No thanks to him. Gareth’s jaw tightened. A chaos of roiling emotions condensed into a hot knot inside him, then rose slowly, inexorably, up his throat. “I’ll buy you another gown.”
His tone was angry, irritated-frustrated.
Stepping into the upper corridor, Emily glanced back. “Don’t be nonsensical.” She kept her voice down in deference to the others, who would by now be asleep. She continued along the narrow corridor. “It was just a gown. I have more-more than enough.”
“Nevertheless, when we reach England I’ll arrange to replace it.”
Reaching her door, she halted and swung to face him. Even through the dimness, she could see his stubbornness in the set of his jaw, could sense the…was it disapproval? radiating from him as he halted before her. Eyes narrowing, she tipped up her chin. “I did what was necessary to get us out of there without causing ructions-ructions we can’t afford.”
A muscle worked at the side of his jaw. “If you’d just left it to me-”
“If I’d left it to you that woman would have-” Realizing her voice was rising commensurate with her temper, she uttered a muted sound of frustration, flung open her door, grabbed his jacket front in one fist and jerked, then towed him into the privacy of her room.
She couldn’t have moved him if he hadn’t obliged, but presumably he was as keen as she to continue their discussion. The walls and door were sturdy enough to permit them to indulge in the “discussion” bubbling through her. How dare he not appreciate her saving him from a fate worse than who-knew-what at the hands, and various other parts, of the begum?
Releasing him, she swung to face him, all but nose to nose in the bright moonlight pouring through the open shutters. Her temper was well flown; belligerence had taken hold.
He’d turned to send the door swinging shut. As he turned back to her, she stretched up on her toes and locked her eyes on his. “Listen, you-I got us out of there tonight without losing anything vital-more, while keeping the begum’s favor. What fault can you possibly find in that?”
His eyes, dark and narrowed, locked on hers. “It’s my job to keep you safe.”
“By whose decree?”
“Mine. It’s the way things are-everyone knows that.”
He was serious, she could see it in his face, but she wasn’t about to back down. She wanted to forge a lifelong partnership with him, and she intended to start as she meant to go on. Folding her arms, catching her cloak in them to hold it in place, she kept her eyes on his. “Regardless of any and all accepted practice, the only way we’re going to survive this-your mission and this unexpected joint journey-is to work together and protect each other. Tonight I was better placed to deal with the begum than you, so I did, and we walked away unscathed.” Eyes narrowing, she gruffly stated, “You should be grateful.”
Her tone gave Gareth pause. There was a hint of upset, of being upset because he wasn’t applauding her actions, her quick thinking in rescuing them. He let his mind skate back, reliving the moments…his too-intense reactions flared anew and crashed through him again. His face hardened to stone. “Regardless-don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Put yourself between me and danger.” When she frowned, not understanding, he gritted his teeth and ground out, “When we first walked into the begum’s presence, you stepped between her and me. Later, you kept deflecting her attention from me to you.”
“I was protecting you!”
“I know. But-again-it’s my job to protect you.”
“Again, I wasn’t under threat. You were!”
His jaw was going to crack. “Be that as it may-”
“Arrgh!” She flung up her hands. Her cloak slid from her shoulders. “You ungrateful man!”
With a soft thump, her cloak hit the floor.
She stood in the moonlight shafting through the open window, clad in gauze so fine he could see every curve lovingly outlined by the moonlight.
Abruptly she stepped close, face tilted to his, glaring at him from mere inches away. “Or did you want to lie with her?”
“Of course not…” His words faded along with the ferocious scowl he’d intended to reinforce them. Beyond his control, his gaze had lowered, locking on her body, on the curves and mounds and tempting hollows imperfectly concealed-tantalizing revealed-by embroidered gossamer silk.
His mouth watered. His fingers curled.
His face, his features, had blanked. He couldn’t have summoned an expression to save himself.
When the begum had worn the outfit, he hadn’t had a problem. After the first glance, he’d felt voyeuristic and uncomfortable, and had had no difficulty averting his eyes.
But Emily in gossamer silk, Emily’s body…
“The only woman I want to share a bed with-”
He stopped, shocked. He’d said that aloud.
And even he could hear the lust thickening his voice.
His gaze remained locked on the pale, subtle curves of her breasts.
The silence stretched.
He had to think, but couldn’t. Lust had suborned his brain.
“Yes?” A soft, expectant-hopeful-prompt.
He dragged in a tight breath, looked up, met her eyes-saw in the mossy hazel understanding and…
Enough blatant encouragement to knock his defenses flat.
He swore, and reached for her, hauled her to him.
Bent his head, crushed her lips beneath his-and kissed her with all the pent-up fury, frustration, and sheer need inside him.
She grabbed his head and kissed him back, equally fierily, equally hungrily.
The clash of emotions made his head spin. Transmuted anger and frustration to potent passion and powerful, spiraling desire in one short heartbeat.
Made him achingly hard, every muscle turned to steel.
Releasing her arms, he set his hands deliberately to her silk-clad body, and felt his pulse leap.
He closed his hands about her waist, and sensed her heart thud.
He’d been furious not just because she’d put herself in danger, but because he would have been helpless to protect her had things gone badly. Yet he’d had to let her handle it-he hadn’t known how to, so he’d had to sit and keep silent, and let her risk…
Angling his head, he sank into her mouth, ravaged, plundered.
The countering pressure of her lips, the evocative taste of her, the hunger in the passion that rose to meet his, reassured him as nothing else could.
She’d pulled it off, and they were safe. Alive.
And both of them now wanted, each of them needed…
The other.
The rational remnant of his brain quibbled that this was a typical reaction to triumphing over danger. He shouldn’t take advantage-
He shut out that chiding voice. He didn’t understand her motives, but he couldn’t, wasn’t strong enough to, deny her. Or himself. To hold back from what they both so openly, and blatantly desperately, wanted.
Needed.
Had to have.
He flexed his fingers, felt silk shift, sliding against skin equally smooth. Beneath his palms, the material had heated. He let his hands slide, glide over her back, felt the gossamer silk shift over silken skin in evocative, provocative temptation.
Spreading his hands over the long supple planes, he pulled her to him. Stepped into her as he did.
Gathered her-all warm womanly curves encased in featherlight silk-against him, locking her to him.
And she came.
Eagerly, wantonly, Emily pushed her arms up, stretched up on her toes the better to meet his lips, the better to return the increasingly fiery kiss. Winding her arms about his neck, with an abandon born of absolute certainty, she plastered herself to him.
She-her senses-leapt, then rejoiced as his arms locked and tightened, steel bands trapping her against his hard length. Obeying the dictates of her racing heart, she sank into him.