Her lips were full and succulent, pink and swollen, and her hair fanned around her head, painting the picture of a woman properly ravished.
William almost smiled. With both hands, she batted at his chest. Her blows were weak and uncoordinated.
She could have targeted his throat, scratched out his eyes. He was used to women lashing out to protect themselves. Not that he experienced it personally; he had merely been a bystander.
The chance eluded her when he pinned her arms over her head. Muffled sounds escaped her as she struggled. Her robe parted down the middle, exposing her tender flesh.
He watched, transfixed, as she heaved beneath him. The more she struggled, the more breathless she became.
God, she was sensual.
She swallowed, and he watched the slight bob of her throat. Inwardly, he chastised himself. Outwardly, he traced a finger down her neck.
His gentleness surprised him.
He looked up to find her ogling him. Her eyes roamed over him, leaving heat in their wake, and he became more conscious of his partial nakedness. His muscles flexed at her attention, and when her gaze lingered on the bulge in his breeches, his length throbbed.
He backed away, her skin feeling unbearably hot. “I like ye better when ye are quiet.” His voice was hoarse, betraying the awkwardness he felt.
Her figure blurred as he watched her sideways, his feet rooted to the spot from shame. Maybe it was punishment for having behaved appropriately with his uncle’s widow.
It was unfair. He owed the man no courtesy. His uncle had once coveted what belonged to him, leaving bloodshed in his wake. It was only right that he returned the favor.
William shook his head. It was unseemly, considering he hadn’t decided if Sorcha was his enemy or not.
Hours ago, he had been so ready to throw her into another man’s bed, and now he refused to name the emotion he felt.
With one last glance, he left her room.
Her scent followed him outside, wrapping around him like a gossamer-thin sheath. It wasn’t only desire that paralyzed him, but also emotion.
Slowly, he pushed himself forward. The farther away he was from her, the quicker he could free himself from her thrall.
He trudged the path to his bedroom, acutely aware of the tap of his feet against the floor. His desire fought, pulling him back, refusing to release him.
A part of him, the younger part that would have bedded any woman that reacted to his touch, screamed at him to return to her. . Its lusty hands wrapped its fingers around his heart and pumped; that was why he felt like he would die if he did not give in.
He was only a few steps away from his chambers when Myles emerged from the end of the hallway. He quickened his pace, frowning. He watched him pause by his door, creasing his forehead as if unsure what to do, before moving along.
Myles halted upon seeing him. “Did ye hear that, too?” His sword hung at his side, and he clutched the hilt with the alertness of a soldier.
William straightened immediately. It seemed Sorcha’s spells worked better when he was alone.
“I have handled it.” He brushed past Myles into his room, aware the man would follow.
“What was it?”
He remembered her soft lips and gleaming eyes. She must be untying the ribbon, he thought with a rueful smile.
That stubborn thing.
He chastised himself inwardly and shook away the fondness.
“Me uncle’s widow.”
“Ah,” Myles hummed, leaning against the doorframe. “Ye didnae do anythin’ to her, did ye?”
William had his back to him as he undressed. Then he lowered himself into the chair at the corner. “I daenae have the time for this.”
