“Too mouthy and opinionated, even as a figment of my lustful desires,” he muttered into the glass. “We do not suit.”
She glared at him, but concern curled through her as a shiver went through his body. The dratted man. Ignoring him, she hurried to the window and closed it, very aware of his half-naked body so close to her. A hand snaked around her waist from behind, and before she could react, Frederica found herself tumbled onto the bed.
She stopped breathing.
“My lord,” she squeaked. “What—”
He twisted with her so that they were curved onto their sides, and he was perfectly positioned behind her. Oh, God. She could feel every imprint of his muscular form against her back. He nuzzled her nape and murmured, “Hush now. You are the product of my thoughts. You do not get to be mouthy here.”
It surprised her to feel a rush of humor. “My lord, you must release me.”
“I have dreamed many nights of sleeping with you in my arms,” he said in a low voice. “I always knew you would feel this perfect.”
Tears pricked behind her eyes, and a huge lump formed in her throat. The silly man had wanted her all this time.
“You should have told me,” she whispered.
“It is not right to make you my mistress. Honor. I have honor.”
Outrage and warmth snapped through her in equal measure. “Then make me your wife.”
Another scoff. “I am not for marriage. Especially to a lady who has a cutting tongue and improper humor, even if she is also so lovely.”
The sound that came from her resembled a garbled growl, and he chuckled. The next sound she heard was his snoring. Frederica blinked. He had fallen asleep. She tried to wriggle from his embrace, but his arm tightened. She tried a few more times until she relaxed against the weight of his chest behind her, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.