Page 88 of Things Good Girls Don't Do (Rock Canyon, Idaho 1)

Another gasp, and a rustling of sheets. The woman climbed out of bed. Damn! She would run straight to her witnesses to inform them that he’d bedded her.

“No!” He leapt across the bed and grabbed her. “You’re not getting away.” He hauled her squirming body back onto the bed. Her sudden intake of air warned him of her intent to scream.

He cupped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t.”

She clamped down with her teeth.

“Ow!” He ripped his hand from her mouth.

She slapped at his shoulders.

He winced as she pounded on his injury. “Enough.” He seized her by the wrists and pinned her arms down. “No screaming. And no biting. Do you understand?”

Her breaths sounded quick and frightened.

He settled on top of her, applying just enough pressure to keep her from escaping. “I know what you’re after. You think to trap me in wedlock so easily?”

“What?”

He could hardly see her pale face in the dark. His damp hair fell forward, further obstructing his view as he leaned closer. The scent of her soap surrounded him. Magnolia blossoms. His favorite, and Dottie knew it. This was a full-fledged conspiracy. “I assume you brought witnesses with you?”

“Witnesses?”

“Of course. Why would you want me in your bed if there were no one to see it?”

“My God, you’re perverse.”

“You’re hoping I am, aren’t you?” He stroked the inside of her wrist. “You’re hoping I’ll be tempted by your soft skin.”

She shook her head and wiggled beneath him.

He gulped. She was definitely not wearing a corset beneath her shift. “You think I cannot resist a beautiful, womanly form?” Damn, but she was hard to resist.

“Get off of me,” she hissed.

“I beg your pardon? That’s hardly the language of a seductress. Didn’t they coach you better than that?”

“Damn you, release me.”

He chuckled. “You’re supposed to coo in my ear, not curse me. Come now, let me hear your pretty little speech. Tell me how much you want me. Tell me how you’re burning to make love to me.”

“I’d rather burn in hell, you demented buffoon.”

He paused, wondering for the first time whether he had misinterpreted the situation. “You’re . . . not here to seduce me?”

“Of course not. Why would I have any interest in a demented buffoon?”

He gritted his teeth. “Then who are you and why are you in this bed?”

“I was in bed to sleep, which would be obvious if you weren’t such a demented—”

“Enough! Who are you?”

She paused.

“Is the question too difficult?”