When at last he drew away, he looked dazed, as dazed as she. “It is too late to run now. You are mine,” he breathed against her throat. His mouth began to move downward in soft, quick kisses, seeking the sweet flesh beneath the neckline of her chemise, while his hand reached up to once more encircle each breast. The feeling of his hot mouth closing over her nipple catapulted Lily to a place she had never known before. How could she have imagined such sensations were possible? How could she have known from Vorgen’s frustrated, angry fumbling, or Hew’s boyish kisses, that passion such as this existed? Radulf reached a place inside her that she hadn’t even acknowledged was there.
It frightened her. If Radulf could so easily turn her from the woman she had always been, how could she stand against him? How could she leave him?
Lily pushed at his head, as if to force him away from her breasts, but, contrarily, when he lifted his gaze to hers, she felt the loss of him. He was watching her again, his tanned cheeks flushed.
What was he always seeking in her face?
Worried and afraid, Lily tried to stand, saying in her most censorious voice, “No, Radulf. Is this how a knight cares for a lady under his protection?”
Radulf grinned. He stood up, following her cat-footed as she backed toward the bed. “If the lady is willing, yes.”
“What if the lady is wed?” she burst out.
That stopped him. He frowned at her, tension in every line of him. “Are you wed, Lily?”
Reluctantly, the truth was forced out of her.
“No. Not any longer. He is dead.”
A smile curled his lips once more. A victor’s smile. “Then come to me, mignonne,” he murmured, and drew her to him. Lily gasped as his hands smoothed over her back and hips, closing on her buttocks, pressing her firmly against him.
She felt the hard length of him, and hot visions of her touching him, holding him, opening to him, took hold of her fevered mind. There was a terrible yearning ache in the pit of her stomach, and the need to satisfy it overshadowed all other considerations. If there had ever been a time to draw back, it was now gone.
“Radulf,” Lily gasped.
He was peeling off her red gown and then her chemise, his hands unintentionally rough against her bare, smooth skin. She was naked from the waist up. Lily cried out softly when he found her breasts and began to knead the full warm flesh.
He made a low sound in his throat and bent his head, his mouth fastening on a swollen bud.
Lily’s head fell back, her long plait spearing over her arched spine. Only Radulf’s arm about her shoulders prevented her from falling. Her body had lost all strength, had turned molten. She groaned again, her hands creeping blindly beneath his shirt and running over the hard, curving muscles of his chest. There were scars there, too, and she smoothed them with her fingertips, as if her touch would heal all past hurts.
Perhaps, she thought dizzily, they could heal each other.
Radulf finished with one breast and turned his attention to the other. Lily swayed, offering her flesh to his hands and lips. Still it wasn’t enough.
As if he sensed as much, Radulf swung her up into his arms and in one fluid movement laid her upon his bed. Lily opened her mouth to protest, dazed gray eyes turning to him, and stopped in wonder.
Radulf was stripping off his clothing, tearing at the cloth in his haste. Lily’s awestruck gaze wandered over his broad chest, down to his flat stomach and narrow hips and rampant masculinity.
Vorgen had never been so . . . so big, so hard. Lily had not known that a man’s body could become so proudly arrogant, and yet so beautiful.
She reached out as if to touch, and then stopped as Vorgen’s words echoed in her mind. He had called her cold and unfeeling; he had said her flesh leaked poison and prevented him from being a man when he was with her. He boasted of his conquests with other women, swearing that his impotence was for Lily alone.
Radulf had seen her movement, and her withdrawal, but thought it only womanly modesty. He bent now and slipped her clothing from her hips, tossing it aside, and turned to gaze avidly upon her nakedness.
“Blond, like your hair,” he murmured, fingers grazing the curls at the juncture of her thighs. His gaze dropped to the jeweled dagger that was still strapped to her upper thigh. He ran his fingers over her creamy flesh, over the leather strap and sheath, until they rested on the green and red stones adorning the dagger’s hilt.
“What is this?” he asked her, his voice a husky rumble. “My Lily has a thorn?”
“ ’Tis . . . protection.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment Lily thought he would pull back from her. Instead he gave a reckless laugh, unbuckled the leather strap, and tossed the dagger to the floor, before burying his face in the fair curls between her thighs.
Lily gasped his name, clutching wildly at his hair as his tongue found her moist core. Never had she thought . . . never had she imagined . . . A desperate trembling seized her body; the beginnings of a hot and urgent need rose within her.
Lily arched and pressed closer to that wonderful mouth and closed her eyes, climbing the wave, savoring these new sensations. But just as she was sure she was about to reach some strange and marvelous peak, Radulf moved away.
Lily cried out in dismay, and then her eyes opened wide as she felt Radulf’s big body sink down upon hers, all that hard flesh and sinew, all that power, completely covering her. His dark eyes were narrowed, gazing deep into hers, and she felt him reach his hand down between her legs, his fingers sliding into the slick heat he had stirred there. Lily moved against him, and he smiled with a slight, satisfied curve of his mouth.
