For more reasons than one, it was time for this dance to end.
Flora didn’t know what made her persist in flirting with danger. She knew she was pushing him, knew that she was making him angry, but somehow it didn’t matter. She liked him like this. Liked the glimpse of emotion. For the past week, he’d been unfailingly attentive, polite, patient—not objecting to anything—and remote. She hated it. Where was the man who had kissed her with such fiery passion?
The steely control that she admired also served to keep a part of him away from her. But when he was angry, he didn’t hold back. And there was something exciting, and more than a bit thrilling, about that.
She purposefully feigned boredom, flicking at a ball of fuzz off the shoulder of his plaid. “I may have said something about a man bedding down with dogs if he smelled like one.”
He was furious, though she suspected it was more her attitude than her words.
“And don’t you think that might have been interpreted the wrong way?”
“How so? I think they interpreted it precisely as I intended it. I see no reason why a man can’t wash before he comes home to his wife.” She looked at him pointedly. “You always smell clean. I wouldn’t kick you out—”
She put her hand over her mouth, mortified by what she’d been about to say. But in truth, with him standing so close she couldn’t think about anything other than how amazing he smelled. And of nestling up and resting her cheek against that warm, broad chest.
His eyes darkened, and his voice was dangerously low. “You wouldn’t kick me out of where, Flora?”
He was looking at her as if he wanted to ravish her, but it didn’t frighten her at all. It actually sent a thrill of anticipation shooting through her veins. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. “I was speaking metaphorically.”
His arm slid around her waist. The way it had been when they’d danced. That dance…She shivered. He could put any courtier to shame. Who would have thought a warrior of his size would dance so beautifully? Graceful, but strong. When he lifted her, she’d felt as light as a feather. It was different dancing with him. She’d never been so aware of a man’s hands on her. She’d never noticed how seductive a dance could be. How each little touch could shock with tiny tremors of awareness.
She’d never wanted a man before. Not like this. Not with every fiber of her being. The truth hit her square in the chest. She cared for him. Hewasdifferent. He had to be. She wouldn’t feel like this otherwise. That was what had held her back from trying to escape.
“Where, Flora?”
The dark promise in his voice made her tremble. His mouth was so close. She wanted him to kiss her again. But he knew that. “Bed,” she said softly. “Out of bed.”
With a growl, he kissed her. Nay, not kissed—he devoured her. His mouth was hot and hard, and his lips demanding, as he took her in his arms and kissed her as though he would never let her go.
She wanted to believe it. Wanted to think that the wave of emotion swelling inside her meant something. That the passion between them was special. Because it was to her. No man had ever made her feel this way. Made her blood heat and her limbs go weak with the press of his lips against hers.
All she could think of was getting closer to him. It felt so good, it almost hurt. To be in his arms again. Kissing him. Feeling the familiar hard press of his body against hers and the rapid beat of his heart that did not lie.
His warm masculine scent surrounded her, engulfing her senses. He kissed her harder and deeper. His mouth moved over hers, branding her, searing her with his heat. But it wasn’t enough. Wrapping her hands around his neck, she leaned her body closer, dissolving. Moaning as the passion welled inside her. She opened her mouth, wanting the wicked press of his tongue against hers. Wanting the dark, rich taste of him filling her mouth.
With a groan, he complied, sinking his tongue deep into her mouth. She opened to him, returning the sensual thrusts of his tongue the way he’d taught her. The subtle erotic rhythm increased the strange restlessness rising inside her, struggling to break free. He bent her farther back, taking her even deeper as his hands slid down to her bottom and he lifted her firmly against him.
She melted in a pool of heat, feeling the power of his erection pressing against her, hot and demanding. He was big and hard, just like the rest of him. She shivered, this time not with fear, but with desire, and felt a wicked urge to rub up against the solid length of him. She might be a maid, but she was well-enough versed in the details of mating—courtesy of the more profligate women at court.
He pressed against her again, this time more insistently, setting off a thousand little explosions of awareness. Unconsciously, her legs opened around him, wanting to feel him closer.
He froze, every muscle in his body taut. She could almost feel the blood surging through his veins under her palms. “Do that again, lass,” he whispered against her mouth, “and having care for your innocence will be the last thing on my mind.”
Heat stained her cheeks. “I’m sorry—”
But he pressed his finger over her mouth, stopping her. “Your instincts are perfect, my sweet. I just want you too much.” His eyes were dark and stormy. “I want to give you pleasure.”
He already was. Unimaginable pleasure.
She relaxed, closing her eyes as his warm mouth trailed down her neck, making her shiver. His hands were on her breasts, squeezing gently as his mouth slid over the sensitive flesh of her chest. She didn’t know what he was doing, but she didn’t care. Deftly he worked the fastenings of her gown and kirtle loose enough so that with a gentle tug her breasts popped over her stays. He didn’t move, staring at her until her skin flushed pink under the smoldering intensity of his gaze.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said hoarsely. He glanced up at her, perhaps sensing her embarrassment. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, lass. Your breasts are perfect. Big and round. I can’t wait to taste you.”
She shivered.
He weighed her in his hands, sliding his thumb over the taut tip of one nipple, and her legs turned to jelly.
She grasped his broad shoulders to prevent herself from collapsing, savoring the feel of the hard, bulging muscles in her hands. God, he was strong, every inch of him as tightly wrought as steel. Just touching him sent a thrill surging through her. Though the linen of his shirt was fine, she felt a violent urge to rip it off him and splay her hands across his hot skin, recalling all too well the hard, sculpted ridges of his magnificent chest.
