“I am not some prize awarded upon my father’s demise, my lord. I will not bend to his tyranny or yours so easily,” she said. But Lord help her, she would not mind bending if bending meant that his hand, which was presently stroking her hip, would continue its path toward the apex of her legs.

He seemed capable of reading her body’s longings better than even she could. He pushed his thigh snug against the heat that was welling between her legs until she was riding astride it much like a man would ride a horse.

“What if I am the prize being handed over to you?” he said moving his lips dangerously close to hers again. “Would you still object to our union?”

“Yes,” she whispered. A lie. As she realized that the thought of marriage to this rather mysterious and foreboding gentleman excited her, a prickling heat spread across her cheeks and down her neck.

His lips covered hers not a breath later, demanding she answer his lust. She responded, cautiously easing her tongue toward his, just enough to savor his bittersweet taste. The leg he’d pressed between her thighs rocked against her most delicate flesh.