Samantha James by My Lord Conqueror

scarcely even breathe. Though that harshly carved mouth still curved in a smile, his eyes held an oddly hungry light. She had one burning glimpse of his features before his head came down.
    But he did not plunder her mouth, as she thought he might. A strangled cry caught deep in her chest. His mouth brushed past thedelicate curve of her jaw. Hot lips traveled down the arch of her throat and lingered there, where her pulse had begun to beat the driving rhythm of a drum.
    He released her hands, yet she scarcely noticed. The furs were brushed aside, baring her to his gaze…and aye, his hands. She stiffened when the heel of his hand brushed the peak of one nipple. Once. Twice. Again. Her heart was pounding so that she feared it might burst clear from its berth within her chest. Her eyes flew wide when he proceeded to kiss the rounded swell of each breast.
    And then his mouth was on hers again. Leisurely he tasted her, as if he possessed all the time in the world. Her breath came in jagged spurts when at last he raised his head.
    He was no longer smiling. He bestowed on her a long, slow look, one that was far beyond her experience to decipher.
    And so were his words. “You make it difficult to leave this bed, Saxon.”
    With that he climbed from the bed. Alana snatched the furs up over her nakedness and hurriedly averted her gaze as he strode unashamedly before her. He left the chamber soon after, but not before he’d wrung from her another kiss…and another unwilling response.
    She shivered, for now that he had gone, the bed seemed absurdly cold though the fire he had stoked now roared in the hearth. Unbidden, her fingers crept up to her lips. The feel of him was still with her. The smell of him was still strong about her.
    With a weary sigh she arose and dressed, determined to put all thoughts of Merrick of Normandy from her mind. Sybil was already in the kitchens when she arrived. There was a fresh catch of fish from the sea, and she quickly joined the task at hand. Beside her, Sybil was sullen and had little to say. Alana’s heart bled for Sybil’s plight, for she had not been born to a life of such work. Yet she knew of no way to change all that had happened…Mayhap Radburn had been right, she acknowledged tiredly. The Normans could not be beaten, and so they must accept them.
    She did not see Merrick again until nightfall.
    And alas, once they were alone in his chamber, the events that followed were but a repeat of the night before. Thinking he did not see, she slipped into bed, still clad in her chemise. Oh, but a foolish notion was that, for it seemed he saw everything! The line of his mouth tight with displeasure, he tugged the garment from her body and flung it aside. “Now you know better,” was all he said.
    Soon a sennight had passed. Yet when darkness crept over the earth, he made no move to claim her, to possess her as he’d promised he would.
    Alana was not fooled. Aye, she knew what he was about. He would torture her, torment her with this wretched waiting and wondering! She had dared to challenge him, to defy him, and now he would tame her. He would teach her that he was master, that she was subject to his every whim and will.
    He allowed her no privacy. He allowed her no shame.
    For he touched her where he pleased. Whenever he pleased. Time and again his eyes dwelled upon her as she served the evening meal, dark and gleaming. Time and again his vow echoed through her brain, though she willed it not, though she wanted it not.
    You will be mine, Saxon—indeed you are already mine .
    Only last eve he had pulled her close, the furred darkness of his chest flush against her spine, a muscled thigh thrust between her own. They lay together like lovers, though lovers they were not; his arm was tight about her waist, his hand warm and familiar upon her belly.
    Then, to her everlasting embarrassment, she awoke to find her nose buried in the bristly dark hairs on his chest. Even worse, to find him regarding her