The High Sheriff of Huntingdon (34 page)

“Sorry,”
he said.

“It would be very simple,” she said, her voice low and persuasive. “You’re strong—
you
could
just
squeeze your hands
together
and crush my
skull. Or
you
could
strangle
me—it
wouldn’t
take
long.”

“Bloodthirsty little
creature,
aren’t you?
Haven’t you
heard
—
I prefer to use a
knife,
”
he mocked
her,
thinking
of the
young
woman
he’d turned
from his bed, who’d turned
up
dead
two
days
later.

His
meek
little
bride
winced. “I’m not
over-fond of blood,”
she
confessed. “
Perhaps
your mother could poi
son
me?” She sounded
hopeful.

He laughed
then,
unable
to
help
himself. “
By
the time
she got around to
it you’d
no
longer
be
a virgin.” He
rocked
against
her
a
ga
i
n
,
lightly, reveling in her littl
e
shi
ver
of
response.

“Wouldn’t
you
rather
kill
me?”
she asked
in
a
sweet,
plaintive voice.

“I’m afraid not.” And
he gave
in
to
temptation,
setting
his
mouth
against
hers, thrusting
his
tongue inside her mouth
roughly, trying
to
still
that
ember
of
desire
that burned brightly,
paradoxically
within her.

He
didn’t
want
her to want him. She was dangerous, all purity and gentleness and seductive goodness wrapped up
a
s
e
r
e
n
e
,
beautiful body and a betraying
sense
of humor. He’d
never
met
a woman
who dared to mock him. He doubted
there
was anything
Elspeth
of Gaveland
wouldn’t
dare.

Not
even taking the black, dangerous high sheriff of Huntingdon
in
t
o her bed, her body, her
heart. She had a heart,
there
was
no doubt of that.
It was beating madly
against
his. She
would
take
him and love him and weaken him. The thought was
unbearable.

He
put
his
hands
on
her
throat, feeling the pulse
throb
bing. It
would
be so
easy. He
lifted
his
head
to stare down at her,
trying
to will
himself
to
take the blackest,
darkest
step
of all.

He
couldn’t do it. It
was a
lre
a
d
y
too late.
Instead, he put his
mouth
a
g
a
in
s
t
her
neck,
biting it lightly
as
his
hands
slid
down
and
covered her small,
perfect
breasts.

He felt
t
h
e fight l
e
a
v
e
her
body,
the
acceptance
wash
over
her,
followed
by a new tension
when
h
e
lifted his
body
off
he
r
s
and stripped off
t
h
e
rest of his clothes.

She
was right.
There
would be pain for her
the
first time, but
she seemed
untroubled by t
he
notion.
She
was
d
a
m
p
from her own
desire
and
from his mouth,
and
she writhed
when
he touched her, his fingers testing her.

She was
s
m
a
l
l
and
t
i
gh
t
and virginal,
and
he
c
ouldn’
t wait
any
longer.
He nudged
her legs apart, resting in
the cradle
of her thighs, and told himself he
d
i
d
n’
t
care,
he’
d
simply
thrust
into
her
and
claim his release.

For
some
reason he
wanted
to
kiss her ear. She
had perfect
ears,
sm
a
l
l
,
delicate.
He
nibbled
one
soft
lobe
and
fe
l
t
her shiver.

He pushed
into
her,
slowly,
knowing
he w
as
hurting h
er
.
Her breath came
in
shaken little pants, yet she arched
off
the
bed to
meet
the
slow,
steady
t
h
ru
s
t
of his
hips.
H
e
r
arms
w
e
r
e
tight
around
his sweat-slippery back,
clinging to
him, and the
little
choking
sounds
she
was
making were
o
ne
s of
d
e
s
ire as well
a
s
pain.

He
said
what he never
t
h
o
u
g
h
t
he’
d
say.
“I
don’t
want
to
hurt you.” The
words
were torn from him in an
ag
onized
gasp
as he tried
to
control
the
p
o
we
r
f
u
l
urges of his body. His muscles were clenched in
iron
will, his
forehead
was
beaded
with
sweat, and
he
d
i
d
n’
t
know how much longer
he could
stand
the torment.