Caitrina could barely remember anything the man had said. “He’s twice my age,” she said, frowning. “And happily wed to a Frenchwoman.”
His scowl faded. “Good. I’ve never been envious of another man, and frankly I do not enjoy the taste.”
“You were jealous,” she said, on a breathless note of surprise. “But what of Lady Martine?”
“Who?”
She smiled. “The blond woman who sat next to you at dinner.”
“Ah,” he said. “The woman whose passion is her garden. I find the easiest way to make conversation is to make simple queries of the other person and then let them speak. My dinner companion grows white roses in honor of her dearly departed mother.”
“You did more than listen,” she said. “You had your entire table laughing at your stories.”
Bran’s gaze sharpened. “You were as jealous as I.”
“More so,” she confessed.
He closed the gap between them and feathered kisses along the line of her jaw. “Impossible.”
Caitrina’s eyes closed and her head rolled back to give him access to the tender flesh of her neck. Showers of delight sprang up in the wake of each delicate kiss, but she needed more. More warmth, more strength, more of Bran. The smooth expanse of his chest was an invitation she could not ignore and her hands went awandering. Under her fingertips, the texture of his skin was like hot silk, drawn thinly over the powerful musculature of his frame. So wonderfully different from her own body.
The hard curves of his chest. The waves of muscle that ran down the middle of his belly.
Bran grabbed her hands. “Lass,” he whispered hoarsely in her ear, “I have spent the past few hours imagining every way in which I could make love to your sweet body. I am like a fully drawn bow, ready to send my arrows flying at the slightest twitch of a finger. As much as I enjoy your gentle exploration, I fear I am not man enough to endure it.”
She pouted. “You cannot expect me to simply stand here and take your kisses.”
A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Nay. I welcome your full participation.”
“Then what am I to do?”
“Whatever your heart desires. I would only beg you to avoid—for a short time—the area above my knees and below my belt.”
Caitrina chewed her lip. Some of his most intriguing terrain lay in the area he had just declared forbidden. “Then let us be fair. For as long as you wish me to abstain from touching you below the waist, you must also abstain from touching me in the same region.”
He frowned. “But that will reduce your pleasure.”
“I refuse to accept that. The game shall be to see who can pleasure the other more without touching the most private parts.” With that, she bent her head and kissed his right nipple, using her tongue to play with the tiny bud.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
“Dear lord.”
She released his flesh, reluctantly. “Oh, and I must return to my room within the hour—else the queen’s guards will surely think me lost.”
Uttering a low growl, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He dropped her unceremoniously onto the mattress and then leapt upon her. “There’s no time to waste, then, is there?”
He untied the satin laces of her night rail and tugged the linen down, baring her breasts. For a moment, he did nothing but stare, and Caitrina frowned.
“Is there something wrong?”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Far from it, lass. You have beautiful breasts. Just large enough to fill my hand, with pale pink nipples that tempt me to taste.”
“And yet you do not.”
A truth that he swiftly remedied. He bent his head and captured one trembling peak in his hot, wet mouth and Caitrina gave up a hitched but deeply satisfied sigh. Sweet Jesu. The sensations he stirred within her were incomparable. She’d always known her breasts were sensitive, but this sweet unbearable attack rocked her to the core. No wonder the priests associated such moments with sin—anything that felt so good had to be sinful.
She closed her eyes and let the ripples of pleasure roll through her body, savoring the delicious tingle between her thighs and the slow build of tension in her belly. It wasn’t just the way he suckled her breast that stirred her—although that was masterful—it was the soft, glowing warmth that stole over her as she pictured him in her thoughts. He and he alone evoked such tender emotions, such deep desires. She had the strangest urge to grab his hand and run away to some remote bothy and make love until they were finally, completely, utterly sated.
