Forbidden by Susan Johnson (good books to read for teens .TXT) 📕

couldn't honestly say, not quite suite he was benevolent enough to genuinely wish her happiness without him.

Seven… and eight.

"Welcome," he said, reaching out to open the door to his room. "I hope you're not put off by fifteenth-century Flanders. Actually the Circassian walnut woodwork is rather nice."

"Etienne, please don't," Daisy said, tugging against the pressure of his grip.

"You don't like Flemish decor?"

"Damn you, be serious." His grin was as unnerving as the warmth of his hand enfolding hers.

"Trust me, I am serious. Come." And he pulled her into the room, leaving her standing just inside the threshold while he shut the door. Wall sconces lent a soft golden glow to the masculine bedchamber, picked up the gilt ornament on the enormous baroque columns of walnut twisting upward to the plaster molded ceiling, highlighted the frenzied serpentine carving of the massive tester bed.

"Do you like the tapestries?" He could have been conducting a house tour, so complacent was his voice and smile. "Nobles at play."

The walls were hung with scenes of leisure in which richly dressed ladies and lords postured in mannered indolence. They dined al fresco in a wooded glen, walked idly in a rose garden of great beauty, sat their richly caparisoned horses while two huntsmen stuck killing lances into a wild boar.

Her clan's summer lodges were painted with scenes from Absarokee life; her father's lodge more splendid than most. But the deeds depicted on the painted lodges were those of action and courage serving as pictorial history and lessons from the past, not ones of self-indulgent pleasure. "You must feel comfortable here," Daisy said, thin-skinned and touchy. "Everyone's in pursuit of pleasure."

"You fit in better than you think, darling, in that cloth of gold gown and your diamonds." He had the key to the locked door in his hand.

"I don't know how you think you can get by with this," Daisy said, ignoring his jibe, more aware than he how much persuasion had been required to convince her to travel East. "The house is literally filled with guests, and even before my family might miss me, Nadine is sure to come looking for you. She's not the dulcet feminine chatelaine she impersonates. So why don't you unlock that door and we can both return downstairs. My family will be happy, Nadine will be happy, I'll be happy—"

"But I won't."

He closed the small distance between them, his smile sweet and redolent, as though she hadn't voiced her objections, as though they were young lovers alone at last in the harmony of their contentment. "I see the buttons are in the back," he said, his voice velvet. "Turn around so I can reach them."

"You're not listening to me," Daisy remonstrated.

"I heard every word. You're probably right about everything… almost everything," he gently modified. "Turn around."

When she didn't, when she stood scowling at him, her nostrils flaring in anger, he took her by her arms and turned her himself.

"What if I were to fight you?" she resentfully said, half swiveling around to stare at him. This was astonishing, she was thinking, being taken captive in a house with hundreds of guests present. He was mad.

His sigh was one of consolation. "Be realistic, darling."

He towered over her, powerful and fit, his large hands lightly. grasping her shoulders, the splinted bandage on his right hand rough on her skin, reminding her of his defensive combat on the polo field that afternoon. If he was a match for her father and brother… he was right about being realistic.

"You'll pay later then, Etienne," she threatened. "I promise."

"You pay for everything in this world, darling. Didn't you know that?" And he began opening the short range of covered buttons at her waist, with less finesse than usual because he was awkward left-handed.

Daisy stood stiff-backed and silent as he loosened her gown, steeling herself with anger against the warm touch of his fingers. When he'd slipped all the buttons free of their small loops, he bent to kiss the satiny curve of her shoulder. She shut her eyes at the warm softness of his mouth, willing herself not to respond. She felt his hair against her neck, smelled the fragrance of his pine-scented cologne, repressed a sigh as the familiar touch of his fingertips traced a gentle path down her spine.

"Please don't, Etienne. It's not fair. You're not fair. I don't want to be here. I don't want you to touch me. I don't want you to kiss me. I don't. I don't. I—"

Swinging her around so she faced him, he covered her mouth with his, to stop her protest, stop the words, repress all the negatives crowding her mind, make her feel what he was feeling. He had confidence in his experience as well as the indefensible authority of his strength. He intended to woo her because gallantry was preferable to force, but he was determined to have her and the means were incidental to the end.

Holding her close, his palms on the low curve of her spine, he forced her head back with the intensity of his kiss. In only partially contained violence, he ate at her mouth, bringing his splinted hand up swiftly to secure her more firmly under the pressure of his lips. Moving his leg into the gathered folds of her skirt, he forced her backward the few steps to the door and leaning into the softness of her body, pressed his pulsing erection forcibly against her.

He felt her caught breath in his mouth and shut his eyes for a moment against the consuming fire in his brain. Frantically he beat down the ramming speed mentality screaming through his mind. Since Daisy had left nine weeks ago, he hadn't had a woman. Perhaps that, too, accounted for his reckless irresponsibility tonight. Perhaps he was indeed mad, for he could have had Nadine or any number of women downstairs, in leisurely and acceptable dalliance—not like this—not putting his life at risk with Daisy's father and brother downstairs, with the woman in his arms