The High Sheriff of Huntingdon by Anne Stuart

soft mouth with his and drink deeply. He wanted her body, her heart, and her soul.
    “Do you deny you were considering it?”
    “I don’t have to deny anything.” Damn his mother! She must have dosed him when he didn’t realize it. There had t o be something to e x p l a i n his mindless reaction to the pale wench. “You’re my bride, and my property. I can do anything I please with you.”
    She d i d n ’ t even flinch. Lying naked beneath him, her body still racked with faint tremors of reaction from what he’d just done to her, she accepted that information with out pause. “If you’re going to kill me, you might consider doing it now.”
    She sounded so reasonable as she discussed her death. He didn’t want her reasonable. He wanted her panicked, silly, dismissible. Not fascinating.
    “Why?”
    “Because if I die a virgin there’s a g o o d chance I’ll be considered a martyr. Perhaps even a saint, eventually.”
    “Ambitious, aren’t you?”
    Her lashes were surprisingly dark, fanning over those clear blue eyes. “‘I always h a v e been. At the very least, if I die a vir g i n I’ll be guaranteed a swift entrance to heaven.”
    “Sorry,” he said.
    “It would be very simple,” she said, her voice low and persuasive. “You’re strong— you could just squeeze your hands together and crush my skull. Or you could strangle me—it wouldn’t take long.”
    “Bloodthirsty little creature, aren’t you? Haven’t you heard — I prefer to use a knife, ” he mocked her, thinking of the young woman he’d turned from his bed, who’d turned up dead two days later.
    His meek little bride winced. “I’m not over-fond of blood,” she confessed. “ Perhaps your mother could poi son me?” She sounded hopeful.
    He laughed then, unable to help himself. “ By the time she got around to it you’d no longer be a virgin.” He rocked against her a ga i n , lightly, reveling in her littl e shi ver of response.
    “Wouldn’t you rather kill me?” she asked in a sweet, plaintive voice.
    “I’m afraid not.” And he gave in to temptation, setting his mouth against hers, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth roughly, trying to still that ember of desire that burned brightly, paradoxically within her.
    He didn’t want her to want him. She was dangerous, all purity and gentleness and seductive goodness wrapped up a s e r e n e , beautiful body and a betraying sense of humor. He’d never met a woman who dared to mock him. He doubted there was anything Elspeth of Gaveland wouldn’t dare.
    Not even taking the black, dangerous high sheriff of Huntingdon in t o her bed, her body, her heart. She had a heart, there was no doubt of that. It was beating madly against his. She would take him and love him and weaken him. The thought was unbearable.
    He put his hands on her throat, feeling the pulse throb bing. It would be so easy. He lifted his head to stare down at her, trying to will himself to take the blackest, darkest step of all.
    He couldn’t do it. It was a lre a d y too late. Instead, he put his mouth a g a in s t her neck, biting it lightly as his hands slid down and covered her small, perfect breasts.
    He felt t h e fight l e a v e her body, the acceptance wash over her, followed by a new tension when h e lifted his body off he r s and stripped off t h e rest of his clothes.
    She was right. There would be pain for her the first time, but she seemed untroubled by t he notion. She was d a m p from her own desire and from his mouth, and she writhed when he touched her, his fingers testing her.
    She was s m a l l and t i gh t and virginal, and he c ouldn’ t wait any longer. He nudged her legs apart, resting in the cradle of her thighs, and told himself he d i d n’ t care, he’ d simply thrust into her and claim his release.
    For some reason he wanted to kiss her ear. She had perfect ears, sm a l l , delicate. He nibbled one soft lobe and fe l t her shiver.
    He pushed into her, slowly, knowing he w as