Highland Brides 04 - Lion Heart (20 page)

Her father had once said that to her mother, as well, but it hadn’t meant it. He’d abandoned them both, returning to his wife and the children she’d borne him—as was his duty.

And yet… despite her resolve not to feel it, a tiny ember of hope flared up within her.

He held her close, looking into her eyes, as he said with feeling, “I never had such purpose to my life until I met you, Elizabet.”

Elizabet’s heart flowered at his words.

She wanted to believe him.

When she wasn’t with him, she only wanted to see him. With every stitch she had sewn this afternoon, she’d yearned for his return.

He brushed her lips with another kiss and her head fell back, wanting more, but he withdrew again. “I know I have no right to ask, but if ye will allow me to… I will care for ye always, Elizabet. No harm will ever come to ye.

“As God is my witness, I will never fail you,” he swore. “And ye will live as best I can provide and die an old woman asleep in your bed.”

A wistful smile crept into his eyes. “Can ye fancy yourself wed to a Scots barbarian?”

Tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head to deny them. “You are not a barbarian, silly man! You are more a gentle man than any I’ve ever known.”

He gave her a playful wink. “Aye, but you said so yourself,” he reminded her, and kissed her high upon the cheek, then unexpectedly lapped the teardrop from her skin.

Elizabet’s breath caught over the intimacy of the gesture.

“I believe every word that comes from that beautiful mouth,” he swore, as he bent to brush his lips over hers once more.

Elizabet could do nothing but cling to him.

She wanted his kisses, needed his embrace more than anything she’d ever needed in her life.

He combed his fingers through her hair, his expression full of ardor. “I wish you would wear it this way always,” he entreated.

Jesu, in that instant, Elizabet would have done anything he asked if only he continued to kiss her.

Dare she hope?

Sometimes the most beautiful things came from the most hideous circumstances, her mother had once said.

Could it be true?

He gazed at her adoringly, brushing her hair with his fingers, and she melted into his arms. “It shimmers by candlelight,” he told her.

“Hush,” she demanded, and like a wanton, reached up on tiptoes, letting her head fall back in supplication. She didn’t care. She wanted his kisses. “Kiss me again,” she beseeched him.

She didn’t have to ask twice.

Broc took her mouth with a helpless groan.

It didn’t escape him that she hadn’t answered his question as yet, but it didn’t matter right now. Like a drunkard drawn to his drink, he bent to taste her once more, reveling in the sweet softness of her lips. If she would refuse his offer of marriage, so be it, but he wasn’t strong enough to walk away from whatever she was willing to give.

Before her, he was like a beggar with his hand outstretched. He wanted her heart but would settle for her body. He wanted her love but would settle for her passion. He wanted her forever but he would cherish the moment.

“Open your mouth,” he whispered.

He wanted inside.

She parted her lips, and his body shuddered in response. She had no notion what it was she was doing to him or how fevered he was becoming. She couldn’t possibly know. Years of abstinence had left him weak for her. Her hands gripped his shoulders in supplication, and he understood better than she what it was she yearned for. He wanted it, too. His body hardened fully.

It had been far too long.

He wanted her far too much.

Thirsting for the taste of her, he thrust his tongue between her lips, savoring the silky depths of her mouth. She moaned softly, and he deepened the kiss, embracing her covetously, lest she end the kiss too soon. The scent of her was driving him mad. The taste of her mouth left him intoxicated.

Without a word, he lifted her into his arms, never breaking the kiss, and carried her to the pallet in the corner of the room. He didn’t want to give her the chance to refuse him, but he didn’t want to ravage her, either. If she would deny him, so be it, but he felt a desperation to join with her unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life.

Tomorrow might be too late.

He didn’t want to think about the consequences right now, nor the threat that hovered over them both. Nor did he want to think about what she would do when she discovered that her brother was dead. It mattered not that his death wasn’t at Broc’s hands. He was afraid she would blame him once she discovered the truth.

But he wasn’t going to think about that right now. He wanted only to feel her from the inside. He wanted to bury himself deep within her, spill his seed into her womb.

He laid her gently down, kissing her still.

Elizabet held on to him, afraid he would leave her. Her hands went about his neck, holding him fast. She was drowning in his ardor but afraid to breathe, lest the moment be lost. Never had she felt so hungry for a man’s embrace. It was as though his kiss had awakened some dormant yearning and if he dared to stop, she would be left unfulfilled.

Only after he pulled himself away from her, peering down into her face, did she become fully aware of where she lay. He hovered over her, watching her intently, his eyes glittering with some unnamed emotion.

Swallowing convulsively, her hand slid from his neck to his bare chest, her heart beating so fiercely that she thought it would burst. Like warm silk, his muscles danced beneath her palm. Reveling in the feel of his skin, her hand slid beneath the sash that fell across his chest only to discover a soft patch of fine hair that made her yearn to tangle her fingers within it.

He was a feast for her eyes… and hands… her senses…

He clasped his hand over hers and moved it to cover the sash. “Finish what you started,” he whispered.

For an instant, she didn’t understand what he meant, but then he squeezed her hand, forcing her to take a firm grasp of his dress.

Elizabet stared into his eyes, her heart hammering insistently now. She understood what he wanted from her, and she wanted to give it to him—she truly did. But she was afraid. And she hadn’t the first notion of how to remove the garment he was wrapped in. She tugged on it, then hesitated, and he smiled at her in approval.

“That’s it,” he said, as his hand moved down to his belt, and he began to unfasten it, watching her, the look in his eyes intense.

His gaze alone left her quivering.

He unfastened the belt and tossed it aside.

As she lay there, anticipating him, her breasts began to ache, and her body warmed.

“Do you know what I want, lass?”

Elizabet nodded jerkily, her body trembling slightly.

He hesitated and then asked, “Do ye wish me to stop?”

She shook her head, absolutely certain that was not what she wanted. Jesu, but if he left her now, she thought she would die.

She wanted him to mean everything he said to her, wanted him to want her, wanted him to love her. No man had ever reached past her defenses and made her feel the things he made her feel.

Her fingers trembled as she gripped his sash, but her heart pounded like a drumbeat in her ears.

Elizabet tugged at his garment, but she couldn’t do it, didn’t know how to undress him.

But she knew how to undress herself.

Taking a deep breath for courage, she let her hand fall from the sash to her bosom. Without the undertunic beneath, all she needed to do was pull the surcoat aside and reveal herself to him.

That brazen gesture was sure to tell him all he needed to know. His gaze followed her hand down, and his expression fell with disappointment for the briefest instant until she caught hold of her dress. She clasped it firmly, her fingernails digging into the velvety garment until she could feel them like claws against her palm. He swallowed. She could see the knob in his throat rise, then fall, and she reveled in the power she seemed suddenly to have over him.

Her breasts arched toward him of their own accord, her body responding in some instinctive way. He never even blinked but seemed to be waiting eagerly to see what she would do. With a soft gasp, she drew the gown aside, watching his expression closely.

He sucked in a breath at what she revealed to him, and she smiled timidly.

As though to compose himself, he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. When he opened them again, his face was flushed and his desire was writ plainly in his features. But he didn’t move to touch her.

Emboldened by the look on his face, she dared to take her breast fully into her hand, and she began to caress it slowly while he watched, tempting him to touch her, pleading without words.

“Och, lass,” he said, and growled softly then, reaching out to cover her hand with his own, joining the erotic caress of her flesh. His touch further emboldened her, and she smiled up at him, moaning softly as their hands jointly stroked her body. He pushed her hand away suddenly, exposing her to his eyes once more.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and bent to touch his tongue to her nipple, tugging it gently into his mouth.

Elizabet gasped in pleasure, her hand falling helplessly at her side while he suckled at her bosom. His expression alone sent her senses reeling. His face, shadowed on one side and lit on the other by golden light, was more beautiful in that moment than she could have ever imagined. No artist could have painted the intensity of that expression. No brush could have revealed the glimmer in his hair. No words could have expressed the passion depicted upon his face. One hand cupped the side of her breast, scarce touching it, while he suckled with eyes closed, seeming to draw from her body his manna.

She could do nothing but watch… and cry out in pleasure.

B
roc had never wanted to please a woman more than he yearned to please her. He wanted to possess her body and soul. She was the most beautiful thing ever to come into his life, and he didn’t want to think of what it would be like returning to a life without her.

If only for tonight, he wanted to imagine she was his… would be his until he took his dying breath.

He suckled her beautiful breasts, imagining his future bairns nourished there. He would die a happy man if he could hold her this close every night for the rest of his given days. He would do anything to please her, never let harm come to her, cherish her always.

His heart had nearly burst through his ribs when she bared herself to him so artlessly and then arched her breasts seductively toward his hungering lips.

He divested himself of his dress while he suckled her, wanting to give her time to object. If she would deny him; he wanted to hear it now, before it was too late. He wanted her to know his desires, wanted her to see what she’d done to him—what she continued to do to him with the simple sound of her voice… a mere glance…

The scent of her skin was driving him mad. His body was hard, hungry.

He tore himself away from the feast she had offered, still ravenous with desire, and looked down at her flushed face. Her eyes were closed, her breasts arched upward, silently begging for more. Her nipple was dark and wet and shiny from his kisses, and his mouth was left wanting, with the taste of her sweet flesh lingering like ambrosia on his lips.

Christ, she was lovely.

When he was wholly divested, she opened her eyes and gasped audibly as her eyes fastened upon his very erect shaft. For an instant, he thought she would cry out in fear. Her lips parted, but no sound came from them.

He arched a brow at her. “The wee lad would like some attention,” he told her.

Wee lad
was hardly the correct description.

It was Elizabet’s turn to lift her brows.

Smiling shyly up at him, she reached down to grasp the hem of her gown. And taking a deep breath, she lifted it up over her head. She didn’t have to ask for his help. The gown was whisked away and tossed aside faster than she had time to part her lips.

“Christ you are lovely, woman!”

So was he, but she couldn’t speak to say so. The heat of his gaze left her disarmed. His blue eyes smoldered with desire, sweeping the length of her body from her eyes to her limbs, lingering lustfully upon her breast and lower…

Her breath caught, and her throat felt suddenly too thick to speak. Her nipples hardened, and her body trembled. Without another word, he reached out to touch a finger to that intimate place between her thighs.

She nearly cried out with the shocking heat of his fingertip. He bent to take her mouth, then, and slid his tongue between her lips. At the same time, he slipped a scalding finger between those lips down below. The sensation of it left her dizzy, and her knees might have given way beneath her, save that he caught her in his arms, kissing her passionately… touching her gently… pressing deeper with each stroke.

“My God!” she cried breathlessly.

Her heart leapt higher with every caress.

He pulled her closer then and deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue within and ravaging her mouth with an intensity that left her weak.