The sensations firing inside him were too strong. His desire was too intense. His heart was beating too hard, his blood rushing too fast, his skin feeling too hot. He felt himself sinking deeper into the kiss, sinking deeper into her. Moving closer to the point of no return.
From a damned kiss.
He had to stop.
He tore his mouth away with an oath and had to stop himself from stumbling back. It felt as if he’d been caught up in a whirlpool, and then suddenly tossed out.
He stepped back to put distance between them, trying to clear his damned head. He felt light-headed, as if he were moving in a haze.
What the hell was wrong with him? The tincture his sister made him take must have been more potent than he realized.
It couldn’t just be from a kiss.
But one glance at her equally dazed eyes and he had to wonder.
Looking at her was a mistake. His groin tugged hard. Painfully hard. He was no longer in doubt about his fantasy. She was the very embodiment of the wanton nun, and when he looked at her swollen mouth, her half-lidded eyes, and her flushed cheeks he wanted to rip those clothes off her and debauch her thoroughly.
“Meet me after the feast.” He could barely get the words out, his heart was beating so fast.
She blinked up at him—apparently, like him, trying to clear the haze from her head. Their eyes met in the soft glow of firelight. She didn’t say a word; only the heaviness of their breathing and the occasional snap and crackle from the fire in the brazier broke the long silence. She was staring at him, looking for something deep in his eyes while she waged some kind of internal battle.
After what seemed an interminable pause, she finally answered. “I can’t.” He would have pulled her in his arms again and tried to change her mind, but she stopped him with a hand to the chest. For something so small, it proved surprisingly potent. “It has to be now.”
He stilled. “Now? Why?”
She shook her head. “It just does. I can’t explain.”
“But the feast.” Damn it, Bruce was expecting him. He would be furious if he missed the meeting he’d arranged with the countess. “Surely, a few hours won’t make a difference?”
He made a move toward her, but she spun away from him and shook her head. “Now or never—it’s up to you.”
He frowned, hearing something in her voice that made him think she meant it. He didn’t like ultimatums, but he also heard something else. She thought he would refuse.
He should go straight to the feast and forget about her. But one glance at those still-pink cheeks and swollen lips and he wasn’t sure that was possible. The lass was definitely a distraction he didn’t need, though a damned enticing one.
What the hell. What was a half-hour? The king and the countess could wait a little longer.
He smiled, calling her bluff. “Then now it is.”
Mary blinked. “What?”
He wasn’t supposed to say yes.
He smiled that slow half-smile of his that seemed to reach down to her toes and yank all the good sense right out of her.
He moved closer, the heat of his body engulfing her. It was like standing next to a raging fire. He was so hot she couldn’t think straight.
Why couldn’t she find herself attracted to a man of non-threatening proportions just once? She inched back away from him, instinctively looking for somewhere to go. But he seemed to take up all the space. Tall and broad-shouldered, his powerful form dominated the small room, radiating a volatile energy.
He’d even stolen the air. Every breath was filled with the subtle scent of his soap. She’d never known a man could smell so good. Clean and warm, with the faint trace of sandalwood.
She was too aware of him. Aware of every inch of that hard, muscular physique that had been plastered against her. She’d never felt so many muscles, and every one—every bulge, every band, every solid slab—was burned into her memory.
As was that kiss. My God, she’d never felt anything like it! Her body still shook from the aftereffects. She’d been consumed by sensations unlike anything she’d ever imagined. He’d robbed her of her breath, her mind, and even her bones, turning her into a melting pool of desire. All she could think about was the pressure of his mouth, the warmth of his tongue licking into her, the hardness of his body, the feel of his arms around her, and the exquisite sensations building frantically inside her.
She hadn’t wanted it to ever stop.
It had been a glimpse—a powerful, wonderful glimpse—of everything that she’d been missing. And he was offering her a chance for more. This time, it wasn’t Eve holding out the apple of temptation but Adam. And one taste of sin wasn’t nearly enough.
But look what had happened to Adam and Eve.
She stopped suddenly when the back of her legs met the edge of what felt like a table. She hadn’t gotten much of a view of the room before he’d blocked it with his body.
Her heart pounded in her chest, trying to keep up with her racing pulse. Could she really do this?
“I—I thought you were anxious to go to the feast.” She sounded as nervous as she felt.
He stepped toward her, in one stride erasing the distance she’d put between them. All six foot three—four?—inches of pure masculine temptation. His mouth curved in that slow, provoking smile that dared her to try to resist him, revealing a flash of perfectly straight white teeth. His too-long hair slumped forward across his brow roguishly, and she had to stop herself from reaching out to tuck it back. She’d like to say she wasn’t shallow enough to be affected by a handsome face, but the beat of her heart betrayed her.
“The feast can wait.”
His eyes ran down the length of her body. She wasn’t long, but the slow slide of his hot gaze made her feel that way. He lingered at her breasts, as if he could see right through the thick wool of her gown to the nipples peaking below. The flare of hunger in his eyes made her knees turn to jelly. She wished it was from fear, but the coinciding flutter in her belly felt like anticipation.
One night …
Temptation beckoned, but she tried to resist. “Isn’t the king expecting you?”
She hadn’t thought he would accept her offer. Or had she? Had it been some kind of test to see how badly he wanted this? Did he want it as badly as she did?
Apparently, he did. She had no idea why he wanted her with so many young, beautiful women hanging at his feet, but he did.
Don’t read anything into it.
“It will wait.”
She could wait, in other words. Mary might have been annoyed by his obvious disinterest and lack of regard for the woman the king had chosen to be his wife, but then he reached down and swept his hand along the curve of her cheek. She sucked in her breath. The feel of those warm, callused fingers on her skin made every nerve ending crackle. But it was the gentleness of the gesture that completely disarmed her. She felt a stab of longing so fierce it stole her breath. For one silly heartbeat she wanted to snuggle into the caress.
No! She wasn’t a romantic girl anymore. This was passion, nothing else. She needed to remember that. But Kenneth Sutherland was far more dangerous than she’d realized. Not only did his kiss make her burn with passion, his gentle touch roused far more dangerous emotions.
And this too-handsome-for-his-own-good, arrogant warrior with the face and muscular physique of a Greek god was built for a fantasy, nothing else.
“You’ve no reason to be nervous, little one. I’ll be gentle.”
But gentle wasn’t what she wanted from him. She wanted a fierce storm of passion. Lust, not tenderness. She wanted to feel what the woman in the barn had felt. Just once.
He looked into her eyes. The sensual curve of his mouth tantalizingly close, lips that had touched hers only inches away. She could still taste him on her tongue. She had never imagined sin could taste so good. Dark and spicy, with a hint of clove.
“You want this, Mary. I know you do. Just say yes.”
She stared at him helples
sly, paralyzed by the sin of her desire, unable to say the words that would set aside a lifetime of morality.
It wasn’t right.
But was it really so wrong?
Neither of them was married. They wouldn’t be hurting anyone. She was six and twenty. A widow for three years, an overlooked and neglected wife before that. This might be the last chance to experience what she’d once dreamed about before her young girl’s illusions were shattered by a husband who hadn’t wanted her and had never given her remotely what she’d seen in the barn.
This man wanted her and could give it to her. With no conditions. No bonds that could not be dissolved. A man on her own terms.
It would only be one time. One night of passion. One night of sin. Was that too much to ask for?
He seemed to sense her struggle. Reaching behind her, he removed a flagon of wine that must have been on the table. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “Drink this. It will relax you.”
She did as he bade, nearly choking when she realized it wasn’t wine but whisky. He laughed, urging her to take another drink. She steeled herself, taking a long sip of the fiery brew.
When she was done, she handed it back to him. She wondered if maybe he wasn’t quite as confident as he appeared when he took a long, hard sip of the flagon as well—emptying it.
His eyes seemed a little hotter when he leaned over her again, putting his hands on either side of her hips as she rested against the table. “Tell me, Mary,” he repeated, the lilting huskiness of his voice adding a new level of temptation. She’d descended from purgatory straight to hell.
She shuddered. Powerful arms and the broad shield of his chest surrounded her like a steel cage. She couldn’t escape if she wanted to.
But she didn’t want to. She’d learned to make her own decisions, hadn’t she? She was going to do this.
That is, if her heart would stop racing long enough for her to take a breath.
But breathing became an afterthought when his mouth found the tender spot next to her ear. The heat of his breath against the damp skin sent a hot bellow of desire rushing through her. His mouth trailed along her jaw and then dipped to her neck, finding all the sensitive places along the way. She shuddered and moaned, defenseless against the powerful onslaught of sensation. He pressed a kiss on the frantic beat of her pulse.
“Say yes, Mary,” he whispered.
“Yes. Please, yes.”
Six
The moment the word was out of her mouth, he fell on her with a fierce growl of possession that sent a thrill right down to her toes. The chains of his passion had been released, and there was no holding him back. It was magnificent. Physical proof of his desire for her.
The slow, seductive caress of his lips on her throat and neck turned ravishing. He devoured whatever inch of bare skin he could find with his lips and tongue. Kissing. Sucking. Sliding and flicking his tongue over her fevered skin until she thought she would die from sheer pleasure. And then his lips were on hers again, and she was certain of it.
His tongue licked into her mouth, filling her with the exquisite taste of him.
For such a powerfully built man, his lips were surprisingly soft. And warm. Deliciously warm. She wanted to sink into him and never come up. She returned his kiss with all the newly wrought passion surging through her veins.
His kiss devastated, destroying whatever lingering doubt she had with each fierce stroke. Her chest squeezed with longing. She wanted this. Wanted it desperately. Wanted it more than she’d ever dreamed possible. He was making her feel things she’d never felt before. Her body tingled and burned with a restless energy. Feelings long dormant had come to life. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. She savored it. Welcomed it. Let it crash over her in wave after thrilling wave. He was a hot, drenching storm to her parched desert.
Her heart beat wildly in her chest on an impatient race toward the unknown. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into the granite of his shoulders, as his tongue claimed every inch of her mouth. And she let him take it, surrendering to the plunder with fierce abandon.
Her breasts were crushed to his chest. She moaned at the contact, reveling in the sensation of the solid weight of him over her. There was something deeply arousing about the feel of all those muscles pressed up against her. Something primal in the bodily proof of his masculinity and her femininity. He was big and strong; if there was ever a man built to protect, it was he.
Although she no longer looked to a man to protect her, she did like the way all those muscles felt against her. It seemed strange that something so hard and unyielding could make her want to curl against him and never let go.
But it wasn’t just their chests that touched. He dipped his hips toward hers, and she gasped.
Goodness! It was one thing to take note of his size out of the corner of her eye, it was another to have the blatant evidence burning into her stomach. Thick and hard, she could feel every sinful inch of him throbbing against her.
But instead of fear, the proof of his arousal sent a frisson of excitement pulsing between her legs. She felt the strangest urge to move. To rub up and down against that hardness.
As if reading her mind, he slid his hand down to cup her bottom and lifted her more firmly against him. With a groan, he started to rock his hips.
Mary saw stars. A burst of sensation exploded inside her. Heat poured through her limbs, gathering in a damp, anxious pool between her legs.
She no longer thought about moving, she had to move. Her hips rocked back, grinding against the hard thickness that was both the source of her frenzy and the only thing that could ease the strange restlessness.
She wanted to feel him inside her. To feel him filling her. To feel him thrusting, possessing, bringing her all the pleasure she’d witnessed on the face of that woman.
Feelings, responses, urges that she’d experienced as a young bride but had buried beneath the shame of an indifferent husband burst free.
She held nothing back, straining toward him. Plastering every inch of her body to his. But still it wasn’t close enough. She felt the passion reverberating through him in muscles flexing under her fingertips. He was straining, too. Straining against something he wanted just as badly as she did. It was like unharnessing a bolt of lightning. A clap of thunder. Raw, volatile energy ready to be unleashed.
She could feel the pounding of his chest, hear the heaviness of his breath. She wanted to go faster. To have him give her everything she could feel building between them. The hot promise of sensation clenched low in her belly.
He was kissing her so hard, pressing his hips against her so firmly, it seemed nothing could come between them. They were melded together. Not even the barest whisper of air could pass between them. Only heat. Impossible heat.
Suddenly, he tore his mouth away with an oath. “Bloody hell, wait!”
Whether he was talking to himself or her, she didn’t know.
She blinked at him dazedly, shocked from the swift curtailment of pleasure. She felt like a child who’d been gorging herself on stolen sweets and then had the plate removed—guilty and unsatisfied. The only consolation was that she was still in his arms. But then those, too, were gone.
She barely stopped herself from sounding the whine that rose to her lips. Swollen lips. Lips that a moment ago had been crushed to his.
He looked at her fiercely, as if blaming something on her. “We’re going to do this right.”
“That wasn’t right?” She blushed, realizing she’d spoken aloud.
His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I see your point. Perhaps I should have said that table doesn’t look very comfortable. Nor does it look very strong. I wouldn’t want to break it.”
She read the wicked glint in his eye and felt a rush of heat—and not just to her face—when she thought of the force that it would take to break it. The hard, powerful thrusts—
She stopped herself, pushing away the naughty images. Sweet heaven, one taste of passion
, and he’d turned her into a wanton!
Almost as if he could read her thoughts, she saw the flare of heat leap into his eyes. The piercing blue darkened to almost black.
He made a sound under his breath that might have been another oath and turned away. If she were still a silly, starry-eyed girl, she would think this paragon of masculine virility was struggling to control himself.
He’d changed from his earlier warrior’s garb to a plaid and a fine dark-blue embroidered tunic for the feast. He unfastened the jeweled pin that held the plaid from around his shoulders, and then laid it out on the stone floor. Sinking to his knees, he held out his hand. “It’s not as comfortable as hay, but it will have to do.”
She bit her lip, trying not to smile. He really was wicked to tease her so. She looked down at his outstretched hand. Now was the time she should be having second thoughts. God save her for being a horrible sinner, but she didn’t have a single thought to stop him. Not a one. She put her hand in his and allowed him to help her down, telling herself there was nothing at all romantic about this. He wasn’t her gallant knight, he was a fantasy.
But when he captured her in his arms, eased her down on the plaid beneath him, and looked into her eyes, her heart was pounding and skipping all over the place.
The warmth was back. He was holding her again, and stretched out against him on the floor, she felt strangely vulnerable. It was intimate, this. Lying with him, they might have been in bed together as husband and wife.
It didn’t feel illicit. It didn’t feel wicked. It felt … right.
No! She felt a stab of fear, wishing she could tell him to go back to the table. Wishing he’d never stopped. Wishing he’d just let the passion explode between them and be done with it.
He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth, still looking into her eyes.
His gaze hypnotized. He was entrancing her, putting her under some kind of spell, making her think, making her believe, that this was somehow special.