He confused her. Confounded her. Made her care about him and then pushed her away. He saved her and protected her one moment, and then ignored her the next. He was an outsider, a man who kept himself apart and seemed as if he didn't need anyone. But he was also lonely, a man who'd been forced to the periphery by gifts that set him apart.
Did he want her? Did he need her?
One way or another, he would have to decide. Time had run out for them both. So she pushed. Knowing he was jealous. Knowing he'd seen the kiss Sir Hugh had given her. Knowing he was struggling for control.
She wanted him so badly. Standing so close to him, all she could think about was how good he smelled. How the dark shadow of his beard made him look even more ruggedly handsome. How tall he was. How broad his chest was. How soft his mouth looked even when white with anger. How she would give anything if he would take her in his arms and never let go.
Pain stabbed her chest. Why didn't he want her? Why was he holding back?
So recklessly--desperately--she taunted him, wanting to hurt him as he'd hurt her. So what if it was a lie? So what if the thought of herself in bed with another man made her blood run cold? Enjoy? She could barely stop herself from trembling in fear in Sir Hugh's presence.
When he snapped, she had her reward. Anna found herself in his arms with his mouth on hers, and he was kissing her with all the passion and emotion of which she'd dreamed.
He devoured her with his mouth and tongue. She moaned, sinking deeper into the kiss, wanting to feel every inch of his body against hers.
His big hands slid possessively over her, down her back, over her hips, slipping down to cup her bottom. He groaned in her mouth, kissing her deeper and harder as he molded her more firmly against him.
Sensation exploded inside her in a shimmering wave of heat.
Oh God, it was perfect! Chest to chest. Hip to hip. The hard evidence of his desire wedged intimately between her legs. She knew she should be shocked by the size and feel of him, but all she felt was excitement. Excitement that made her heart race, her skin flush, and her body tingle.
They were plastered together, but it wasn't close enough. Restlessness built inside her with each delicious stroke of his tongue and each possessive caress of his hands.
She matched his boldness with her own. Her hands gripping the hard muscles of his arms, his shoulders, his back. She wanted to feel every inch of him under her fingertips, to sculpt every muscle with her palms. To hold his strength under her hands.
It made her feel ... wild--heady with desire.
She'd never experienced anything like this. Her body had seemed to come alive. Her responses came naturally, as if she knew what she was doing. It was happening too fast to think. Desire had grabbed hold and would not let go.
He was pressing against her more insistently, rubbing his manhood against the most feminine part of her. It made her feel strange and tingly--warm and achy. But it wasn't enough. She circled her hips harder against the thick column of flesh, craving the friction. Craving a deeper connection.
His mouth dipped down her throat, kissing, devouring. The scruff of his beard singeing a path across her flaming skin. The small room blazed hot and sultry with passion.
His hands slid around her waist, moving up to cup her breasts. She gasped, pressing harder and harder against his manhood as her back arched into his hands. He muttered something that sounded like a curse and rubbed his thumbs over her turgid, aching nipples, as his mouth feasted on the tender skin just above the edge of her bodice.
She felt so hot. So weak. Languid and heavy. Her legs seemed to have lost the strength to hold her up. She collapsed against him, and he pushed her back on the table to steady her--and maybe himself as well. The fiercely controlled knight seemed just as wild and frantic in his need as she.
His dark, silky hair spilled against her chest. Unable to resist, she threaded her fingers through the soft waves, gently pressing him harder against her. She could feel his mouth on her nipple through the fabric of her gown as his hands cupped and squeezed.
Not enough ...
Seeming to sense her frustration, his tongue darted below her bodice.
She cried out at the wickedness, at the exquisite pleasure that rocked her. His mouth was so warm. His tongue circled and circled until she didn't think she could stand any more. She was writhing against him, begging him to unleash the strange maelstrom building inside.
Finally, he pushed aside her gown--stretching the fabric to the ripping point--to release her breast. The cool air blew over her skin, prickling where he'd kissed her.
"Christ," he groaned, sounding as if he were in pain. "You're so damned beautiful."
The sound of his voice might have broken through her trance, but before she could hold on to the moment of clarity, he covered her aching nipple with his mouth and sucked.
The sweet needle of sensation made her cry out.
Pleasure so acute it was nearly pain. He plied her with his teeth, flicked her with his tongue, and sucked her deeper and deeper into the warm suction of his mouth.
Heat spread between her legs in a rush of dampness. The tender flesh felt swollen and tingly.
The table was hard against her back. He'd wrapped her leg around his hip as he'd bent over her breast.
