Impulse (26 page)

Angela swallowed and went forward to take his hand, letting him lead her into his bedroom. She told herself that she would not be so silly tonight. She would let him take her, give him whatever ease her body could provide and somehow conceal her own stiffness and reluctance. It was mad of her to keep on putting him off this way; he would grow tired of her and send her away. He would hate her. And she did not want that.

Angela tried to smile as Cam closed the connecting
door behind them and led her over to his bed. The massive bed loomed beside them, wide and heavy, its four thick posters rising to support the green brocade tester. Angela determinedly kept her eyes off it.

Cam sat down on the side of the bed and patted the spot beside him encouragingly. “Come. Sit down with me.”

Angela stiffened involuntarily, then cursed herself for betraying her unease. She had not been able to keep her resolve for even a moment.

He smiled. “Don't worry. I just want to talk to you.”

“You must think I am a ninny.” Angela climbed onto the bed beside him. She sat, not looking at him, acutely aware of his powerful body beside hers and of the inches that lay between them.

“Of course I don't. I think you are a very brave young woman, and very self-sacrificing to have married me in order to save your family.”

She shook her head, but could think of nothing to say in answer.

Cam continued, “I would never hurt you, Angie. I hope you know that.”

“Yes,” she responded breathlessly. “I know you are a kind man, Cam. I have always known that. But I can't—I just cannot keep from going all stiff. I don't mean to do it. I don't want to.”

“I know you do not.” He covered her clenched hands reassuringly with one of his own. “It's because he scared you so badly. You can't make yourself be unafraid of something that terrified you before.”

Tears welled in Angela's eyes. “I am sure you must regret marrying me. I am damaged beyond repair.
I should have told you. I should not have let you tie yourself to me.”

“Hush.” His voice was soft, but firm. “
You
have done nothing wrong. It is others who have wronged you. Including me.”

“No! Not you. You have been so kind to me, so good. I—”

“No. I forced you into marriage. It was selfish and unconscionable of me. I can only say in my defense that I did not know then how much it frightened you.”

“Of course you didn't.”

“Still, I forced you, just as
he
forced you.”

“You are not like him!” Angela replied fiercely. “Not at all.”

“I am not. At least, not in that way. I can be ruthless and cruel, I know. But I would never hurt you. The problem, you see, is that I want you. Even knowing how badly you were used, I cannot stop my desire for you.”

“I know,” Angela said wretchedly. “I don't want to make you unhappy. I have decided that I want you to go ahead. I—I am perfectly agreeable to—”

“No! I do not want to have my way with you, to make you endure something you hate and fear. I want to make love with you. I want you to feel pleasure, too, to want me as I want you.”

“I cannot! I am sorry, so sorry, Cam, but truly I cannot. I want to feel it. I want to make these awful feelings go away. I want not to be stiff, but I cannot control it!”

“Yet, sometimes, when I have kissed you…and touched you…” He picked up one of her hands and held it in his, gently stroking it with his other fingers. “I have thought that I felt a twinge of desire in you. A tremor,
a kiss, a moment of leaning into me, that seemed to me to betoken some desire in you.”

Angela looked away, blushing. “Yes. It's true. There have been times when I—I wanted you to keep on kissing me or touching me. But, then, somehow, I would start to tighten up. I would get scared.”

“That was what I thought about today. You feel desire, but then, at some point, you freeze. I think the reason is because deep down inside you don't really trust me.”

“I
do
trust you, Cam. I admire and respect you, and I know that you would never—”

“Those are words, Angel. That's your mind speaking. But I am talking about what your heart is saying to you, what your body is telling you every time you feel a spark of passion. It's telling you that you cannot trust me, no matter what your mind tells you. Your body doesn't believe the words, it only knows the actions, the things that have happened to you in the past. Words can't erase that.”

“What are you saying?” Angela asked wearily. She was certain that the end was coming now. He was telling her that it was hopeless. He would say that he wanted to annul the marriage. He would have every right; she could not deny that their marriage was unconsummated. Guilt weighed on her, but her heart ached at the thought of losing him. “Are you— Do you plan to set me aside?”

“Set you aside!” He looked astonished. “Of course not. Where did you get such an idea?”

“But I thought—since I cannot feel what I should—”

“Don't worry about what you should or should not do. That is not the point here. The point is how to get you to trust me. If only you could be sure that I would
not harm you, if only you were convinced that my words were true, then you could relax. You could let yourself feel the sensations, the pleasure, and not be worrying all the time about when I was going to turn on you like a rabid dog. Don't you think that's possible?”

She looked at him doubtfully, but nodded her head. “I—I suppose.”

“That is why I rode into the village and got these.” He turned and pulled something golden and soft out from under the pillow behind him. He held the objects out toward her, and Angela saw that he held narrow braided cords, golden in color and quite soft and pliable, with tassels decorating the ends. Still, however elegant and attractive it was, it was a form of rope. Angela recoiled in horror.

Cam grabbed her wrist to keep her on the bed with him.

“No, wait. Don't move away. Don't be frightened.”

“Do you mean to tie me up? You needn't,” she assured him breathlessly, still eyeing the cords with fear. “I shan't try to get away.”

“No! Of course I'm not going to tie you up. That would defeat my purpose. Angel…I am trying to reassure you, not frighten you more. The ropes are for me. I mean, they are for you. Here.” He placed the silken cords in her hand. “They are for
you
to tie
me
up.”

She was too astonished to say anything. She simply gazed at him, her eyes wide.

He nodded encouragingly. “You tie my hands to the posts, and then you will know that I cannot hurt you. You may do whatever you wish, what you enjoy, and only that. You will be absolutely certain that when you stop, I cannot make you do anything more. You see?
You won't have to trust me. You will know that it is impossible for me to force you.”

Angela stared at him, hardly able to believe her ears. “But…but won't it hurt you?”

A smile lit his face, warming his dark eyes. “You will notice I was quite careful to get
soft
ropes.”

She could not keep from smiling back at him, but then she sobered quickly. “But I…”

“Yes?” he asked when she hesitated. “You what?”

“What about when I untie the ropes? Sometime I will have to untie them.”

“What do you mean? What about it?”

“Well, I mean, then you will be free and…” She trailed off and looked away uneasily.

“Oh. You mean, then I would be able to hurt you.” His heart twisted within his chest as he realized what sort of pain and fear must lie behind the words. The thought had never even occurred to him; it was indicative of what had been done to her that it would occur to her.

She nodded miserably. “I am sorry. I know you would not. You are a good man. But I—I cannot help but think of it.”

He could see the worry in her eyes, the fear that she had offended and angered him, and he wanted to take her into his arms, to comfort her and assure her that he was not angry, that he would not hurt her even if he was. But he knew that his embrace would be the last thing to make her feel secure. It was damnable that with his power, with all he could do to protect her from the world, it was
he
that she feared.

“You are right. I would not. But I won't ask you to accept my word for it. That is the purpose of the whole exercise—so that you don't have to trust me. I guess the
solution is—don't untie me. My valet will do it when he comes in.”

“Tomorrow morning?” She looked shocked. “Oh, no, it would be terribly uncomfortable to be thus all night! And, besides, well, it would be embarrassing.”

He noticed that she had not said her words as a conjecture, but as a statement of fact. She knew the embarrassment and the pain of such a situation. Not for the first time, Cam longed to have Dunstan's neck between his hands. But he carefully kept the rage from his face, afraid that it would frighten Angela. He smiled ruefully and said, “I imagine it would be.”

“No. I couldn't do that to you.” She smiled. “Though it's terribly kind of you to suggest it.”

“Well, then, why don't you untie one hand and leave me? I can undo the other hand, but it will take me long enough that you can be back in your room with the door locked between us before I am done.”

“Oh. Yes, that would work. All right.” She blushed. “You must think I am very silly.”

“No. Just very misused.”

She continued to look down at the ropes in her hand, and after a moment, Cam prodded gently, “Well? What do you think? Are you willing to try it?”

She looked up at him for a moment, her clear blue eyes gazing unblinkingly into his dark ones. Then she nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was only a little above a whisper. “I'll try it.”

“Good, then.” He moved back on the bed until he was sitting with his back against the headboard, and held his arms out to the sides.

Angela followed him and, unable to meet his gaze, took one arm by the wrist and began to tie the tasseled golden cord to it.

“Make sure it's tight,” he instructed her.

“But it mustn't be tight,” she protested. “It will hurt.”

“Not tight enough to cut off my circulation. But I want you to be certain that I cannot slip my hand through.”

She nodded, tying a careful knot and testing it. Then she took the other end of the cord and tied it to the large bedpost. Leaning across him, Angela tied the second cord to his other wrist and stretched as far as she could to tie the end to the bedpost. She was stretched across him, her torso almost touching his, and her perfume teased at his nostrils. Cam wet his lips and considered the fact that this night was going to be one long session of torture.

Angela settled back and looked at him, her face a trifle uncertain. Cam's arms were stretched out to the sides in a way that looked to her both vulnerable and even painful. “Are—are you sure you are comfortable?”

“I'm fine.” It was not comfortable, far from it, but he was not about to tell her that, not when every part of him was aching to get on with this experiment.

Angela looked at him. Her heart was beating more rapidly in her chest. The sight of him there made her feel odd inside, warm, and a little confused. “I— What should I do?”

“Whatever you feel like,” he replied huskily. “You have complete control.”

Angela's eyes flickered down him. She felt nervous, breathless. All sorts of strange ideas were beginning to flitter through her head. She didn't know why just looking at him should make her abdomen tighten or bring that restless, itchy feeling between her legs.

“Why don't you come closer to me?” he suggested.

Obediently she scooted nearer, until she was curled
up beside his hips. A piece of hair had fallen over his forehead, and she reached out and brushed it back. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard. Angela felt bolder without his eyes upon her, and she smoothed her hands back over his hair, then did it again, this time sinking her fingers into his thick, straight locks. She liked the way it felt, and she played her fingers through his hair, twining strands of it around her fingers, combing her fingers through it, and rubbing her fingertips into his scalp. His breathing came faster, and the sound stirred something in Angela.

She shifted; it was a little uncomfortable sitting beside him this way and leaning forward, stretching up to touch his hair. When she shifted again, he suggested softly, “Why don't you sit on my lap?”

She hesitated, and he added, “Astride.”

Normally she would never have done anything so suggestive, but she was bolstered by the knowledge that even if it was suggestive, he could do nothing to follow up on it. So she lifted her skirts and swung one leg over him, settling down on his lap facing him. It was much easier to touch him this way, but she was very aware of the heat that flamed through his body when she sat down, as well as of the hardness that throbbed against her own tender flesh. But again she recalled that he could do nothing to make her regret her actions, and just to reassure herself of it, she moved on his lap again, resettling herself.

A groan escaped his lips, and his arms pulled against the ropes, but they could move no farther. It made her feel a trifle guilty, even as it started up an undeniably enjoyable sensation of power within her, and she asked, a little anxiously, “Are you all right? Should I stop?”

“No! God, no, don't stop. Do whatever you want. That is what I want of you.”

“All right.” She looked into his face, which was on a level with hers now, and she placed her hands on either side of it. Gently she rubbed her thumbs across his forehead, smoothing out the lines there. Then she moved down to his eyebrows and repeated the motion. Gently her fingertips glided over his closed eyes and across his cheeks, then along the firm line of his jaw and chin. The feeling of his flesh, soft but taut over his thrusting bones, was tantalizing to her. She marveled that she had never noticed the exquisite contrast before, the vulnerability and the hardness.