He looked into her eyes. The sensual curve of his mouth tantalizingly close, lips that had touched hers only inches away. She could still taste him on her tongue. She had never imagined sin could taste so good. Dark and spicy, with a hint of clove.
“You want this, Mary. I know you do. Just say yes.”
She stared at him helplessly, paralyzed by the sin of her desire, unable to say the words that would set aside a lifetime of morality.
It wasn’t right.
But was it really so wrong?
Neither of them was married. They wouldn’t be hurting anyone. She was six and twenty. A widow for three years, an overlooked and neglected wife before that. This might be the last chance to experience what she’d once dreamed about before her young girl’s illusions were shattered by a husband who hadn’t wanted her and had never given her remotely what she’d seen in the barn.
This man wanted her and could give it to her. With no conditions. No bonds that could not be dissolved. A man on her own terms.
It would only be one time. One night of passion. One night of sin. Was that too much to ask for?
He seemed to sense her struggle. Reaching behind her, he removed a flagon of wine that must have been on the table. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “Drink this. It will relax you.”
She did as he bade, nearly choking when she realized it wasn’t wine but whisky. He laughed, urging her to take another drink. She steeled herself, taking a long sip of the fiery brew.
When she was done, she handed it back to him. She wondered if maybe he wasn’t quite as confident as he appeared when he took a long, hard sip of the flagon as well—emptying it.
His eyes seemed a little hotter when he leaned over her again, putting his hands on either side of her hips as she rested against the table. “Tell me, Mary,” he repeated, the lilting huskiness of his voice adding a new level of temptation. She’d descended from purgatory straight to hell.
She shuddered. Powerful arms and the broad shield of his chest surrounded her like a steel cage. She couldn’t escape if she wanted to.
But she didn’t want to. She’d learned to make her own decisions, hadn’t she? She was going to do this.
That is, if her heart would stop racing long enough for her to take a breath.
But breathing became an afterthought when his mouth found the tender spot next to her ear. The heat of his breath against the damp skin sent a hot bellow of desire rushing through her. His mouth trailed along her jaw and then dipped to her neck, finding all the sensitive places along the way. She shuddered and moaned, defenseless against the powerful onslaught of sensation. He pressed a kiss on the frantic beat of her pulse.
“Say yes, Mary,” he whispered.
“Yes. Please, yes.”
Six
The moment the word was out of her mouth, he fell on her with a fierce growl of possession that sent a thrill right down to her toes. The chains of his passion had been released, and there was no holding him back. It was magnificent. Physical proof of his desire for her.
The slow, seductive caress of his lips on her throat and neck turned ravishing. He devoured whatever inch of bare skin he could find with his lips and tongue. Kissing. Sucking. Sliding and flicking his tongue over her fevered skin until she thought she would die from sheer pleasure. And then his lips were on hers again, and she was certain of it.
His tongue licked into her mouth, filling her with the exquisite taste of him.
For such a powerfully built man, his lips were surprisingly soft. And warm. Deliciously warm. She wanted to sink into him and never come up. She returned his kiss with all the newly wrought passion surging through her veins.
His kiss devastated, destroying whatever lingering doubt she had with each fierce stroke. Her chest squeezed with longing. She wanted this. Wanted it desperately. Wanted it more than she’d ever dreamed possible. He was making her feel things she’d never felt before. Her body tingled and burned with a restless energy. Feelings long dormant had come to life. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. She savored it. Welcomed it. Let it crash over her in wave after thrilling wave. He was a hot, drenching storm to her parched desert.
Her heart beat wildly in her chest on an impatient race toward the unknown. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into the granite of his shoulders, as his tongue claimed every inch of her mouth. And she let him take it, surrendering to the plunder with fierce abandon.
Her breasts were crushed to his chest. She moaned at the contact, reveling in the sensation of the solid weight of him over her. There was something deeply arousing about the feel of all those muscles pressed up against her. Something primal in the bodily proof of his masculinity and her femininity. He was big and strong; if there was ever a man built to protect, it was he.
Although she no longer looked to a man to protect her, she did like the way all those muscles felt against her. It seemed strange that something so hard and unyielding could make her want to curl against him and never let go.
But it wasn’t just their chests that touched. He dipped his hips toward hers, and she gasped.
Goodness! It was one thing to take note of his size out of the corner of her eye, it was another to have the blatant evidence burning into her stomach. Thick and hard, she could feel every sinful inch of him throbbing against her.
But instead of fear, the proof of his arousal sent a frisson of excitement pulsing between her legs. She felt the strangest urge to move. To rub up and down against that hardness.
