The Ranger (27 page)

She felt so hot. So weak. Languid and heavy. Her legs seemed to have lost the strength to hold her up. She collapsed against him, and he pushed her back on the table to steady her—and maybe himself as well. The fiercely controlled knight seemed just as wild and frantic in his need as she.

His dark, silky hair spilled against her chest. Unable to resist, she threaded her fingers through the soft waves, gently pressing him harder against her. She could feel his mouth on her nipple through the fabric of her gown as his hands cupped and squeezed.

Not enough ...

Seeming to sense her frustration, his tongue darted below her bodice.

She cried out at the wickedness, at the exquisite pleasure that rocked her. His mouth was so warm. His tongue circled and circled until she didn’t think she could stand any more. She was writhing against him, begging him to unleash the strange maelstrom building inside.

Finally, he pushed aside her gown—stretching the fabric to the ripping point—to release her breast. The cool air blew over her skin, prickling where he’d kissed her.

“Christ,” he groaned, sounding as if he were in pain. “You’re so damned beautiful.”

The sound of his voice might have broken through her trance, but before she could hold on to the moment of clarity, he covered her aching nipple with his mouth and sucked.

The sweet needle of sensation made her cry out.

Pleasure so acute it was nearly pain. He plied her with his teeth, flicked her with his tongue, and sucked her deeper and deeper into the warm suction of his mouth.

Heat spread between her legs in a rush of dampness. The tender flesh felt swollen and tingly.

The table was hard against her back. He’d wrapped her leg around his hip as he’d bent over her breast.

She could feel the pounding of his heart against hers. Feel his muscles straining with his desire for her. His weight covering her. She was hot. So incredibly hot. Aroused to the point of no return.

His hand slid under the edge of her gown, connecting with skin. He smothered her shock with a long drag of her nipple between his teeth.

Then his mouth was on hers again and his hands—dear Lord!—his hands were sliding between her thighs.

Embarrassed, she tried to close her legs. But he wouldn’t let her. His mouth distracted with long, languid strokes of his tongue, as his finger swept over her dampness.

Her body trembled at his touch. Her protests dissolved in a wave of shuddering relief. It felt so good. So amazingly good.

“Jesus, you’re so wet.”

He stopped kissing her and she wondered if she’d done something wrong, until she realized he was struggling, holding himself still as if fighting for control. As if touching her had taken his last bit of reserve. As if he was close to the breaking point.

His eyes met hers, holding her gaze as his finger slid inside her with a firm little push. It was the most wickedly erotic moment of her life.

She sucked in her breath, trying to still the sensations, but they were rushing by her so quickly in wave after quickening wave. He stroked her. First in soft little circles and then harder and faster in deep, frantic thrusts that mimicked the way he’d kissed her.

The sensations building inside her were too intense. Too powerful to contain. Tightening and coiling in a wicked whirlpool of need.

His face was a mask of pain. Sweat had gathered on his brow. His gaze held hers, dark and penetrating, holding her to him in a way that made her heart clench with happiness. In his eyes she read the truth—what she’d known all along. This connection between them was special. And he felt it, too.

She didn’t know what was happening to her, but it was perfect. Each stroke of his hand brought her closer to a peak she didn’t understand. She writhed in frustration, her body aching for ...

“Let go, love,” he whispered. “I want to see you shatter.”

The husky sound of his voice broke through the last vestiges of maidenly repression. Her breath caught, and then released in a shuddering cry as her body seemed to come apart in sharp spasms of intense pleasure.

It was the most wondrous moment of her life, but as she stared into the dark depth of his gold-flecked eyes, Anna knew it wasn’t enough. Her passion had been satisfied, but her heart still throbbed with the need for fulfillment. She wanted a deeper connection. She wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted all of him. Forever.

I love him
. Of course. It was so clear—so certain—she wondered how it could ever have been otherwise.

Warrior. Knight. It didn’t matter. For in her heart, Anna knew she’d found the man she was meant to share her life with.

Arthur couldn’t wait any longer. The pressure had gathered like a hot fist at the base of his spine, building toward the throbbing tip of his cock, demanding release.

Touching her.

Hearing her cry out in sharp gasps of pleasure.

Feeling her body weep and shudder around his hand.

He clenched his teeth, holding it back, knowing he was about to come like he’d never come before.

Jesus, she was so damned beautiful. Honey-gold hair spread out behind her head, shimmering in the candlelight. Cheeks flushed. Lips parted. Eyes dazed and heavy with passion. One perfectly formed breast heaving out of her bodice, big and soft, the tight little nipple red from his mouth.

She looked like a wanton who couldn’t wait to get tupped.
My wanton. All mine
.

Jesus
, he repeated, half prayer, half oath. He’d never felt like this before. Desire had consumed him.

“Arthur,” she whimpered. “Please ...”

The raw desperation in her voice was the last thread. He couldn’t wait another moment to be inside her.

He practically ripped open the buckles and ties of his chausses and braies to release his engorged cock. But the freedom from confinement and breath of fresh air provided little relief. The only thing that was going to ease his pain right now was being inside her.

He lifted one lithe, long, and flawlessly creamy leg around his hip and positioned himself at her warm and deliciously wet entry. Next time he’d take the time to taste her. To slide his tongue inside and make her come against his mouth.

He held her gaze the entire time, not daring to look away for fear of breaking the powerful connection that had risen between them.

He should have felt a flicker of hesitation. A feeling that what he was about to do was wrong. Honor was important to him, even if the knightly code was not.

But he didn’t.

All he could think about was that he couldn’t lose her. That he had to make her his. That if he could only do so, everything would be all right.

When the sensitive head of his cock met the damp heat of her entry, a deep, guttural groan of pure pleasure tore from him.

He rubbed himself in her creamy dampness, lingering, wanting to prolong the pleasure. He knew that when he was inside her, it would be too late.

His body was on fire. Every muscle tense, poised for entry. Blood pounded in his veins. In his ears. In his bones. His skin felt tight and hot.

Thrust
. God, he wanted to thrust. He’d never wanted to thrust into someone so badly.

He knew it would be incredible. Her body would grip him like a hot glove. Milking him in long, hard pulls. Sending him deeper and deeper into mindless oblivion. He wanted to see her moving under him with the power of his thrusts. Lifting her hips to meet each deep stroke. He wanted to watch his cock sliding in and out of her.

He clenched, the urge to plunge inside almost overpowering.

But he couldn’t hurt her.

So, he forced himself to go slow, teasing her with his thickness, getting her used to the size and strength of him, slicking the head of his cock with her dampness to ease his entry.

It felt too good. The pressure was coiling at the base of his spine, cinching tighter and tighter.

She was moaning again, her breath coming hard and heavy. Desire flushed her beautiful face. Her leg tightened around his hip, trying to draw him inside her.

It was all he could take. He started to push.

She cried out in surprise.

Jesus
. He gritted his teeth. Sweat gathered on his brow. Blood drummed through his veins. Tight. So incredibly tight. He had to go slow and easy. God, he wanted to come.

Almost there ...

A faint sound penetrated the haze.

He froze, a flicker of premonition brushing the back of his neck. The air shifted.

He swore and pulled away, his body throbbing in protest. “Cover yourself,” he said, yanking up her gown while simultaneously fumbling with the ties of his braies.

But it was too late—or too soon, if the frustration burning in his bollocks right now meant anything.

The door opened with a crash.

Sir Hugh Ross stood in the doorway, his steely gaze taking in every detail.

Though they’d managed to cover themselves, nothing could hide what they’d just been doing. Anna was still leaned back on the table—cheeks flushed and eyes hazy—Arthur was still positioned between her legs, and the small room was hot and heavy with the musky scent of mating—or near mating.

She gasped. Horror draining the blush of pleasure from her face.

Instinctively, Arthur moved in front of her, trying to block her from view, as if he could protect her from the venom shooting from the other man with the shield of his body.

The dead silence—punctuated only by the flicker of flames—extended to well past uncomfortable.

Sir Hugh stood stone still. Too still. As if he were waiting to pounce. Arthur watched him like a hawk, waiting for the first sign of movement. Hell, he hoped for it, wanting the excuse.

“I heard a cry,” Sir Hugh finally said. “I thought you might be hurt.” The proud knight’s face twisted with disgust, contempt dripping from his voice. “But I guess you didn’t need rescue.”

Anna made a sound of pain that tore at Arthur’s heart. Knowing he had to protect her from Sir Hugh’s anger, he turned and took her by the shoulders. “Go to your chamber,” he said roughly. She tried to protest, but he stopped her. “We will talk about this later. Right now I need to speak with Sir Hugh. Let me handle this.”

He looked into her eyes. She looked confused, horrified, and frightened at the same time, ready to burst into tears at any moment. It was hard for him to breathe. A knife of pain twisted in his heart. He’d done this to her. This was his fault.

He shook her gently, trying to get her to focus. “Anna, do you understand?”

She looked at him then, seeming so lost he almost dragged her into his arms again.

“It will be all right,” he promised, knowing that it wasn’t true. How could it ever be all right? Not only was he lying to her, but he’d just destroyed her chances of an alliance with Ross, and he knew how much that meant to her. She loved her family. Failing them ... it would shatter her.

She nodded, and the look of utter trust she gave him lodged like a giant albatross in his chest. He was a bastard. A cold-hearted bastard. He’d never forgive himself for what he was doing to her. Anna didn’t deserve this. She deserved to be safe and protected, to have a happy home, a husband who loved her, and a half-dozen children clinging to her skirts.

He could never give that to her. All he would leave her with was a broken heart. He might not have taken her maidenhood, but when she learned the truth about him, he would have taken her innocence all the same.

Where desire had burned a moment ago, now there was only sorrow and pain.

Sir Hugh had not moved from his position in the doorway, but as Arthur ushered her out, he stepped to the side to let her pass. Feeling cornered in the small room himself, Arthur followed her out and into the solar. It wasn’t much larger, but at least he would have room to maneuver if necessary. Sir Hugh seemed eager for a fight, and Arthur was just as eager to give him one.

She glanced at him uncertainly once more before she left.

“Go,” he said gently, trying to reassure her. Her gaze flickered to Sir Hugh, and her face crumpled. The knight wouldn’t meet her eye, but animosity radiated from every proud, noble inch of him.

Arthur’s mouth thinned, wanting to kill the man for hurting her. Anna wasn’t to blame. This was his doing.

Jesus
. The realization struck him. Had he wanted this? Had this been his intention all along?

He’d wanted to ruin her chance for an alliance.

Nay. Not this way. He hadn’t meant to push it so far.

But he’d overestimated his control and underestimated the intensity of his desire for her. Arthur was in too deep. He’d gotten too close, and it was only going to hurt them both.

“I should kill you,” Ross said when the door had closed behind her.

The knight was trying to stare him down, but Arthur met the challenge with his own. “Why don’t you?”

Ross’s gaze hardened. “Because then I would have to explain why.”

The certainty in his voice made Arthur smile. They were near the same age and evenly matched in height and muscle. But not in skill. Arthur would not be the one to die. Sir Hugh, however, didn’t know that. Then why ...

Suddenly the reason came to him. “And you don’t want anyone to know that the lass humiliated you—twice. First in refusing your offer and then in being caught with another man right under your nose.”

The truth of his accusation was revealed on Ross’s face. It turned florid with anger, the white lines around his mouth sharp in contrast. “Did you defile her?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. It was none of his damned business. He wanted to lie—to claim her as his own—but to salvage what he could of her reputation, he spoke the truth. “Nay.”

Sir Hugh’s eyes were cold. “But you would have had I not interrupted.”

Arthur shrugged as if the answer didn’t matter to him.

Ross took a step toward him, hand on his sword. “You bastard! You’re a knight. Have you no honor? She was betrothed—”

Arthur moved quickly. Using a maneuver he’d learned from Boyd, he knocked Ross’s arm, forcing him to release the grip of his sword, and then twisted the same arm behind his back, leveraging his own body weight against him. “Nay.
Not
betrothed.”