The mouse was cornered.
She feared she was squeaking when she finally turned to face him to explain. “Now, Eoin, I know you are upset—”
Something that sounded suspiciously like a growl cut her off.
He was standing near the opening of the tent seething at her like a madman clenching his fists. Actually, he was clenching everything. Every muscle in his body seemed taut and flared like a beast waiting to pounce.
She bit her lip. Perhaps she didn’t know him as well as she thought she did. He didn’t seem quite as civilized as she remembered. Actually, he looked ratheruncivilized. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept or eaten much the past few days. Neither had he found time for a razor, although she must admit the dangerous brigand look sent a little pulse of excitement shooting through certain parts of her.
But there was no denying her nervousness; her voice was shaking as she said, “Perhaps we should save this discussion for the morning, when we are both rested and a little more rational.”
Where was that brilliant mind when she needed it?
It was the wrong thing to say. He was on her much faster than a man with an injured knee ought to be. He loomed over her, threatening but not touching her—almost as if he didn’t trust himself to do so.
“I don’t think so,a leanbh. Rest isn’t what I have in mind for you right now.”
The dark huskiness of his voice made her shudder, leaving her no doubt what he meant.
“I thought we both agreed that wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“To hell with a good idea, Maggie. Take off your damned clothes because I’m about two seconds from ripping them off you, and five seconds from being inside you. If you’re lucky, we’ll make it to sixty before we’re both crying out.”
Oh dear, that shouldn’t make her so hot and tingly, should it? “Eoin...”
He leaned closer, fixing his gaze on hers, leaving her no doubt he meant what he said. “One.”
“Won’t you try—?”
She didn’t finish. The sound of her ripped bodice was muffled by the low groan in his throat as his mouth came down on hers.
One taste of her, and he was gone. All Eoin could think about was being inside her.
Heneededto be inside her. Needed it more than he’d ever needed anything in his life.
He kissed her like a starving man—or maybe like a man who’d spent the past three days worried out of his bloody mind.
He tore off her clothes, stripping her bare so he could look at every damned inch of her and assure himself there weren’t any other bruises she was hiding from him.
When he thought of the one on her face...
He kissed her harder, deeper, letting the feel of her tongue sliding against his take the edge off the burning rage.
He moaned as heat and sensation drowned him. He’d forgotten how incredible this felt. How incredible she felt.
With more gentleness than he thought himself capable at the moment, he eased her down on the bed, breaking the kiss for long enough to look at her.
He muttered a curse. A fist locked around his heart and squeezed. She was so damned beautiful she took his breath away.
How many times had he pictured all that smooth, creamy skin? Those long, slender limbs? Those incredible breasts. Aye, those he’d pictured most of all. He’d pictured his hands on them, squeezing, his mouth on them, sucking, and his face buried between them, inhaling that sweet scent of her skin.
But the memories of the girl paled in comparison to the woman before him. She was a little softer, a little fuller, and even more sensually curved than before.
He didn’t know whether to curse or get on his knees in gratitude. How could he blame men for panting after her? She was an enchantress with a body ripe for pleasure.
Hispleasure, damn it. She was his.
And he proved it—in only a few more seconds than he’d promised.
