Sweet Temptation by Leigh Greenwood Page A

soon learn to like it.”
    “Betty says no lady ever likes it.”
    “What would a bean pole like her know about men?” demanded Gavin. At that moment, his gaze focused on Sara for the first time, and he immediately became very still and quiet. He couldn’t describe exactly how he had pictured her as he sat attempting to drink himself into a stupor, but the reality of her presence was a far different thing.
    The skin which she stigmatized as freckled was rendered dead white by the deathly fear that filled her. Her long, slender throat, compressed lips, and apprehensive light blue eyes combined to present a picture of bemused innocence which her abundant strawberry blond hair, cascading over flawless shoulders in a riot of curls, did nothing to alter. Gavin suddenly realized that Sara looked damnably attractive, at least she would have if she could stop looking like she expected to be drawn and quartered. What could there be about this virginal girl that appealed so strongly to his jaded tastes?
    Gavin quickly discarded his shirt. “Damn, it’s hot in here. How can you stay under those covers? Come on out, so I can get a good look at you.”
    Sara didn’t have to wonder what Gavin looked like. The light from the single candle fell directly on his disturbingly masculine body; he was within inches of her now and his aroused state was unmistakable. She wasn’t entirely sure of what she was seeing, or why it should be in that uncharacteristic condition, but she had the distinct impression that it had something to do with what was about to happen to her. She did not let go of the covers, but when Gavin pulled them out of her hands, she sat perfectly still, rather than yield to her initial impulse to scramble to recover them. Her young, firm breasts rose and fell with her rapid breathing.
    Betty had piled several comforters on the bed to insure that Sara would keep warm, but she had taken care to dress her mistress in a thin nightgown that did very little to hide the outlines of her body. In comparison to Clarice’s opulent charms, Sara looked positively boyish. It was true that her breasts were firm and well raised, but they were demure little globes instead of huge pendulous gourds. And the scared, timorous look was definitely at variance with the coy invitation that characterized Clarice’s approach to their times in bed. This was not what Gavin was accustomed to, and his ardor began to ebb.
    But Gavin was honest enough to admit it was not just because she was different. He felt ashamed of himself. He had stormed out of the house and had taken his first drink because he was angry at his father, but he had kept drinking to postpone returning to this room, to blunt the sharp prick of his conscience. He had been able to force himself to marry Sara because he didn’t know anything about her, but the few short hours they had spent together had already changed that. He could still make himself believe that she was marrying him because of his position in society, but he could not ignore the growing suspicion that he was about to destroy something much finer than anything he had ever known.
    With a physical effort, he shrugged off his doubts. Pluck up, he told himself. There’ll be plenty of time later to work something out, feed her on double rations maybe, but he had to go through with it tonight. Everybody expected it of him, even Sara.
    “Don’t be so standoffish,” he said more kindly, reaching out his hand to her. “It’s not so bad as you think.” Sara couldn’t move. The mere feel of his hand on her skin sent her mind into orbit, her inflamed senses interfering with rational thought. Her body was screaming messages at her brain, but it was speaking a new language, one her brain didn’t know how to translate, so she continued to sit before him, immobile, mute, in a state bordering on shock as he trailed his fingers along her arm and up her shoulder. His touch was a match that ignited a trail of explosive powder