But what was between them was more than passion—much more—and the tender, soft brush of his lips over hers, the gentle presses that lingered just long enough to elicit an ache in his chest and sharp yearning for more, proved it.

When she circled her hands around his neck and dissolved against him, surrendering with a sigh of contentment that seemed wrenched from the deepest part of her—the part that couldn’t deny the bond between them any more than he could—Alex knew he’d won.

He lifted his head, keeping his fingers on her chin so she could not look away. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that this doesn’t mean something to you.”

She tried to tear her gaze away, but he could see the sheen of tears dampening her lashes. “It doesn’t.”

“Liar,” he replied angrily. “Why are you fighting this so hard? Why do you wish me to think the worst of you? Why are you pretending—?”

She wrenched away, pushing him back with a hard shove fortified by what he thought might be panic. “I’m pretending nothing. Dear God, what must I say to get through to you? Or do you always force yourself upon women who have made it clear that they are not willing?”

She might have slapped his face. The silence that echoed afterward was the same.

It was an unfair accusation to make. They both knew that. But it did not dull the impact or lessen the offense to his honor. He felt the blow to his chest like a swing from a war hammer. It left him cold and stunned, with a dull, hollow ache in his chest.

He had never forced her, and she had never been unwilling. But as he stood there, staring into her wild, tear-glistened eyes, he also knew there was some truth to her words. She might want him physically—and she might even feel something more—but she didn’t want anything to do with him. Did it really matter what her reasons were? They were her reasons, and as a knight—as a man who tried to live with honor—shouldn’t he show her the same and respect them?

Every instinct in his body clamored to say no. To pull her into his arms and kiss her until she surrendered to the maddening storm of emotion that had possessed him since the moment she’d fallen into his arms. He could make her his. He could make it so that she could never deny him. He didn’t need experience to know that he could make her pant and beg and scream his name over and over in mindless orgasmic oblivion.