He touched her, her cheek, her ear, her hair. He should not touch her again. But that knowledge only made the illicit, forbidden sensation of her wholly and sharply arousing. She shifted, revealing a small smear of blood on the bed, a sight that hit him with the force of a stone to the temple. He remembered very well what had transpired the night before, but to stare at the evidence, to know that she would see it too… He covered her and stepped away from the bed. From her. What had happened to him? His plans had been simple: The marriage would exist in name only, until the time came for a convenient annulment. The execution of such a plan had promised to be equally simple: She wanted to be near him about as much as a fish wanted a walk. And yet he had failed. He’d meant only to put her to sleep. Instead, he’d allowed himself to be seduced by a Machiavellian virgin. Her skin had been velvet, her hair silk, her body a geometrician’s fantasy of curves. And yet her fleshly charms had not been his downfall.
