His Stolen Bride BN (14 page)

She would give him naught.

The fiend entered the cottage, interrupting her reverie. He was large and restless,
wearing a white tunic that looked stark against the dark plains of his face. When
had she ever seen a more appealing man? Never. Nor had she encountered one with such
a surly demeanor.

With shiftless grace, he dropped into a chair and sipped from a tin cup while studying
her over the rim with a lingering gaze that made her too aware of their isolation,
oddly conscious of her female nature—and his very male one.

None of that mattered. She squared her shoulders. Today, now, she must find a way
to dissuade him from this marriage that would ruin them both.

“I would speak with you,” Averyl said, hands on her hips. “Where have you been?”

Drake stared, seeing her mood was less than pleasant. Though he was not surprised,
he knew that if he had any intention of convincing his captive to become his willing
bride, he must begin the seduction now.

Murdoch and his roving band of murderers had not given them time for courtship. And
mayhap he could charm her into forgetting his unfortunate, unaccountable outburst
last eve. Cursing his mother and the institution of love was not the way to persuade
Averyl to be his willing handfast bride.

“Did you miss me, then?” he teased.

“As much as I would a poisonous snake,” she shot back, head held at a proud angle.

Her fiery visage, her blazing eyes inflamed him, speeding thick blood into his loins.
Drake itched to pull her into his lap, palm the weight of her breasts encased in shimmering
gold silk. To show her all the ways they could be good together.

Instead, she seemed bent on incessant conversation about the tiresome subject of love.
Frowning, Drake wondered why he bothered to discuss it with her. Indeed, why did he
speak to her, his captive, at all?

Because he wanted her. Because something about her would not leave him in peace.

Drake allowed his gaze the treat of roving over her, the pert lift of her chin, the
generous curve of her breast, the small indentation of her waist, the lush arch of
her hip.

Even now, even when she likened him to a serpent, he could easily imagine Averyl’s
dewy alabaster skin bared for his eyes, his hands, as she cried out with pleasure
in his arms.

Aye, his want coursed more fiercely than he could ever recall. For now, he would seal
her babbling mouth with a kiss.

“What do you know of desire, Averyl?”

“As much as I need.” Her words sounded brave, but the quivering of her fingers and
the wariness of her eyes revealed a woman fearful, or a woman wanting. Or both.

“I disagree.”

With slow steps, he crossed the room to her, the crunch of his boots just a tinge
louder than her breathing. Or was that his? He concentrated on the pulse beating at
the base of her neck as he stopped mere inches away.

Her green gaze remained steady, even stalwart. Had she the physical strength, she
would have made a formidable warrior, for she had courage aplenty. Aric would like
her. And he had no doubt that Kieran thought her worthy of a tumble or two.

Averyl returned his stare stoically. Then Drake unleashed his hunger for her within
his eyes. She drew in a soft gasp of breath but did not look away.

“Do you yearn to be touched, Averyl?”

“Nay,” came her breathy denial as he curled his fingers around her wrist.

Its warm fragility sent his heart pumping. Averyl tried to twist away, but he drew
her forward until her breasts nestled against him, shocking him with an instant of
need, a surge of want. When he slipped a hand around her waist, fitting it at the
small of her back, he found the soft femininity of her small body fit perfectly against
him.

She wriggled against him for freedom.

Drake gnashed his teeth. Damn it, he had never been at a loss to find a willing wench.
So why did one who resisted and hated him so stir his blood? Why could he not erase
the taste of their last kiss from his memory, even as he anticipated drinking of her
mouth again?

In his arms, Averyl stilled and tensed. Then he reached up and removed her wimple.

“Nay!” she protested. “Give that back.” She stretched across his chest, grasping for
the headdress he held behind him.

“You’ve no need for it.” He let his words whisper across her neck as he dropped the
cloth to the dirt at his feet.

Averyl cursed him roundly. Driven by the feel of her in his arms, Drake turned his
attention to the combs and pins enslaving the curls atop her head.

Handling her with care, despite her struggles, Drake drew out the restraints. His
eyes widened in awe when the mass of golden spirals fell around her shoulders in a
tumble. He slid his fingers into the glossy tangle of her sunshine tresses.

“Never wear this hideous scrap of cloth again.” The words slipped out, raspy, sounding
near reverent.

Averyl swallowed, saying naught. But her haunting eyes communicated such vulnerability.
Drake ached to touch her, reassure her somehow. Lord, he behaved half-cocked, felt
utterly daft. He muttered an oath.

Drake could no longer deny he had been craving the chance to feel her against him.
Her gaze touched his mouth, and he heard the nervous quickening of her breath. Good.
She was not unmoved by him. Leaning closer, Drake anchored his hands in her hair and
brought Averyl’s face within a heartbeat of his.

“Do not do this.” The militant tone she’d began with ended in a breathy rasp.

Drake ignored her, leaning closer. “Give me your mouth.”

His intimate murmur arced between them. Her flushed face revealed both pleasure and
uncertainty before she looked away.

“Do not touch me,” she whispered.

“I scarce touch you now, Averyl.”

“’Tis not true. You do touch me.” She swallowed.

He smiled. “Not nearly as much as I would like.”

“Drake…”

He lowered one hand to her waist and urged her closer.

Averyl placed her warm hands against his chest, his beating heart. He saw the protest
hovering in her mind, on her tongue. But she did not push him away.

Drake clasped her damp palm in his, interlocking their fingers. Averyl tried curling
her hand into a fist, but as his thumb stroked her palm, her fingers slowly uncurled.

Their gazes met. Awakening and apprehension swirled together in the arresting depths
of her greenish eyes. A pulsing pleasure beat in the pit of his stomach. He checked
an urge to ravage her mouth.

Averyl dropped her gaze to the dirt floor, tensing against his hold. When she said
naught, Drake lifted his hand to stroke her jaw, trail down her arm, then wander to
her waist. A hunger to touch her intimately, without the confines of clothing, kicked
him in the gut and attacked him lower still with all the force of a one-million-man
army.

Averyl quivered in his arms as he slid his hands about her neck and coaxed her face
upward again. He scanned her eyes, feeling oddly breathless, and lifted his fingers
to her cheek. She stared back, not uttering a word of protest.

“Do you know, Averyl, that you tempt me until I ache?”

Her eyes widened. Upon her face, he saw a flash of surprise, then a desperate wish
to believe him, and a yearning for something he did not fully comprehend.

“That is untrue,” she accused.

“I will show you how true it is,” he vowed, lowering his mouth toward hers.

He touched her lips with an exploring brush of his own, demanding naught—yet. Beneath
him, her berry-ripe mouth was surprisingly soft. An explosion of tingles kicked through
him.

Drake groaned low in his throat and slid a callused palm down her back, enclosing
her further in his embrace. Then Averyl’s arms circled his shoulders and clung tentatively.
Her mouth parted slightly beneath his.

With her small encouragement, he turned up the heat of their kiss into something blistering,
potent. His lips stroked, beseeched. And though shy and unpracticed, Averyl answered.
The feel of her, the taste of her, robbed him of breath and rational thought. A thick,
molten ache swelled through Drake’s body. His hands clutched the back of her dress.

He followed that kiss with another that lingered and demanded. Averyl tilted to him
like a flower seeking the sun. His loins tightened like a bowstring. Their fingers
locked together; the warmth of her palm seared his as she nestled closer to him. His
own desire was echoed in the fire of her mouth as he covered her lips again, caressing
them.

Beneath his hands, he felt tension bunch in her shoulders, her back, as she strained
closer to him. The scents of flowers, warm sun, and female touched his heightened
senses.

Still, he needed more.

Lifting his head, he extended his forefinger toward her. She seemed spellbound, and
he pressed on, placing his finger on her lower lip. “Open for me, Averyl.”

A throb coursed through him as she nodded and did as he bid. He released a moan from
somewhere in his chest and sank into her mouth again. Her lips parted farther, not
denying him. Drake touched her tongue, and she met him hesitantly with her own. Basking
in the thrill of her response, he laved her mouth slowly, tasting each recess, the
hint of wine within.

Averyl responded to his new demand beyond his expectations, matching his urgency.
She moaned into his mouth. The sound reverberated through his chest, his body. The
pulse in the pit of his belly surged dangerously.

He captured her mouth again, craving more of her sweet taste. His hand tightened about
her waist, pressing her to his arousal. Averyl responded with a gasp. The primal vibration
of Drake’s need beat strong, coiling in his belly.

He clung to the feel of her small vibrancy in his arms, ignoring the weak protests
from his rational mind that he wanted her too much. His exhilarated body pushed those
protests aside with the seeming rightness of her soft form against him.

Drake caressed her shoulder before his seeking palm drifted down and delved into her
bodice. Drake trembled for want of the weight and intimacy of her breast in his palm.

Before he could make that torrent of need real, Averyl jumped away.

“Nay.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “No more.”

Drake stilled, stifling a wicked slash of disappointment. A long moment later, he
stepped back. “For now anyway.”

She raised her chin proudly, struggling for breath. “For always. Are you not satisfied
with taking me from my home, my family, and my future? And threatening me with a forced
union?” Tears gathered in her eyes. She tossed her head angrily as if to shake them
away. “Are you so cruel that you must hurt me more by…by trifling with me and forcing
intimacies?”

Whirling away, Drake hissed a breath of disappointment and stared into the now-empty
hearth. He could remind Averyl that he’d used no force, but ’twould only raise her
defenses more. “You cannot expect a man who plans to become your handfast husband
to be blind to your…charms.”

“I have no charms, as you well know.”

“You have them, dear lady,” he returned, anger and need congealing into a dangerous
challenge. “God’s blood, your eyes alone could bring a man to his knees.”

“I hardly see you upon your knees.”

He impaled her with a furious, hungry gaze. “If I thought you would come to me willingly,
I would fall to my knees now.”

“That is naught but a lie,” she spat. “You only have to take what you want.”

And he wanted her to give herself freely. ’Twas doubtful she would ever do that. God’s
blood, where was a stout ale when a man had need of it?

Anger tightened her pink mouth. “I am surprised you did not take me just now. You
care for no one but yourself. You neither want love nor will you give it.”

Drake stood silently. How could a simple truth he’d often relished fill him with an
odd discomfort?

“I beseech you not to seduce me,” she continued. “Do not whisper pretty words when
you have no intent to take me into your life and your heart.”

Then Averyl spun about and fled the cottage. Drake cursed as she ran, but did naught
to force her back to his side. What would it accomplish but another raising of her
defenses—or his own boiling need?

Damnation! Though he had kissed Averyl to introduce her to desire, to coax her into
handfasting, he could not deny he wanted her—much too much. He craved her luscious
red mouth. Her scent teased him to solve its riddle; her sweet taste lingered on his
tongue.

And despite the fact she haunted his thoughts more than was wise, he must wed and
bed her with all due haste.

“Open your eyes,” Drake commanded as she lay awake in bed just after dawn. Gritting
her teeth, Averyl feigned sleep.

Damn him. Such were the first words either she or Locke had spoken since the previous
eve. And they made her grind her teeth, for she was in no mood to be obedient to such
a cad.

Averyl lifted her lids a fraction to peek at Drake. Indeed, a frown flattened his
full mouth into an angry scowl this morn. What reason had he to be piqued? ’Twas she
who had every right to let her fury simmer. He had used his experience, which must
be considerable judging from his persuasive kisses, to seduce her, bring her a step
closer to giving up her dreams.

Averyl knew herself a fool, for he had very nearly succeeded. No more. ’Twould be
foolish to forget he but sought to sway—and use—her for revenge. His mood this morn
only proved that he cared not for her.

“Get up,” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

Still, Averyl refused to respond, though she felt his gaze upon her. Let him be annoyed.
Certainly, he deserved such.

Yet she had spent the better part of a sleepless night wondering how a knave with
such a wounded heart, who kissed like the devil, could speak words that touched her
with the magic of an angel? Tempting, he had called her. She did not believe his lies,
of course. Heaven above, she knew better, but hearing the words spoken to her had
been a foolish, dangerous thrill.