Page 47 of Brigand

“I know.”

“I will think on your proposal.”

Ned shot to his feet again. “What the hell is there to thinkabout?”

Ewan chortled. “You’re asking me to give up my dearestKaitlin. And a rather valuable captive. Come back tomorrow and I will give youmy answer.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tomorrow.” Ewan stood, indicating that this interviewwas at an end. He needed them to leave. He need time to think, to play throughthe permutations in his head.

Edward stood as well. But did not offer his hand. “Tomorrowit is, Ewan. And do not forget. You owe me. You owe me your life.”

* * * * *

Violet spent her time waiting for Ewan’s return strollingfrom one side of the solar to the other. It was not very diverting.

It annoyed her that he’d left again—on business, he’d said.

In truth he’d probably been anxious to escape her presence.She hadn’t been very good company since their return to the keep. She’d neededto take him to task for tying her up and humiliating her in front of his men,but for some reason she hadn’t been able to shake her irritable mood. She’drailed at him all day and through most of dinner.

She sighed. No wonder he wanted to flee.

It wasn’t the fact that he’d tied her to the bed thatplagued her. It was the revelation of her true feelings for him, and the depthof them, that perturbed her.

She’d never imagined she could have feelings like this forsomeone. It was sheer delight and fear and terror and need all rolled into onechurning, burning emotion. It was as though her vision had narrowed down to oneflickering, capricious point. The whole of her life had been lived solely forthis reason. To love him. To be with him.

The fear and the terror sprang from the suspicion he did notfeel the same.

Oh, who was she trying to fool?

It wasn’t a suspicion.

Still, when he returned to the chamber, when he opened thedoor and stared at her with a hungry look in his eye, she wanted to run to him.To fling herself into his arms and cling.

He closed the door and turned the lock. Then faced her,still staring as though he could eat her up. He strode across the room until hestood before her, close. His heat, his desire, licked her in waves.

She wrung her hands and searched for something to say.“How-how did your meeting go?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

She tipped up her chin and studied his face. It was tight.Drawn. Harsh. Had she displeased him? Again?

“I don’t want to talk.” He cupped her face. Thumbed hercheek.

Her heart thudded. “Then…what do you want to do?”

“I want this.” His mouth took hers in a dizzying rush. Heconsumed her. Kissed her wildly as though he would never kiss her again. Theyearning in his touch made her chest ache.

She couldn’t stop her arms from curling around his neck. Hegrunted—she tasted his satisfaction—and swung her up in his arms, not breakingthe kiss.

Her head reeled, her heart pounded as he whirled her aroundand headed for the bed. “Violet,” he murmured, peppering her lips, her cheeks,her lashes, with tiny busses. “Violet.”

“Ewan,” she said, because she could think of nothing else tosay. Indeed, nothing else needed saying. She tugged impatiently at his shirtand he complied, ripping it off. Buttons flew. “Ah.” She set her palm to hiswarm chest, stroked him, petted him.

He groaned and shifted down to feed on her neck. He fumbledwith the buttons on her bodice and when he couldn’t undo them quickly enough,he ripped it open. She had it in her mind to complain—this was her only dressafter all—but then he took an aching crest into his mouth and sucked and allthoughts flew from her completely, like startled birds scattering in the trees.

Delight, pure and sweet, raced through her body, ashimmering, shivering stream. She clutched at his head, holding him there as hefeasted. But she couldn’t hold him long. He wanted more. He worked his way downher torso, ripping the gown as he went. She laughed. She couldn’t help it. Joyskirled in her soul.