"Can you not understand? You have a very large…member. It could only hurt." Surely, rend her in two.
He let out a long breath. "Very well. We won't couple right now. I won't use my 'member' until you tell me to."
A bit of relief seeped into her tense muscles. "What will you do?"
"Give you pleasure," he murmured.
"How?" Her stomach knotted. How she wanted to relax and trust that he was telling her the truth. But in her experience, what a man saw as pleasure, she knew as pain.
"I'll touch your body with my hands and my mouth. Stroking you, kissing you all over." All over? Goodness! His voice was exceptionally heated, enticing.
"You will not receive any…satisfaction from that," she said.
"You don't know me at all, do you?"
She feared she did not. But she knew how men were; their desires sometimes overcame them. He might lose control. "When I least expect it, you will drive your shaft into me."
"Not until you tell me to, Angelique. Saints, at least trust me one time."
No. She could not let go. Already he was losing patience. She could not trust him enough for that. If he was lying, he would shatter her inside.
He stood, lifting her, and carried her toward the bed. Panic closed off her throat and the need to flee seized her.
"Non!" She struggled to escape him.
"Damnation, Angelique, I am at my wit's end. If you won't trust me, I'll have to prove it to you." He laid her on the bed, his big, hard body holding her down.
"Non! Arrêtez, bâtard!" She was trapped, suffocating beneath his weight. Her struggles against his strength were futile.
Camille pounded on the door. "Angelique?"
"Camille!"
"Be quiet," Lachlan said. "I won't hurt you." He shoved her arms above her head, quickly wrapping something around her wrists.
"Non!" She yanked at the bonds, but he had already tied the material, the belt of her wrap, around the headboard post. Stark terror paralyzed her.
"Don't look at me like that. I said I won't hurt you."
Scalding tears leaked from her eyes. Her throat constricted. Dear God, he was going to rape her.
He moved away for a moment, then came back with a wide ribbon. He wrapped it around her ankle.
Her senses returned and she kicked at him with all her might. But it was not enough; he secured her ankle to the footboard. "Untie me at once, you brute! You are nothing but a vile animal," she said in French.
"I ken it well, m'lady." He sat beside her. She kicked at him with her one free foot but he caught it and removed her slipper. His lustful gaze lingered on her legs where her smock had ridden up. "Now what are you going to do, hell-cat?"
Any affectionate feelings she'd had toward him were now dead. She had known she could not trust the knave. "You will have to rape me, you bastard! Because I will never willingly let you touch me."
"Nay. I have never raped a woman, nor will I ever," he said in a calm tone. "You, on the other hand, will be begging me to make love to you afore 'tis over."
"Never! I'll kill you while you sleep," she said through clenched teeth.
"You're a bloodthirsty lass. I like that." He glanced aside. "You ken about the torture, do you not?"
"Torture?" Mère de Dieu. What was he going to do to her? Torture, then rape.
He moved to the dressing table, then returned to the bed. "Aye." Something stroked over her bare foot. A feather.
The tickle was a shock. She squealed and jerked away. "Do not!"
Holding her free foot in place, he slowly trailed the feather up the inside of her calf. He paused at her knee, caressed in a circle, then went higher, up the inside of her thigh. She squirmed and yanked at her bonds, wishing to escape the stimulation but could not.
She tried to make herself numb for indeed it was a twisted torture. Not painful, but she could not tolerate tickling. "I hate you!" She kicked.
He drew the feather down the length of her leg again to her foot, tingles scattering outward, then, feather forgotten, lightly traced his fingers along her calf. That did not tickle half as much. Some part of her liked his hands, while another part hated them.
She turned her face away, wishing to hide. Slowly, he ran his palms up the outside of her legs. Bastard. She clamped her thighs together and twisted her lower body sideways. No, she would not let him touch…
He slipped his hand up the back of her thigh, pushing the smock upward. Continuing, he ran his palm over her derriere. Shocked, she sucked in a sharp breath, turned onto her back again and kicked at him.
He crawled over her, holding himself above her in dominating mastery. Breathing hard, she turned her face aside. "Get off, you beast!"
"Am I hurting you?" he whispered, lightly stroking his lips over her ear. Some sensation she hated spiraled through her. Not fear, but arousal. He lifted himself and waited for her to look at him. When she did, he drew close to her mouth. She thought he would kiss her, but he didn't; he merely breathed upon her. Hungry for his mouth, she parted her lips, perversely craving his tongue invading and possessing, the sinful, addictive taste of him. No, I do not!
He brushed his cheek against hers gently, his beard stubble rasping. Again, his lips hovered less than an inch above hers. Mère de Dieu, kiss me!
No, do not!
Her breath caught and her eyes closed. Her body felt as if a trembling fever had taken it over. Surely, this was some horrid illness that caused delirium and lunacy.
He drew away, climbing off the bed. Where was he going? She glared after him through the mist of tears. Oh dear heaven, he was undressing, unpinning the brooch at the top of his kilt.
"Je te déteste," she muttered.
He unfastened his belt, removing his plaid. "Non, mon ange. You hate yourself for liking me."
"T'es goujat!" She yanked against the belt that bound her. "You could never be faithful to one woman."
"Do you wish me to be?"
"Wishing for that would be a waste of time. You could never do it."
"I've done many things others have said were impossible. Don't be underestimating me."
"Untie me!"
"Not until you trust me."
"Never! You think this will earn my trust? You are beyond insane."
He slipped the shirt over his head, leaving those burnished muscles bare, and climbed back onto the bed. His erection was massive, protruding like a weapon. Mère de Dieu, non.
While she held her breath, he pushed her smock up her thighs, clamped tightly together, his sword-calloused palms rasping over her, producing a shower of tingles. He exposed her mound completely.
How indecent! Humiliating. She closed her eyes, trying to hide from him…and herself.
Lightly, he touched the hair that hid her sex, combed his fingers through it. He paused at that most intimate spot. "Angelique, you're wet…extremely wet." His heated voice held a bit of awe. "Do you ken what that means?"
Squeezing her eyes tight, she turned away. I do not want to know.
"It means you want me. You desire me."
No, I do not! Yet she was paralyzed in this burning heat, unable to fight back anymore. Her body would not cooperate.
He kissed the top of her thighs, her hip bones. He pushed the smock further up, kissed her lower belly. He flicked his tongue into her navel.