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Light flickered across her skin, illuminating her faint freckles as well as her eyes, which reflected every bit of the judgment he deserved.

“And?” he said, his voice harsh.

“That is why you are intent on this mission. Not because you are ‘following orders.’”

If she had approached him with caution, it was gone now.

“Not because Almain is the king’s regent.”

Kissing her was not the only way to stop her from saying it aloud, but it was one way. And so he kissed her with every bit of the pent-up desire he’d felt over the past few days. His body was immediately engulfed in a raging battle, one he was not certain he’d win.

One he didn’t want to win.

* * *

When his lips touched hers, Marion cursed herself for a fool. She’d intended to confront him about his planned attack, not to end up in his arms again. But the passion they shared for each other had changed her, and she found it difficult to go back to playing the earl’s innocent daughter. She was not the woman who’d set out on a quest to become the next protector of Scotland. She was a woman who understood desire, who could recognize the fluttering deep within her body for what it was. One who, despite her best intentions, would not stop this dangerous course.

With every flick of their dueling tongues, Marion was pulled deeper and deeper into an irreversible decision. One that would infuriate her parents, change her future, and bind her to the man she’d sworn to overcome. Despite the implications of lying with a man that was not to be her husband, Marion could not seem to pull herself away.

When his mouth moved from her lips to her neck, Marion tossed her head back to give him greater access. Since her arms could not fully encircle his broad chest and shoulders, she did the best she could, gripping his tunic and clinging to him lest her legs give out under her.

“So sweet,” he murmured against her neck.

She’d come here to confront him about the attack.

Not for this.

At least, that was the story she told herself. But the way her body responded, the things he made her feel . . . some of her, maybe all of her, had hoped their last kiss would lead to more.

When he abruptly pulled away, the loss was immediate. One moment, his hands and lips were on her . . . the next, he crossed the room toward the door.

He locked it.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Turning, Court stood by the door and simply watched her. She took in his tunic, opened wide at the collar allowing for a peek beneath. His expression was predatory and male, one that sent a shiver down her spine.

She thought he would say something then, but instead he moved to the table at the center of the room, swept its contents off with one swipe of his arm. A ledger went flying to the ground, and before Marion could see its final destination, Court was in front of her. He picked her up easily and carried her to the edge of the table. When he positioned her in front of him, she could feel the most intimate part of him pressed against her stomach.

He lowered his head once more, both hands gripping the back of her head, as if she needed encouragement. Every thrust of his tongue, movement of his hips, made her want more. She returned his kiss greedily.

“Something . . . ,” she tried to say. But how could she describe this new pressure in her core? This tingling deep within her that longed to be set free?

He tore his lips from hers and looked into her eyes. Ever so slowly, his hand moved back down until it reached the hem of her kirtle. Lifting both it and the undertunic up at once, Court closed his eyes. A primitive sound escaped him as soon as his hand found her bare flesh. Still looking into her eyes, he pushed aside each barrier until he reached the part of her no one else had ever touched.

Marion should have been embarrassed enough to break eye contact, to turn away. She held his gaze instead, mesmerized by the dance of his fingers on her skin.

“What are you doing?”

Court’s only answer was a slow, sensual smile that made her insides pulse. His smile deepened as he slid his fingers inside her. With his free hand, he opened her leg as he pressed and withdrew, circling and flicking his fingers.

Marion was lost.

Gripping each side of the wooden table, she resisted the urge to close her eyes, wanting to see his face, wanting to watch his expression as it changed from pleasure to . . . something else. No longer smiling, Court looked at her with an intensity she recognized. This was what he’d looked like the day she’d warned him about the reivers. Determined, resolved. But this time, the only threat was that she’d lose her heart to the enemy.

“I’ve imagined doing this every night since waking with you pressed against me.”

Marion tried to breathe.