Claire Delacroix (118 page)

Rowan watched her all the while, his gaze searching. There was concern in his eyes, Ibernia was certain of it, and
she had a sudden conviction that a single protest from her lips would halt his progress.

’Twas a heady thing, to feel that she had a say in this. Even more remarkably, she did not want him to stop.

Ibernia felt that foot tingle. She lay back with a thump and stared at the goods knotted over the bed, unwilling to let Rowan see her response.

She felt as she did when he kissed her. Her flesh tingled, she wanted to shiver, she was achingly aware of his breath, his kiss, his touch, his heat.

And his heat awakened an answering passion within her. Ibernia swallowed, locked her hands around the edge of the pallet, and reminded herself of her talent for endurance.

Rowan, though, was disinclined to rush. As she might have guessed if she had been able to hook two thoughts together, he proceeded to wash her legs. He was as slow and thorough as before, each stroke of the cloth languid.

He followed the progress of the cloth with his hot kisses, the weight of his body easing up the pallet alongside her. His touch and his kisses stoked that burgeoning heat within her belly to a flame, pushing her fear further away with each slow stroke.

Ibernia learned things about her body that she had never guessed before. Who would have imagined that a man’s hand, locked around her ankle, would be so pleasant? Who would have guessed that a slow kiss on the inside of her thigh, just above the knee, would make her yearn for more of his touch?

Rowan knew. Rowan understood her own body better than she. ’Twas only because he was a practiced seducer of women, Ibernia knew this well. All the same, she was disinclined to stop him. Indeed, when he halted at the crest of her thighs, she was almost disappointed.

But not quite. Her fear still flickered in the back of her
thoughts, her certainty that all could not proceed without pain was unshaken.

Rowan’s lips quirked, as if he guessed as much, then he got smoothly to his feet and crouched to rinse out the cloth again. His back was to her and Ibernia found herself studying him through her lashes, lest he turn quickly.

“You shall have to remove your chemise,” he said, his calm tone in marked contrast to Ibernia’s racing heart. “Then roll to your belly so I can wash your back.”

Ibernia did not wait for him to reconsider his offer. She was not so brazen that she could bare herself before a man and look him in the eye, yet truly she longed to be clean from head to toe. Ibernia shed her chemise and cast it on the floor, quickly rolling over in case Rowan tried to catch her unawares.

But he did no such thing. The cloth was dunked and wrung out one more time before he came to her side. Ibernia closed her eyes and bit her lip when he sat on the pallet beside her. Her heart began to pound. She knew fall well what part of him was so close, knew that they both were nude and there was naught to stop him from taking what he would have of her.

The pain would surely come in a moment, and her determination to prove her usefulness to him nearly deserted her.

But Rowan cradled her buttock in his hand and squeezed, the slow slide of his thumb across her flesh making Ibernia’s eyes fly open. He used both hands to wash the small of her back, his fingers nearly closing around her waist. Ibernia felt her lips part and acknowledged that this attention was not so difficult to endure.

Indeed, that heat in her belly had been joined by a shiver, and the combination was not all bad.

Rowan washed her back, the heat of his skin dangerously close as his lips trailed the cloth. Ibernia’s flesh sang beneath
his caress, then his strong hand slid up the back of her neck. Water trickled around her, escaping down between her breasts. Ibernia shivered, though she was uncertain whether that was due to the water or the possessive way Rowan slid the weight of his fingers into her hair.

He caught her shoulders in his hands, bracing his weight on his elbows as he leaned over her. Ibernia exhaled shakily when Rowan pressed a hot kiss into the curve between neck and shoulder.

His tongue traced a path up her neck and he kissed her earlobe again, making her shiver as he had before. He lingered there, teasing her with his tongue and awakening the same yearning she had felt when he kissed her before. The strength of him was almost against her back, the hair on his chest tickling her shoulder blades.

Ibernia was shocked to realize that she wanted to press back against him, even knowing all she did.

But Rowan eased away, rolling her to her back with an easy gesture. Ibernia let him do it, telling herself this was the moment of reckoning. She could not bear to look at him, to see the twinkle purged from his gaze when lust claimed him. Or even worse, she would not see his expression at the truth that she was far from lean and lithe.

Aye, Ibernia was tall; she was not fat, but she was buxom. Her mother always said her figure was all womanly curves, and even these months of scant provisions had not changed that.

No doubt Rowan would be appalled. He said naught, but she felt his gaze linger upon her and her face burned. Then he rose to rinse out the cloth once more. When he returned and she met his gaze, he smiled and Ibernia’s heart thumped in a most awkward manner.

He captured her hand with the warmth of his, his gaze unswerving, as if they stood at court in all their finery. His
smile broadened as he eased the dirt from her hand. And when he was done and Ibernia was more flustered by his attention than she knew she should be, Rowan inclined his head and kissed her palm. He closed her fingers over the burning imprint of his kiss, nibbled his way up the tender flesh of her arm, and kissed the inside of her elbow.

Ibernia could not breathe. Rowan, his eyes closed in an expression of perfect bliss, pushed his cloth higher. His kisses followed suit until he grazed his teeth across her shoulder.

His eyes flew open as Ibernia stared at him. He grinned wickedly and winked so quickly that her heart leapt. He pressed a kiss in the hollow of her collar bone, then turned his attention to her other hand.

Ibernia stared at her own curled fingers, still holding that kiss safe while he washed the other hand. She felt oddly cherished by this man, pampered and spoiled by his touch, savored and appreciated in a way she had not been before.

Ibernia closed her eyes and leaned back against the pallet, certain her bones were melting beneath his persuasive touch. Rowan washed her wrists, her arms, her elbows, her shoulders, and her throat. His lips grazed a trail right behind while Ibernia held fast to the kiss that still heated her palm. He washed her neck, then rinsed the cloth and washed her face. He kissed her brow, her temple, her closed eyes, the tip of her nose.

To her astonishment, Rowan did not kiss her lips.

To her greater astonishment, she felt cheated.

His kisses moved down her throat, even as the cloth moved lower. Her breasts, she was certain, had never been so clean as when Rowan finished with them. Indeed, he seemed fascinated by them, so intrigued that he abandoned the cloth on her belly, cupped one breast in his hand, and bent his head.

Ibernia cried out when his mouth closed over her nipple. She gasped and twisted beneath him, wanting escape and, in the same breath, wanting only more. Rowan suckled and teased; he flicked his tongue across the turgid peak, he stroked her curves with those strong fingers.

When Ibernia thought she could bear no more, he turned his attention to the other breast. She felt the heat of his erection pressed against her thigh and was startled to find that it did not frighten her as it had before.

Nay, she was anticipating the heat of him filling her.

Before Ibernia could puzzle over that, Rowan’s questing lips moved lower. He rolled his tongue in her navel, then he kissed her hips. He cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs sliding across the tight nipples over and over again, driving Ibernia to distraction.

Slowly his fingers and the cloth moved lower and slid between her thighs, his touch sure and gentle. Ibernia found herself rising to meet his touch with a brazenness unexpected. She saw only the knight’s fleeting smile before he cast away the cloth with a flourish.

Then his kiss followed his fingers where none had ever kissed Ibernia before. She might have protested if she had not been so quickly captivated. His tongue flicked against her, and Ibernia realized how much she wanted his touch there. She parted her thighs, that hint the only encouragement Rowan needed to cup her buttocks in his hands and feast upon her.

Rowan knew Ibernia was his the moment she let her thighs fall apart for him. He might have felt triumphant but there was yet too much to do. He tasted and teased, ensuring that this time, Ibernia felt the pleasure lovemaking could bring.
She fought a battle and Rowan knew it well, for experience could be a hard master.

Fortunately, he had three days to undo whatever lessons she had learned. Rowan settled in, savoring the taste of her, the little gasps she made when he surprised her. He coaxed her further and further, one step at a time, smiling to himself when her fingers dug into his shoulders in silent demand.

He had been a fool to ever prefer lean and lithe woman and could not imagine now what he had ever seen in their boyish figures. Ibernia was all ripe curves and sun-kissed skin, she was womanly in every sense of the word. She was soft and strong, she was feminine yet resilient.

Rowan desired her as he had never desired another, and it was not only the lady’s ripe curves that enchanted him. He was intrigued by the fiery flash of her blue eyes, by her determination to conquer the odds, to see matters resolved as she would choose.

He delighted in the knowledge that he was surprising her now. She moaned, the helpless sound feeding his own passion. She writhed but did not try to escape his touch. Rowan could fairly feel the heat rising beneath her flesh. She was wet and hot and achingly sweet. ’Twould take more than one sampling of Ibernia’s charms to sate him, he knew.

And he did not care.

Rowan felt her quickening, he urged her on. He kissed and tempted her anew. He seized her foot in one hand and ran his thumb across her instep, having already seen how it made her shiver. Ibernia shivered this time with gusto, she cried out and arched off the pallet. Her nipples tightened, her hips bucked, she cried out as she peaked, then she collapsed, trembling.

Rowan stretched out beside her, holding her in his arms as the last of the quakes slipped through her lush body. She
was flushed and so astonished that she twined her arms around his neck before she realized what she did.

She opened her eyes and looked at him in wonder. Rowan granted her his most charming grin, and she almost smiled as she rolled her eyes in disgust.

“Cocky rogue,” she muttered.

“Surely I have earned a smile for that,” he teased.

Ibernia pinkened, but she did smile for him, looking so delightfully tousled that Rowan could not resist her. He kissed her impulsively and deeply, and liked that she hesitated only a moment before she returned his kiss in kind. His hand slid down the smooth length of her, his fingers easing between her thighs. She gasped when he touched her again and Rowan swallowed the sound, caressing her undeterred.

And she rose to his touch once again. Instinctively Rowan knew how she had been compelled to service men who did not see to her own pleasure, and he resolved to make this experience as different as possible.

Nay, he would not feed her fear. He would not pin her down. He would not make her feel trapped and cornered.

There were far more interesting ways to make love.

He forgot his clear thinking when Ibernia shyly eased her tongue between his teeth. Rowan caressed her and swallowed her moans, he coaxed the flame anew, every hint of her arousal feeding his own. When Ibernia could not keep her hips still, when her kisses became so fervid that Rowan did not believe he could last much longer, he caught her in his arms and quickly rolled to his back.

The lady sprawled atop him, her eyes wide with surprise, her magnificent breasts inviting his kisses.

“You are mad,” she protested. “What is it you would do now?”

Rowan grinned up at her. “What else?” He caught her hips in his hands and urged her to straddle him.

She took one downward glance and paled. “I cannot do this.”

“Of course you can.” Rowan held her gaze. “And this way, ’tis your choice when to start and when to stop.”

Her lips parted as she stared at him and Rowan thought she might have blinked away a tear. He reached for the bounty offered by her breasts but did not manage to kiss her anew.

For Ibernia’s hand closed around his erection with a surety that made Rowan jump. He had only a glimpse of the determination in her face before she pushed him into her.

He fell back against the pallet, fighting for a measure of control, reminding himself to be slow. But Ibernia was hot, wet and tight, the grip of her upon him nigh enough to make him swoon. And heavens knew that he desired this woman beyond all else.

But matters were not aright. Rowan gritted his teeth and opened his eyes. Ibernia might have moved to please him, but her expression was strained and Rowan was not fooled.