Read Online Surrender to the Fury by Connie Mason - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Connie Mason
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you!”
“Look at me, Aimee.” When she shied away, he gripped her chin between forefinger and thumb and tilted her head up, forcing her to look into his eyes. They stared at each other breathlessly, neither willing to give an inch, before Nick said, “You’re a liar, sweetheart. Don’t you know that the eyes are windows to the soul? And yours, my beautiful Mrs. Trevor, are more expressive than most. You want me, sweetheart, as much as I want you. Why are you fighting me? Your husband has been dead a long time. There’s nothing to keep us from satisfying our hunger for one another.”
She shot him a scathing glance. Memories that refused to die lay like stepping-stones in her mind, leading her back to one inescapable fact. Nick Drummond had taken her virginity and had not even realized it. And he probably wouldn’t have cared even if he did know it. She could forgivehim for being a Yankee, pardon him for callously taking her virginity and giving her Brand, but never for thinking her a whore.
“You’re despicable, Captain Drummond!” Those hours of incredible passion he had given her did not exist, she told herself firmly. They were visions from a dream that had no place in reality, over and done with years ago. “I want nothing to do with you.”
“Tell me another lie.” He carefully lowered her to the soft bed of leaves carpeting the ground. His hard mouth smothered her furious protests. She felt the breeze cool her heated flesh and knew he had worked her dress up her legs to her waist. And suddenly all the fight drained from her. She was tired of battling him.
“Very well, Captain Drummond,” Aimee said, struggling for breath, “go ahead, do your worst, rape me. I can see you won’t be satisfied until you get what you’ve been panting after since you walked back into my life. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.” Deliberately she spread her legs, offering him free access to that which he had been craving for longer than he cared to admit.
Nick uttered a sharp expletive and sat back on his heels. Though Aimee was tempting displayed before him, he hesitated. Rape? He abhorred rape—detested brutish men who felt the need to force themselves on women. The first time he had taken Aimee hadn’t been rape, and he couldn’t understand why she would think he would rape her now. He wanted to make love to her, to bring her the kind of pleasure she deserved. He was so certain of his ability to make her want him that he very nearly ignored her words. But the look in hereyes drained all the fire from his body. He leaped to his feet, turning his back while he adjusted his clothes.
His words were cruel as he lashed out at her. “Close your legs; you look like a whore.”
Aimee blinked in disbelief. “Whore! That’s what you’ve always thought of me, isn’t it? No wonder I hate you.”
“Go on back to the house,” Nick ordered roughly. He didn’t look at her. “I’ll bring the berries.” When she didn’t move fast enough, he turned and shouted, “You heard me, get out of here before I change my mind!” Aimee took off at a run.
With ragged breaths, Nick rested his head against a tree, striking his fists repeatedly against the trunk until he drew blood. What was the matter with him? he asked himself bitterly. What had made him lash out at her like that? Why did her hatred pierce his heart like a dagger? Why did he have the feeling that if he couldn’t thrust himself inside her, he would surely die? His own fiancée didn’t affect him that way, and Regina was a passionate woman. Most women he had made love to were quickly forgotten after the first flush of passion was appeased. But after five years, his intimate hours with Aimee stood out in his mind in vivid relief.
Aimee hated him
.
He closed his eyes, remembering …
He stood before her in all his naked glory, fully aroused and proud of his body, confident of his ability to please, eager to pleasure her as he had never pleasured another
“Look at me, Aimee.” When she shied away, he gripped her chin between forefinger and thumb and tilted her head up, forcing her to look into his eyes. They stared at each other breathlessly, neither willing to give an inch, before Nick said, “You’re a liar, sweetheart. Don’t you know that the eyes are windows to the soul? And yours, my beautiful Mrs. Trevor, are more expressive than most. You want me, sweetheart, as much as I want you. Why are you fighting me? Your husband has been dead a long time. There’s nothing to keep us from satisfying our hunger for one another.”
She shot him a scathing glance. Memories that refused to die lay like stepping-stones in her mind, leading her back to one inescapable fact. Nick Drummond had taken her virginity and had not even realized it. And he probably wouldn’t have cared even if he did know it. She could forgivehim for being a Yankee, pardon him for callously taking her virginity and giving her Brand, but never for thinking her a whore.
“You’re despicable, Captain Drummond!” Those hours of incredible passion he had given her did not exist, she told herself firmly. They were visions from a dream that had no place in reality, over and done with years ago. “I want nothing to do with you.”
“Tell me another lie.” He carefully lowered her to the soft bed of leaves carpeting the ground. His hard mouth smothered her furious protests. She felt the breeze cool her heated flesh and knew he had worked her dress up her legs to her waist. And suddenly all the fight drained from her. She was tired of battling him.
“Very well, Captain Drummond,” Aimee said, struggling for breath, “go ahead, do your worst, rape me. I can see you won’t be satisfied until you get what you’ve been panting after since you walked back into my life. But don’t expect me to enjoy it.” Deliberately she spread her legs, offering him free access to that which he had been craving for longer than he cared to admit.
Nick uttered a sharp expletive and sat back on his heels. Though Aimee was tempting displayed before him, he hesitated. Rape? He abhorred rape—detested brutish men who felt the need to force themselves on women. The first time he had taken Aimee hadn’t been rape, and he couldn’t understand why she would think he would rape her now. He wanted to make love to her, to bring her the kind of pleasure she deserved. He was so certain of his ability to make her want him that he very nearly ignored her words. But the look in hereyes drained all the fire from his body. He leaped to his feet, turning his back while he adjusted his clothes.
His words were cruel as he lashed out at her. “Close your legs; you look like a whore.”
Aimee blinked in disbelief. “Whore! That’s what you’ve always thought of me, isn’t it? No wonder I hate you.”
“Go on back to the house,” Nick ordered roughly. He didn’t look at her. “I’ll bring the berries.” When she didn’t move fast enough, he turned and shouted, “You heard me, get out of here before I change my mind!” Aimee took off at a run.
With ragged breaths, Nick rested his head against a tree, striking his fists repeatedly against the trunk until he drew blood. What was the matter with him? he asked himself bitterly. What had made him lash out at her like that? Why did her hatred pierce his heart like a dagger? Why did he have the feeling that if he couldn’t thrust himself inside her, he would surely die? His own fiancée didn’t affect him that way, and Regina was a passionate woman. Most women he had made love to were quickly forgotten after the first flush of passion was appeased. But after five years, his intimate hours with Aimee stood out in his mind in vivid relief.
Aimee hated him
.
He closed his eyes, remembering …
He stood before her in all his naked glory, fully aroused and proud of his body, confident of his ability to please, eager to pleasure her as he had never pleasured another
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