberties he’d taken, for his assumption that she
would willingly give herself to him only to get her hands on the
painting.