What the hell. What was a half-hour? The king and the countess could wait a little longer.
He smiled, calling her bluff. “Then now it is.”
Mary blinked. “What?”
He wasn’t supposed to say yes.
He smiled that slow half-smile of his that seemed to reach down to her toes and yank all the good sense right out of her.
He moved closer, the heat of his body engulfing her. It was like standing next to a raging fire. He was so hot she couldn’t think straight.
Why couldn’t she find herself attracted to a man of non-threatening proportions just once? She inched back away from him, instinctively looking for somewhere to go. But he seemed to take up all the space. Tall and broad-shouldered, his powerful form dominated the small room, radiating a volatile energy.
He’d even stolen the air. Every breath was filled with the subtle scent of his soap. She’d never known a man could smell so good. Clean and warm, with the faint trace of sandalwood.
She was too aware of him. Aware of every inch of that hard, muscular physique that had been plastered against her. She’d never felt so many muscles, and every one—every bulge, every band, every solid slab—was burned into her memory.
As was that kiss. My God, she’d never felt anything like it! Her body still shook from the aftereffects. She’d been consumed by sensations unlike anything she’d ever imagined. He’d robbed her of her breath, her mind, and even her bones, turning her into a melting pool of desire. All she could think about was the pressure of his mouth, the warmth of his tongue licking into her, the hardness of his body, the feel of his arms around her, and the exquisite sensations building frantically inside her.
She hadn’t wanted it to ever stop.
It had been a glimpse—a powerful, wonderful glimpse—of everything that she’d been missing. And he was offering her a chance for more. This time, it wasn’t Eve holding out the apple of temptation but Adam. And one taste of sin wasn’t nearly enough.
But look what had happened to Adam and Eve.
She stopped suddenly when the back of her legs met the edge of what felt like a table. She hadn’t gotten much of a view of the room before he’d blocked it with his body.
Her heart pounded in her chest, trying to keep up with her racing pulse. Could she really do this?
“I—I thought you were anxious to go to the feast.” She sounded as nervous as she felt.
He stepped toward her, in one stride erasing the distance she’d put between them. All six foot three—four?—inches of pure masculine temptation. His mouth curved in that slow, provoking smile that dared her to try to resist him, revealing a flash of perfectly straight white teeth. His too-long hair slumped forward across his brow roguishly, and she had to stop herself from reaching out to tuck it back. She’d like to say she wasn’t shallow enough to be affected by a handsome face, but the beat of her heart betrayed her.
“The feast can wait.”
His eyes ran down the length of her body. She wasn’t long, but the slow slide of his hot gaze made her feel that way. He lingered at her breasts, as if he could see right through the thick wool of her gown to the nipples peaking below. The flare of hunger in his eyes made her knees turn to jelly. She wished it was from fear, but the coinciding flutter in her belly felt like anticipation.
One night…
Temptation beckoned, but she tried to resist. “Isn’t the king expecting you?”
She hadn’t thought he would accept her offer. Or had she? Had it been some kind of test to see how badly he wanted this? Did he want it as badly as she did?
Apparently, he did. She had no idea why he wanted her with so many young, beautiful women hanging at his feet, but he did.
Don’t read anything into it.
“It will wait.”
Shecould wait, in other words. Mary might have been annoyed by his obvious disinterest and lack of regard for the woman the king had chosen to be his wife, but then he reached down and swept his hand along the curve of her cheek. She sucked in her breath. The feel of those warm, callused fingers on her skin made every nerve ending crackle. But it was the gentleness of the gesture that completely disarmed her. She felt a stab of longing so fierce it stole her breath. For one silly heartbeat she wanted to snuggle into the caress.
No! She wasn’t a romantic girl anymore. This was passion, nothing else. She needed to remember that. But Kenneth Sutherland was far more dangerous than she’d realized. Not only did his kiss make her burn with passion, his gentle touch roused far more dangerous emotions.
And this too-handsome-for-his-own-good, arrogant warrior with the face and muscular physique of a Greek god was built for a fantasy, nothing else.
“You’ve no reason to be nervous, little one. I’ll be gentle.”
But gentle wasn’t what she wanted from him. She wanted a fierce storm of passion. Lust, not tenderness. She wanted to feel what the woman in the barn had felt. Just once.
