He nestled himself more snugly against her, lifting a hand to her nape in an attempt to weave his fingers into her hair. The tightness of her plait prevented it.
“Och, lass, how can ye sleep wi’ your hair bound like that?”
“I-I’m a-accustomed to it.”
“I’d wager you would sleep more soundly, with your hair set free.”
He didn’t ask permission to undo her plait, but his fingers skimmed the length of her hair and began to work the ribbons loose. Elizabet couldn’t find her voice to protest as his fingers worked deftly to remove the bindings. When the ribbons were free at last, his fingers began to undo her plait.
Elizabet closed her eyes, trying to still the erratic beating of her heart. She could feel his heart pounding against her cheek, as fierce as her own.
“So soft,” he whispered against her forehead, and the warmth of his lips increased her shivers. The memory of his kiss suffused her with heat.
God help her, she wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted it more than anything she had ever desired.
Elizabet buried her face against his chest, her cheeks burning as his fingers combed through her hair,smoothing through the curls. Her entire body came alive. Every inch of her flesh tingled with awareness.
He enfolded her within his arms, squeezing gently. No one had ever touched her so tenderly. No man had ever embraced her so intimately. The warmth of his body made her flesh burn, and the gentleness of his touch sent prickles of pleasure down her spine.
Kiss me, she silently begged.
It was all Broc could do not to seduce her where she lay. He wanted to—Och, God, he wanted to. She was pressed so tightly against his body and she was trembling.
Was she afeared?
Was she merely cold?
His body didn’t seem to care which. Blood surged through his nether regions, hardening him fully.
He wanted to kiss her, craved her mouth. From the moment he’d kissed her this afternoon, the taste of her had clung to his senses.
Like a drunkard seeking ale, he bent to drink of her mouth, fevered for the taste of her. His fingers closed about her nape, and he lowered his mouth to her lips, praying she would welcome him.
The instant his mouth lit upon hers, he was filled with incredible bliss. She tasted of heaven itself. His hands combed her silken hair. His body throbbed with desire.
When had he ever needed a woman so desperately?
God himself couldn’t have lifted him from her in that instant, so intoxicated was he by the taste of her.
Elizabet moaned, and he answered her soft cries with deeper groans of pleasure.
Surely, she had died and gone to heaven. The shock of his kiss set her senses reeling. He kissed her gently,caressing her mouth with his moist, hot lips, and she moaned in pleasure and in protest. Some part of her warned her to object... now... before she gave too much—before he took it too far. But his kiss was too insistent, and her heart was pounding too fiercely.
His arms wrapped more firmly about her, holding her for the onslaught of his mouth. His legs entwined with hers, pressing his hardness against her, and she lifted her body instinctively, seeking his arousal.
She was playing a dangerous game, she knew, but she could scarce think to stop it.
Her body betrayed her.
Was she no different from her mother?
Nay, she was not.
No longer was she cold, but feverishly hot. His hands began to caress her body, lavishing such incredible tenderness upon her that she could only moan in ecstasy.
And then, when she thought her heart could beat no faster, his tongue swept out to caress her lips, moistening them. “Open for me,” he begged.
Elizabet swallowed and did as he bade her, allowing him entrance. His tongue delved within the instant she parted her lips.
