“What do you want from me?” he asked roughly. “I’ve told you it cannot be.”
Suddenly, she found herself in his arms, where he clearly intended to vent his frustration on her person. Her head tipped back as she searched his face for some sign of understanding. But there was no evidence of compassion in the harsh, tightly drawn lines of his face: his eyes narrow slits, his mouth clenched firmly in a straight line, his arms rigid and unforgiving.
He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to shake her or kiss her. They stood staring at each other for some time, balancing on the precarious precipice of indecision. Isabel held her breath, aware that he was fighting a fierce internal battle. Not content to wait, she made the decision for him.
Circling her arms around his neck, she lifted up on her toes and leaned her mouth closer to his. Her curves molded perfectly to his thick, hard muscle.
“I want this,” she said, and kissed him.
He swore softly and drew her closer to him, not simply returning her kiss, but taking control. His kiss was full of hunger bordering on starvation.
Bold and frenzied.
His mouth moved over hers possessively, searching for relief. There was an urgency to his movements, as if the sands of time were an enemy that could only thwart his intentions. The furious quickening of her heart—beating now with excitement and not fear—matched his.
Anticipation was a potent aphrodisiac. The touch of his lips on hers instantly rekindled the passion invoked by their last heated kiss. Isabel felt a powerful bolt of desire shoot through her body. She knew that she wanted him, and her wanting had nothing to do with her uncle’s plan. Her need was primitive. She wanted him as a woman wants a man.
Rory overwhelmed her senses, rendering her limp with desire, unable to form a coherent thought other than hunger for the man holding her. The weighty feel of his demanding mouth, the soft tickle of his golden chestnut hair slipping forward against her cheek, the friction of his day-old beard against her tender skin, the intoxicating scent of salt and sea that seemed to permeate his skin, and the taste of wine lingering on his lips dissolved all thoughts of her plan.
Slowly, he relaxed his hold. His rough fingers traced a surprisingly feathery, light path up her arm, across her shoulder, and up the side of her neck to finally cup her chin. Her skin tingled where he left his touch as he gently tilted her chin upward, forcing her to deepen the embrace.
She knew he would not be content with innocent kisses. His passion had broken free of its tight rein and the repressed desire she felt exploding within him would not be quenched by a gentle wooing. She felt the power of his desire as his fingers and mouth worked in tandem to open her lips to the thrusting invasion of his tongue, plundering and pillaging with each swirling stroke. Unable to contain her own passion, she responded instinctively, her tongue joining his, meeting and matching his desire with her innocent but knowing rejoinder.
Her back was pressed hard against the wall next to the window as the full length of his body crushed against hers. The force of his powerful build, so muscular and strong, touched a primitive longing for protection that she would have scoffed at only months before. Before she had learned of her own vulnerability at the hands of Murdock Mackenzie. With Rory, she felt completely feminine. Vulnerable, but safe. And most of all, wanted. He ravished as if he could not have enough of her.
His hands were everywhere, exploring the sleek contours of her body. Like a conqueror—with each touch, he branded her as his. His movements were rougher, harder, and more frenzied than before. As if he feared the intervention of rational thought. He slipped his fingers beneath the bodice of her gown to caress her breast, and her nipple hardened, awaiting the touch of his tongue. He took her in his mouth and sucked, rolling the throbbing peak between his teeth and tongue until she writhed in frustration.
Cool air chilled her heated skin as he lifted her skirts and exposed one leg. She felt his hand caress her naked bottom and purposefully tilted her hips toward his length. She shivered with the tingling rush of excited anticipation growing where their bodies now touched. The heated pulse between her legs felt so sensitive, tingling with heightened awareness.
His lips found her mouth again as his hand boldly climbed the inside of her thigh. She tensed, heart pounding. Wanting. Waiting. Aching for his touch. Oh God, how he teased her. His torturous stroking, sweeping, brushing, slowly increased the divine pressure until she shook with need. Until she was damp and hot, weeping for more. His tongue flicked in and out of her mouth, and suddenly she knew—knew what he would do. She pressed her hips against his hand in silent entreaty.
She moaned, reveling in the sharp surge of relief when his finger plunged swiftly into the dampness between her legs.
“God, you’re tight.” His voice sounded strained, as if he were in pain.
The feelings of near ecstasy he was arousing easily outweighed all other thought. Or any qualms. Nothing that felt this wonderful could be wrong. Her breathing quickened in short gasps as he continued his intimate stroking, stirring her body into a wicked frenzy of need. The pressure built and built, until she thought she would burst. She felt strange, impatient for something she didn’t understand.
“Relax,” he whispered encouragingly. “Don’t fight it, allow your mind to let go. Just concentrate on the feelings of pleasure where I touch you. I’m going to make you come.”
Isabel gave over to the soothing caress of his voice. It didn’t take long for her to understand what he meant, as the pressure built inside her. His finger plunged inside her, and when his thumb massaged her most sensitive spot, she clenched and, finally, shattered.
Rory watched the celestial wave of Isabel’s release crash over her, sweeping her up in its powerful wake.
The wonder and ecstasy that flushed across her face was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. As the sensations began to ebb, the rise and fall of her chest slowed and her color returned to normal.
“I never imagined…,” she said, her voice soft with awe. “Is it always like that?”
He wanted to lie but instead spoke the truth that had lodged firmly in his chest. “Not always.”Never.He’d never felt like that as he brought a woman to release.
She seemed to take his words to heart. Her smile encompassed her entire face.
Rory hadn’t wanted this to happen.
He’d wanted only to shake some sense into her, but when she’d pressed her sweet lips to his, he was lost. He knew he could not—and would not—fight the powerful attraction that seemed to pull them together. He could still give her pleasure and not take her innocence.
Or so he thought. But her next words changed everything.
“I want to touch you, too. Show me how to give you pleasure.”
