Diarmid arrived atthe conclusion, after two days of avoiding Cara, in spite of her hunting him down yesterday afternoon, that he desperately needed to lose the wager, for his own sanity. No amount of sparring, no amount of running through the bogs, or taking cold baths in the river, or any number of other things he’d attempted had managed to keep his mind off the princess.
He’d gone to her room, believing that when he admitted his desire for her she would do what she did best—build a wall to keep him out. He’d been counting on it, in fact. Having Cara deny him outright would’ve gone a long way to assuaging his obsession with her.
But the damned woman hadn’t done anything of the kind—just the opposite, in fact. He’d touched her without warning, his final attempt to get her to push back. Instead, she’d leaned into him. She’d looked at him like she wanted him to do every single wicked thing he’d suggested and then some.
And he nearly had. The moment he realized she wanted him to kiss her was the moment he knew he had to leave before he ruined everything.
Including Cara.
He hadn’t told Cormac the details of that night, or that he’d halted their meetings. He made excuses each night, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell his brother he’d failed. He’d let him down the one time Cormac had come to him for help. Everyone depended on him, and Diarmid, lover of women, couldn’t stand to spend time with one.
They were just finishing a wash after another run through the bog—an exercise their fearless leader had become entirely too fond of, to Diarmid’s way of thinking—when Cara appeared along the riverbank. Diarmid had already put on his trews, thankfully, but hadn’t even picked up his shirt.
It wasn’t uncommon for men and women to wash together in the rivers and streams, but the nobility did it with far less frequency than the peasants. Families who could afford bathing tubs had little need for public washing, unless of course they’d gone running through a bog and were so covered in muck they would’ve felt badly for the tub.
For a moment, Diarmid wondered if she’d ever even seen a man undressed. Then he remembered Torna, and rage filled him faster than a lake filled a broken dam. As much as he desired Cara, and knew that meant he should stay as far away as he could get, he also wanted time with her to correct whatever horrid idea that bastard had given her about intimacy. The man had obviously used her for his own pleasure without a thought to hers. And, based on what little Diarmid had gleaned from their conversations and the fact that said bastard was notably absent, he left her shortly thereafter. No wonder she struggled to let anyone get close to her.
“I require Diarmid’s assistance with a matter of great import,” she told Illadan, not so much as glancing at Diarmid. “May I speak with him privately?”
“Of course.” Illadan didn’t even hesitate. “We were just on our way back to the holding.” He motioned for the men to follow as he began the walk back.
Cormac gave Diarmid an encouraging nod before following with the rest of the Fianna. At least one of them believed him capable of handling this.
The moment the men were out of sight, the princess’s eyes went straight to his chest. They lingered, taking in every inch ofhis exposed torso as she walked toward the water’s edge. “Help me with one final task, and I swear I will leave you in peace.”
Diarmid crossed his arms. “What’s the task?”
“I need you to kiss me.”
“Absolutely not,” he replied. “I have better survival instincts than that.”
She rolled her lips, pushing his frayed self-control to its limits. “Sitric said that if I kiss him well enough, he will agree to the betrothal.”
“Then kisshim,” Diarmid suggested, running a hand through his wet hair.
“Oh, no, no, no,” Cara protested, storming towards him. “Far too much rests on this for me to make my first attempt with him. If I botch it, that’s it. It’s over, and we’ve done all this for naught.”
“Are you telling me that bastard that broke your heart bedded you without kissing you?”
Her cheeks went almost as pink as they had when he’d pinned her against the wall.
Almost.
Diarmid threw his shirt to the ground, closing the distance between them.
She didn’t back away, didn’t even flinch. Not when his hands came up to cup her face and pull her lips to his.
Not when they moved to her hips, pulling her against him so closely that he could hardly breathe.
Not when his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, his tongue teasing her mouth open, until she melted into his arms—just as he’d imagined.
He might not have been her first lover, but damned if he wasn’t her first kiss.
Honestly, he was damned either way, so he might as well enjoy it. He squeezed her hips, running his hands over them on their way up her body. God, she felt good in his arms.
She reached for his chest, her fingers leaving a hot trail of pressure over his shoulders. His chest. His stomach. His—
“I wouldn’t do that, princess,” he warned, not taking his lips off of hers.
