Amethyst (21 page)

In an instant, she forgot her dream. Her cheeks flushed, and she tugged down the hem of her chemise, which had ridden up as she'd thrashed about. But she could tell from Colin's face it was an ineffective attempt at best, serving mainly to make him more aware of her dishabille.

She shifted as his gaze wandered from her face to her bare limbs. He swallowed hard.

"Cold?" he asked. He walked around the bed to retrieve the quilt, made a great show of shaking it out, then let it drift down upon her. The blanket seemed to caress her as it settled. She wished it were Colin's hands instead.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to tell me about your dream?"

She shook her head vehemently. "No. I don't want to think on it at all." She scooted down to lie flat and cuddled into the covers. "Would you stay with me for a spell, though? We could talk of something else."

"I'll stay as long as you like," he assured her, taking her hand. "What would you like to talk about?"

His hand felt warm and comforting. She shrugged. "Anything."

"Would you like to talk about how much you like pickled snails?" he suggested with a teasing grin.

"I
did
like them," she protested, although they both knew that wasn't true. She'd tasted one bravely, even swallowed it without gagging, but her appetite had fallen off afterward.

Her stomach was grumbling now. "Are there any apples left?" she asked.

Colin's smile was too knowing. "I believe there are."

He left, returning from the study with a shiny red apple. When she sat up and reached for it, he pulled it back playfully. "Hungry, are you?" Grinning, he handed it to her and stepped over to the windows.

Amy took a bite and slowly chewed. She watched him peer out into the night, his legs spread, hands linked behind his back.

"It's still snowing hard," he told her. "I reckon we may be stuck here through tomorrow."

"Mmm-hmm," she replied around a mouthful of juicy apple. The fruit was sweet, she was cozy, and she could think of worse fates than being stuck with Colin Chase another day and night.

"I should do bookwork tomorrow, so long as I'm here."

"Mmm-hmm." She took another crunching bite.

"What will you do?" He turned from the windows to face her.

Amy chewed and swallowed before answering. "I can read. Try my hand at preparing dinner. Help you with your bookwork." She took another big bite.

"I don't need any help."

She shrugged again. "I'll explore your castle, then."

"I'm afraid there's not much to discover." He walked over to the fire, added a log from the basket, and stirred up the embers with a wooden-handled poker. "It's small. And cold and damp."

"None of that will stop me."

Colin crossed back to her bedside and stood looking down at her with a wry smile, his teeth as white as the snow outside. "I suppose a bit of cold and damp are unlikely to deter the likes of you. So long as there's not a horse involved."

Grinning, she held out the apple core and slid down under the covers.

He put the core on the table next to the bed. "Better?"

"Much." She wiggled under the quilt, getting comfortable.

"Good." Offering her a distracted nod, he turned to the door.

"No, don't leave yet." She patted the bed beside her. "You said you'd stay as long as I liked."

With seeming reluctance, he turned back and slowly sat down. Amy reached over and took his hand. He tensed; she saw the muscles go rigid beneath his bronzed skin.

The nightmare had left her completely. The apple rested comfortably in her stomach, the room was warm, the bed was soft, and her hand tingled in Colin's. As she gazed at his profile in the wavering firelight, she wanted him to kiss her in the worst way. Just one more time. Just once more before he put her on a ship and she sailed out of his life forever.

She squeezed his hand, and he turned to meet her gaze.

Her heart beat faster. His eyes searched her face, and his free hand rose to wipe a bit of apple juice from the corner of her mouth. His hand lingered; his knuckles grazed her cheek.

He was going to kiss her, she knew it.

"HOLY CHRIST," COLIN
murmured. Amy's skin was petal soft, her eyes dark liquid pools of desire. He couldn't help himself.

He'd kiss her just once—a goodnight kiss—and then he'd leave.

When she closed her eyes, he brushed her lips with his, a mere whisper of sensation. A little sound escaped her throat, and her arms came up and around his neck, dragging his mouth back to hers. She twined her fingers in his hair, her lips sweet and urgent.

"Amy," he moaned, giving in, his mouth demanding a response she seemed only too happy to give. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips, seeking entry. When she let him in, his blood surged in response to her sweet, velvety mouth. He would swear she stopped breathing.

He broke contact, and her eyes fluttered open, deep purple in the low light. She drew a long, shuddering breath. Using every ounce of his willpower, he pulled back.

"I cannot do this," he grated out.

She ran her hands over the muscles of his back and lifted herself to place a warm, moist kiss in the hollow of his neck. Her eyes questioning, she fell back to the pillows.

She was seducing him, the little witch!

"Amy," he said, sitting up fully, "this isn't right."

"Is it not?" Amy asked dizzily. Her senses still swirling, she impulsively ran a hand down his chest, surprising herself. She'd never touched a man's bare chest. Colin's was warm and firm, with a light sprinkling of crisp black hair. Defined muscles twitched under her questing fingers. "I
like
kissing you. What's wrong with that?"

"I cannot just kiss you." He pushed her hand away. "You're half-naked in my bed, for God's sake. I want you, all of you."

Shocked to the tips of her toes, she stared at him, tongue-tied. Never, in all her musings on the subject, had she imagined that Colin wanted to make love to her.

He hated her, didn't he? Or at least he didn't like her—she was naught but a bother to him, and inconvenience he needed to rid himself of. He seemed to enjoy kissing her, for some inexplicable reason, but…

"I'm sorry, Amy."

That loosened her tongue. She struggled up on her elbows. "Would you
please
stop saying you're sorry every time you kiss me!"

"I'm sorry." He smiled innocently, and she burst into helpless giggles.

Seconds later, his smile reversed to a frown. "Amy?"

She sobered instantly. "What?"

"You understand what I'm telling you?"

Relieved that the semidarkness hid her blush, she nodded.

"And you agree it would be wrong?"

She hesitated, then hoped he hadn't noticed. She knew what he wanted to hear, which was the same thing she'd been raised to believe.

"Yes, it would be wrong."

Colin had noticed, all right. He shook his head, amazed she'd taken so long to answer. "Then you'll understand why I cannot kiss you again," he said, intending to clarify his position once and for all. But when the sparkle left her eyes, he found himself rushing to reassure her. "Though it's God's own truth I was never once really sorry I did."

With another nod, her head fell back to the pillows. He rose and tucked the blanket about her in a businesslike way. "Good night, then," he said, heading for the door.

"Stay. Please." Something in her voice made him turn around. "I won't even touch you, I promise. Just sleep in here tonight. I-I'm afraid I'll have the nightmare again."

Colin wasn't sure he could stand another night sleeping beside Amethyst Goldsmith. Or rather, he was sure he couldn't.

"You won't dream it again. And if you do, I'll be right next door."

"You cannot know I won't dream it! I will, I'm sure of it.
Please
."

She seemed genuinely frightened; her pleading went straight to his heart.

Damn.

Perhaps he could lie next to her just until she fell asleep. If he left then, she'd never know the difference. "Very well. Just don't touch me," he warned with a teasing glare.

"I promise," she said with a sweet smile—so sweet he immediately had second thoughts. Against his better judgment, he walked around the bed and slipped in on the other side, as close to the edge as he could manage without falling off, his back turned to her.

"Good night," she called out agreeably.

"Good night," he returned on a sigh.

COLIN MUST BE ASLEEP,
Amy thought half an hour later. He hadn't budged in all that time. She could move over, not enough to touch him—she wouldn't break her promise—but just a little closer, and then maybe she could fall asleep.

She eased to the middle of the bed, and Colin didn't stir. His breathing stayed deep and even. A warmth emanated from his body, a warmth that drew her, tantalized her. A ripple of excitement flowed through her at the thought of touching him after all.

He was sleeping—he'd never know—and it would feel
so
comforting.

She rolled over, a smidgen at a time, until at last she brushed against his motionless form. His skin felt hotter than she'd imagined, and his nearness wasn't as comforting as she'd thought it would be. It made the little hairs raise on her arms instead.

She was touching him, but not really. Not enough. She couldn't resist molding the front of her body to the back of his. He felt so very good. When he remained motionless, her arm slowly sneaked up and around his middle—

She felt his sharp intake of breath. Oh, God, he was awake.

"Ammmmy…" he growled in warning.

Snapping her arm away, she flipped onto her back. Though the side of her body still grazed his, he voiced no protest.

A couple of minutes passed. The firelight made patterns dance beneath her tightly closed lids as she lay rigid beside him, wishing he would say something, or do something…

She wished he would roll over and kiss her.

He'd cautioned that kisses were likely to lead to more, but while half an hour ago she'd been shocked, now, fiercely aware of him next to her, she found herself intrigued.

What would it be like? The French novels she'd read made it sound mysterious and wonderful, and if it would make her feel anything like Colin's kisses did, she was inclined to want to experience it. Who would she be hurting? Who would ever know? She'd never see Colin again, and if losing her virginity was the price she had to pay for stealing a few more of his luscious kisses, perhaps she was willing to bear the cost.

Besides, she didn't really believe he couldn't kiss her without going further. The mere thought was absurd. Gentlemen flirted with and kissed ladies all the time, without anything more ever happening.

Maybe he really did hate her. Maybe this was his way of politely refusing to kiss her without hurting her feelings. Maybe he found her so repugnant he couldn't bear to touch her at all…after all, he'd made her promise not to lay a finger on him, then growled at her when she did.

She had to know. And there was only one way to find out.

She waited a few more minutes and then rolled against him again, lazily, as though she were doing it in her sleep. Her arm crept up and around…

He flipped over, landing half on top of her, his lips searching for hers and finding their target. A harsh sound came from deep in his throat. His kiss felt punishing and angry, but she responded all the same, and after a minute he lifted his head.

She opened her eyes to find his glaring fiercely back. "I warned you, Amy," he said.

With a quick nod of acknowledgment, she pulled him back down to her. Lips parted, she raised herself to meet his kiss.

A curious quiver of wanting ran through her when his mouth came down on hers again. She lost all train of thought. One moment she thought that of course he could stop; the next moment she didn't care. She wanted him to kiss her forever—and the consequences?

Damn them, she thought.

Then she ceased to think at all. It seemed she was capable only of feeling—feeling the demanding caress of his lips; feeling his tongue invading her mouth, soft and teasing; feeling his body, hard along the length of hers.