Her heart picked up its thick beat. Ceidre flushed. She took another pace back. That was when she became aware of all his men, standing behind them tensely. She heard someone whisper the word witch and another said something about the evil eye and a curse. Her color deepened.
“The potion, Alice,” Rolfe said. “Let me have it.”
“It’s all gone,” Ceidre lied.
He stared at her, then took her arm and led her, ungently, to the tent. He raised the flap. Ceidre knew an immense relief and she scurried into the safety of the hide shelter, wanting nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between him and herself. She was barely inside when she heard him ordering his men to disperse, and then, suddenly, his huge frame dwarfed her, seeming to fill the entire space of the tent. Ceidre inhaled in alarm.
He dropped the door flap closed behind them.
“What are you doing?” Ceidre cried, shrinking back against the far wall-—as far from him as she could get. In truth, it wasn’t far at all, a bit more than an arm’s span.
He didn’t answer. It was dim inside now, yet she could make him out well enough as he lighted a torch. He carefully placed the rushlight upright in the ground, then turned fully to face her. “Need I ask again?”
If only there were somewhere to go—somewhere to run too.
“Alice.”
There was so much warning in that one word. “I lied! ’Twas a curse. You are pressing me too far! I will curse you too!”
He smiled then, the first genuine sign of amusement she had ever seen from him. He did not believe her. He truly did not believe she was a witch. She was disappointed—she was thrilled.
“Mayhap,” he said slowly, eyes sparkling. “You have already cursed me—or was it a blessing?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Did you smite me with this unnatural and ungodly desire I have for you?”
She moved completely against the hide wall, seeing the sparkle turn hot, glimmering. “No.”
“No? You did not bewitch me?” “No, I swear.”
“I don’t believe you.” His hands snaked out. She had known he would grab her, but still, he was too fast for her, and even if she could have been swifter, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape to. He pulled her so close she could feel the softness of his breath— feel the heat of his body. “The potion,” he murmured. “Give it to me.”
“I don’t have it,” she whispered, his hands, on her waist, like hot irons. So large, so strong. She attempted once to twist free, and realizing it was hopeless, she went still. She tried to brace herself away from him with her hands on his chest. He was as hard as a rock, but warm, alive, beneath her fingertips.
“Your waist is so small,” Rolfe said, low.
Ceidre looked into his gaze and could not look away.
“My fingers almost touch one another.” She could not breathe.
“You are too beautiful to be mortal,” he said huskily.
His hands, on her waist, tightened. Her own body was throbbing, her blood racing madly. “Let me go,” she said weakly.
“Mayhap,” he said, and his mouth was closer, his lower lip fuller than its mate, beautifully carved, “you are a witch.”
“No,” she heard herself say fiercely. I am not a witch — she wanted to tell him the truth—she wanted, desperately, that he should know this and believe it.
One of his hands moved up to her rib cage. Ceidre shuddered at the gentle—impossibly gentle—caress. She tried to push herself away but could not. He was unyielding. His hand paused beneath the full weight of her breast. Surely he could feel her heartbeat vibrating throughout her body. Surely he would not dare touch her more intimately—or would he?
No man had ever dared to touch her like this.
His hand swept up with the delicacy of a hummingbird’s wings, barely brushing the full, aching globe of her breast, the flesh of his palm grazing her erect, swollen nipple. A tiny gasp, half shock, half pleasure, escaped Ceidre. And then his hand slid over her back and he leaned down, his lips closing over hers.
She forgot that he was the enemy. There was only his mouth on hers, slightly open, soft, seductive, this time, and his hand gently stroking her shoulder. So this was kissing—so this was the pleasure of the flesh. When he drew away she blinked at him, dazed.
He was staring at her. He smiled, ever so slightly. Ever so smugly.
