The Pleasures of Sin by Jessica Trapp Page B

shivered. “Surely three bands are aplenty. There is no need for five.”
    “Place your foot on the bed.”
    “It is unnecessary for—” she started.
    “Nay,” he said not allowing her to finish. “Lift your leg.”
    Her cheeks prickled even further as she obeyed, feeling like a mare going through her training.
    “Prithee,” she said softly, holding out her hands and letting the chain dangle between them. “I already have arm hobbles.”
    The red mote was gone, but his eyes were unreadable as his gaze flicked to her face. His smooth, well-shaved jaw neither tightened with annoyance nor slackened with compassion.
    She held her breath for a moment, hoping that he debated her request.
    He shook his head and patted the bed, indicating where she should place her foot.
    She let out her breath. No mercy would be forthcoming.
    “Hold my shoulder for balance if you need.”
    The smug coxcomb!
    Glaring at him, she shifted her weight and bent her knees for balance so she would definitely not have to hang on to him while he bound her. She raised her leg and placed it beside him, focusing on staying upright without help.
    His lips twitched, the first sign of emotion he’d given since this ritual had begun.
    Was he laughing at her, or had she been mistaken?
    The manacle snapped closed, and she wavered. She bent her knee further. Do not fall. Do not fall, she willed her body.
    “Other leg.”
    With an effort, she lowered her limb, proud that she had not needed to clutch him like a puppet. She shifted her weight onto the manacled leg, feeling the metal circle move about her ankle, and began to raise her unbound foot.
    She hated him. Hated him! If she could think of a way to crugal him on the head she would have.
    His gaze snapped to her face as if he had suddenly read her mind and she wobbled to one side.
    Just do not fall. Do not fall.
    “Do not make this harder on yourself than it is already. Use my shoulder for support,” he commanded, taking hold of her calf. “Wobbling or falling because your pride does not wish to touch me will only hurt you.”
    Forcing her face into a bland mask, she gave him a tight smile that felt more like a grimace and placed her hand on his shoulder. If she stumbled now, she’d never recover even a shred of her pride—better to use his body for support.
    She felt steadier on her feet using him as a brace. His shoulder was undoubtedly the thickest, most solid one she’d ever seen or touched—not that she’d had much experience touching men’s shoulders, but she had painted plenty of them. The muscle formed a tight knot under his tunic, unenhanced by the pads that were so popular these days.
    Once the manacle was locked, he allowed her to set her foot back on the floor. Her skin tingled, as if burned from his touch. A shudder went through her. He was the devil, and this was hell.
    “Can you walk?”
    Brenna looked down at the chains, which made a large spider web in front of her body. She stretched out her arms and the links made tiny metallic clinks. There were two sets of chains that radiated out from the wrist manacles. One set slipped through a loop at her collar, and she could stretch either her right or left arm out fully, but not both of them at the same time. The second set connected the wrist manacles to a metal loop near her bellybutton, which was connected by another chain to her collar as well. The leg chains slipped through this loop so that she would not be able to lift her hands unless her feet were fully in the air.
    Her chest constricted as the extent of her bonds sank in.
    Helpless. Unable to run.
    “Walk to the hearth, captive wife,” he said, taking her by the shoulders and turning her toward the fireplace on the opposite side of the chamber.
    She smarted at his command and almost shook her head in refusal. She would find a way free.
    “If you cannot walk, I will adjust the length of the chains.”
    She glowered at him. “You do not care if I walk or not; please do