Page 27
Good God and all the angels. Was that husky purr her voice? She looped her arms around his neck, drawing him near, telling him with her body what she was too bashful to say with words. Curling her fingers into his magnificent hair, she clung to him.
He crushed her to his hard body, his mouth swooping down upon hers in a scorching assault. She gasped in excitement and surprise. She hadn’t expected the kiss to be so powerful. All-consuming. So blissfully wonderful.
His beard was surprisingly soft, the gentle friction adding to her arousal.
At his gentle prodding, she opened her mouth, eager to get closer. To taste more of him. Their breaths and tongues tangled, a heated, ravenous frenzy. Without lifting his mouth from hers, he drew her upward and scooped her into his arms. In four long strides, he reached her bed, and reverently laid her upon the insufficient mattress.
This was madness. Utter recklessness. Her sensible self screamed for her to put an end to the insanity. But the lonely, ignored, overlooked, and disregarded four and twenty-year-old sensual woman thrilled that such a prime specimen of manhood should find her desirable. Her!
When he stretched out beside her—all hewn sinew, and hard rippling muscles—and cradled her tenderly against him, she whimpered tremulously, “Liam?”
He tore his mouth from hers and trailed hot, wet kisses over her jaw and neck before gently nipping the juncture where her throat met her collarbone.
She started and gasped at the instant jolt of burning desire spearing her. More. She wanted more. More of this. More of him.
She whimpered again, running her hands up and down his spine, relishing his sinewy hardness and the hunger he stirred. Never had she dreamed she could feel this way. As if every pore was alive and molten lava flowed through her veins. Hunger and desire and passion overwhelmed her and, instinctively, she knew only he could relieve this sizzling need.
She wriggled beneath him, arching her hips and curving into his corded muscles, silently pleading for more. More.
A seductive chuckle, melodious and bone-melting, reverberated in his chest. He lowered his head to the expanse of flesh visible above her bodice while raising her skirt and trailing his callused fingertips up her trembling thigh.
“Ye’re a siren, Em. A temptation I canna resist, God help me. Ye’ve completely bewitched me, jo.”
A blend of resignation and self-castigation weighted his tone, making Emeline go perfectly still.
He sounded tortured. As if desiring her was a horrid, unpardonable sin. Something he didn’t want, but his virile, healthy body craved. She could appreciate the truth of that.
A rigid lump pushed insistently into her abdomen. Oh, yes. He wanted her physically. Ached for her every bit as much as she hungered for him, but he loathed himself for the weakness. Loathed the desire he felt for her.
And she would despise herself, as well, if she gave herself to a man who’d end up hating himself for taking her innocence. If it weren’t so heartrendingly pathetic, she’d laugh at the ludicrousness.
Because she deserved better. Because he deserved better. For both of their sakes, she did what must be done.
“Liam. Please stop.” Bracing her hands upon his chest, she turned her face away. “Stop.”
He went utterly still, his mouth pressed to her peaked breast through her gown. “Em…?”
“We canna do this,” she forced out through swollen lips and the throbbing tightness in her throat. “Ye ken I’m right, Liam. Ye’d despise yerself afterward, and I willna let ye do somethin’ ye’d regret. Somethin’ that canna be undone.”
Something she longed for with every pore in her body, though it meant certain ruination.
And even though wisdom decreed she ought to regret offering herself to him, she didn’t. Couldn’t. Not a jot of it. She’d have let him have his way and enjoyed every blissful moment if she wasn’t absolutely positive remorse would consume him later.
“Och, hell.” With a half-groan, half-sigh, he yanked her skirt over her thighs. When he stiffly edged away, she almost cried out at the sense of bereftness. Almost tossed her conscience to the wind, just to have him in her arms once more.
Shoulders hunched, his elbows on his knees, he sat on the edge of the bed and plowed a hand through his hair. “Christ on the cross, forgive me, lass. I dinna ken what came over me. I vowed I wouldna touch ye, and I broke that oath.”
She laid her palm on his back, wincing as he stiffened, and her heart burgeoned with an unbearable ache. “I’m glad my first kiss was with ye, Liam.”
Probably her only kiss. The only time her breasts would be kissed and caressed. Biting tears formed behind her eyelids.
Something that sounded like a hiss exploded past his lips. “Jesus.”
“I’ll always treasure this experience and the time we’ve had together here.” She swallowed against the ridiculous lump forming in her throat and the tears blurring her vision. She would not cry. It was too late for recriminations or regret.
Heaving a great sigh, he angled to his feet.
A wounded man. A decent man. A man who so warranted happiness.
Brows furrowed, one powerful forearm braced against the bunk above hers, he gazed at her with those indecipherable eyes. Eyes darkened to charcoal with passion that yet simmered there, he scrutinized her face, as if memorizing each imperfect feature.
Oh, how she wanted to smooth the creases of recrimination from his forehead. Soothe the ache in his spirit. To help him heal and live again.
“Ye’re a most remarkable woman, Emeline LeClaire. Ye merit much better than a broken man like me.”
Nae, I dinna. I want ye. And only ye.
“This willna happen again.” It was a solemn vow, and her heart fragmented at the finality of his harshly muttered words. He turned and, after seizing the blankets off his bunk, slammed from the cottage.
At last, the tears that had threatened, surged over the rims of her eyes and cascaded down her face. Pulling the pillow to her chest, she buried her face in the lumpy mass.
What have I done?
Foolish, foolish, stupid, gullible girl.
How could I have fallen in love with a man who can never ever love me?
