Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 (32 page)

“Don’t you dare.” Jada reached over and grabbed Kate’s hand before she could cover herself and scamper away into the wooded copse a few enticing feet away.
So close. And yet so very, very far.

“You can’t make a big deal over it now. Everyone is looking. Just stick those babies out and see how fast you can win this game.”

Kate groaned, knowing Jada was right. Not about the winning-the-game-through-nudity bit, but the part about not drawing any more attention to herself than she had to. Anne, standing to her other side in a decorously dark green dress, offered a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure they can’t see anything from the stands,” she promised.

Kate closed her eyes. God, she hoped not.

“King’s bishop to engage the pawn. Attack.”

It wasn’t a very smart move, sacrificing her bishop and opening her queen to a side attack. But she needed a temporary distraction. The crack of a whip and the oddly sonorous sounds of screaming and overacting kept the attention of the players and spectators long enough for Kate to take a better survey of her escape routes. The rain was letting up, unfortunately, a slight mist now instead of a downpour. Enough moisture to keep her saturated but not enough to call the game.

Julian’s move was next. He looked at her as though she’d planned the weather solely to cause him physical pain, as if he was the one on full display. His eyes bored into hers, leaving a smoldering path she could almost see in the air. She felt it too, the burning sensation not so much painful as uncomfortably hot, even under the layers of wet, clammy clothes.

He wasn’t the only one suffering out here. Even though Kate wished every last person on this chessboard far away, she drank in the desire she saw in his eyes. She
tasted
it. It swirled within her gut and forged a path through every nerve ending, taking hold more effectively than the worst kind of poison. Because instead of nearing death, her body was soaring higher and higher, triggering a chain of reactions she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to come down from.

“King forward one,” Julian announced, taking a purposeful step in Kate’s direction.

“King forward one,” she echoed. She took a step in his direction too, not even bothering to look at the board. Only a few squares separated them, but neither one thought of attack.

“What are you doing?” Julian asked. His tone was harsh, but not once did his gaze stray anywhere below the neckline. An odd time to play the gentleman.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was going to rain.”

“So grab one of those flimsy little wispy things all the other ladies wear.”

“A shawl, Julian. It’s called a shawl.”

“I don’t care what you call it. Put one on.” His voice grew tight, and the volume lowered to ominously dangerous tones that sent a spark of sensation up Kate’s spine. It was the sound of raw need.

“And walk off the board? Does that constitute a forfeit—is that what you want?” She fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. It would have been the more appropriate thing to do, but Jada’s advice rang in her head. She
was
gaining ground here—maybe not on the battle-chess field but definitely somewhere.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Kate tilted her head to the side, confidence gaining with each additional drop of rain on her chest.
This was it.
“What did you mean, then?”

When he didn’t answer, she added softly, “If you don’t want me exposed and dripping wet, what are you prepared to do about it?”

Julian’s hand—the one without the hammer, a normal human appendage save for the calloused fingers that made Kate’s heart pound—rose and fell again limply to his side. He looked like he had something more to say. But he didn’t say it to her. Instead, he turned to his men with an almost lion-like growl.

“That’s it. We’re done here!” he roared. “Mark the places. We’ll finish tomorrow. Michael, you’re in charge of making the arrangements.”

Without another word, he grabbed Kate by the arm and dragged her from the board. And though it might have just as easily been the weather, a thunderous sound not unlike that of a crowd breaking out into applause followed behind them.
 

Chapter Eighteen

Among the Rushes

Thank God for the Knights of Mayhem’s commitment to authenticity.

The small lean-to Julian pulled Kate into had no modern amenities like electricity or light. It was the lack of light that saved him right then—an age-old riddle. If you couldn’t see a pair of perfect breasts straining against an invisible sheer of white cloth, did they really exist?

Kate stepped out from the back shadows of the small building, close enough that she was a shimmering vision of white before him. The details of her anatomy might not have been all there, but the outline—curves and long, soft limbs—was more than visible.

“So,” she said, her voice heavy with meaning.

“So,” he echoed. She drew closer, her dress rustling the hay-covered floor. Julian couldn’t do much more than let her. He hadn’t planned beyond this moment. Out there on the chessboard, his brain had frozen, all thoughts except those related to her increasingly exposed form getting shoved down. Deep down, filling his balls and his cock until they practically took over. The lean-to had been his body’s idea, and he knew exactly what it was saying now.

Get woman safe. Make woman mine.
His body wasn’t exactly the most articulate of creatures.

She laughed, so softly that at first he thought it was his imagination. But then her voice, light and teasing, swept over him. “You seemed pretty angry out there. Is it because you were losing?”

“I wasn’t losing,” he growled. But it was true. Maybe he hadn’t been losing the match, but he was definitely losing something.

His control.

“So you weren’t mad and you weren’t losing. Care to explain why you forcibly removed me from the board?” She stepped closer, her hand outstretched.

“I think you know why.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Julian had always prided himself on being a man of action rather than a man of words. Anyone could say the right thing. Anyone could form his lips around the right syllables. Few ever got the chance to show exactly what those lips could do, especially to a woman like Kate. Even plastered with rain, she was stunning, her natural beauty so much a part of her he doubted anything—even the passing of time—would ever touch her.

He reached out to grip her wrist and felt her heartbeat right on the surface, her pulse fast. Her breath came in short bursts that made it difficult to think of anything but heavy panting and low moans.

“I want to hear you say it, Julian,” Kate repeated, but she didn’t pull away.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “No one can have you but me.”

With that, he laid a gentle kiss right on the delicate pulse in her wrist, savoring the way she reacted, going limp seconds before she caught herself and pulled away.

“That’s a rather uncivilized way to put it.”

He dropped her hand and stepped back, even though all of him screamed to do the opposite. A large part of him—the uncivilized part—wanted to yell. Yell and further mark the territory he wanted so much to claim as his own. Those breasts, that woman. He didn’t care if a thousand rains fell on them a thousand times, soaking her skin in beaded drops of moisture he could lick off, one by one. He just wanted her.

“Kate, I—”

He heard her kiss before he felt it. It came as a soft whisper of promise, a whoosh of breath before her lips met his. They were both damp from the rain, but neither one of them was cold. Body heat and the heat of passion joined as one, and any shivering that came from their sudden nearness had nothing at all to do with the temperature.

Her mouth was as silken as he remembered, her lips parted and open to him, making it easy to take her as softly or as roughly as the mood dictated. His mood dictated both, and she met him each time, allowing him to call the shots but giving back as much as he gave. She was the first to start exploring beyond the kiss, her hands tracing a bold pattern up his arms and down his sides to tug at the buttons of his shirt.

Cradling her in his arms, he laid her down in the bed of straw, avoiding the rakes and other tools propped up against the side wall. There was enough space in there for one person to lay spread out among the rushes. Both of them together required him to brace himself above her, the entire length of his body against hers.

His cock, throbbing with an urgency that threatened to rob him of all rational thought, pressed up against the warm vee at the juncture of her thighs. Her dress had wound up around the tops of her legs, her skin an odd combination of clamminess and heat against his own, which burned feverishly.

She’d strapped a leather band to one of her legs, and he ran his finger just under the edge of it, enjoying the way she shivered under his touch. But then he hit warm metal and pulled away, leaning down for a closer look.

“It’s my secret weapon,” Kate said with a throaty laugh. She ran her hand along his and reached under the band to pull out a tiny pistol exactly the size of her palm. She held it playfully out of his reach and brought the end of the barrel to her pursed lips, a light breath of air echoing over the top as though she’d just fired. “You can’t have it.”

Julian grabbed it from her and chucked it unceremoniously at the wall. “Good thing it’s not what I want.”

Their eyes met. “What
do
you want, Julian?”

“I want you. You did it on purpose, didn’t you? Called the rain?” Conjured the weather. Bewitched the land and the spirits. Wound her way into his soul.

“No. But I was definitely winning before it got here.”

Julian laughed, a deep rumble that started in his stomach and spread through his chest and limbs. He allowed himself to savor it before dipping his head down to explore her mouth, which curved in an inviting grin. Laughter wasn’t something he was used to when seducing a woman. They moaned, yes. They writhed, sure. But Kate—she laughed.

Her legs opened to allow him to settle more comfortably against her. He nibbled gently along the edge of her lower lip, his tongue making tentative explorations of her mouth. She kissed him back hungrily, her arms winding up and around his neck, pulling him down until there was almost no part of them that didn’t touch.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured against her mouth.

“You are too.”

She pushed him back and expertly popped each button from his shirt, not ripping, exactly, but working with speed and force. Her hands, cold but sure, ran along his stomach as she untucked his shirt. Her thumb followed the same path, running along the upper band of his kilt. Julian groaned.

With one deft movement, he shed his shirt and tossed it to the side. Kate’s gaze roamed over his bared chest, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride in his body. It was function that built him the way he was, hard work as both an athlete and on the job, but he felt more vain at that moment than if he’d spent months sculpting himself in the gym. For you, he wanted to whisper. All for you.

But her hands moved down to embrace the backs of his thighs, those cool palms running up under his kilt. Forget pride. He just wanted more.

He flipped her before she got too far. She squealed as he adjusted their bodies so he lay supine on the rushes, scratchy against his back but adding a sweet, grassy scent that only heightened the rest of his senses. She straddled him, her legs wrapped around his midsection, and his eyes had adjusted enough to the light that he could very clearly see the transparent material of her dress, still damp, still clinging.

Her hands explored his chest and abdomen, her fingers tracing the lines of his stomach, half teasing, half torture.

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” she asked, her words tumbling out alongside her heavy breath.

Julian didn’t answer. He just lifted his arms so his head was resting in his hands, letting her look and touch and lean forward to kiss any part of his body she wanted. And she did, her tongue tracing a pattern along his neck and shoulders that almost mimicked his tattoo. When she lifted herself up to gaze at him again, he almost lost control.

She was a vision on top of him, the sleeves of her dress slipping over her shoulders, a long curl of hair dipping down her shoulder and over one of her breasts.

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous
you
are?” he echoed. He lifted his arms to run them up her legs, which still straddled either side of his body. Everything about this woman was so soft and curved, a perfect contrast to the way his cock felt right now—hard and rigid and straining for control. His hands suddenly felt the need to be everywhere, and he traced the line of her legs up to her ass, moving quickly up her waist and to her breasts.

A slight tug was all it took to get her dress to fall the rest of the way down her shoulders, her breasts, as perfectly rounded and pink as the rain had promised, right there for him to capture as his own. And capture them he did, with his hands, running his thumbs along her nipples until she moaned, the heavy flesh resting perfectly in his cupped palms.

Drawing her closer to him, he took one tip in his mouth, almost losing himself on the spot. She was like pure liquid silk, and he flicked and nipped at the rigid nub until she writhed against him, her body moving against his erection in an exact imitation of the more intimate dance his whole body strained for.