The Recruit (13 page)

He intended to show her exactly what kind of claim he had. He’d seen her first, damn
it. If anyone was going to cut those too-tight laces of hers and watch her explode,
it was going to be him.

Planting his hands on either side of her face, he leaned in closer. She smelled good.
Not with the overwhelming, cloying scent of strong perfumes, but a faint whiff of
flowers, as if she’d bathed in rose petals.

Her breath did an enticing little hitch as his face lowered. In the dim light of the
fire he saw her lips part in innocent invitation, but it was the flutter of her pulse
below her jaw that sent a pool of heat rushing straight to his groin.

Aye, she wanted him. He could almost taste the desire on her lips, and it shot through
him with a surprisingly powerful surge.

“I’m making one,” he said, staring in her eyes and daring her to deny him.

He could see her eyes widen as she took in his meaning. “I don’t—”

He cut off her protest with a kiss. He’d only meant to make his point, to stake his
claim with a possessive, irrefutable press of his mouth. But the first touch of his
lips on hers changed his mind.

He suddenly understood the poetical allusions of bards. The ground did indeed feel
like it had shifted as he was hit with an overwhelming blast of sensation. Passion
exploded between them on contact. The kind of raw, primal passion that reached down,
grabbed him by the bollocks, and wouldn’t let go. Aye, his bollocks could feel it—as
did his cock.

His bodily reaction to her was fierce. Primal. The strange attraction vibrating between
them tightened, and the connection once made could not be undone. It had happened
to him before—an unexpectedly powerful reaction to a woman on an elemental level—but
never to this extent.

Hell, he wouldn’t need the recipe for black powder if he could bottle this.

He hadn’t expected this at all. It was a surprise. A pleasant one, but a surprise
nonetheless. Who would have thought he’d be so turned on by a colorless little wren?
The fierce attraction didn’t make sense, but it was undeniable.

Christ, her lips were so soft they didn’t feel real. He groaned, sinking a little
deeper in the kiss. And so sweet.
He couldn’t believe how sweet. He’d had honeysuckle once, and that was what he thought
of now. Blooming in the warm sun.

He moved his lips over hers. Slowly at first, urging her response. She wasn’t fighting
him, seeming to be in almost a stunned daze, but it was equally clear she didn’t know
what to do.

He showed her. With slow, gentle strokes, he told her with each lingering drag of
his lips on hers exactly what he wanted from her.

She mimicked his movements tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence
as the kiss intensified.

A shudder of sensation rippled through him. His chest buckled. It felt incredible.
He had to fight the urge to sink in deeper, to bend her to him and take everything
he wanted from her all at once.

He felt strange—drugged with desire. It was coming over him too fast and hard. He
was hot and hard—and getting harder by the minute. And she was practically melting
against him. The press of his hips against hers had become a sweet grind, as the gentle
friction of their kiss intensified.

Christ
.

He groaned, needing to taste her deeper. His hand was on her cheek, caressing the
velvety-soft skin, his fingers urging her to open her mouth. When she did, he wanted
to let out a roar of pure masculine pleasure. He wanted to plunder her mouth with
his tongue, claim every inch of her surrender.

But instead he forced himself to slow. Swallowing her gasp of surprise, he swept his
tongue inside, letting her get used to the sensation.

But slow wasn’t working. Not when she responded. At the first slide of her tongue
against his, he felt his control slip. With every stroke, every taste, he was descending
deeper and deeper into a mindless haze. The smooth seduction
was becoming a conflagration of urgent groans and frantic movements.

His body was responding to her with an urgency he couldn’t recall. He couldn’t seem
to get enough.

The roar of lust in his ears grew louder, drowning out everything else. It was pounding
through his veins in a rush of hot molten lava. All he could think about was the tiny
woman against him. The feel of her slight body pressing against his. The feel of her
mouth sliding under his. How much he wanted to hitch her up against the door, wrap
her legs around him, and sink inside her.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten this hot from a kiss. The awakening
of her desire was egging him on.

He dug his fingers through the hair concealed by the veil, groaning at its silky softness.
Cradling the back of her head, he brought her mouth closer to his. The kiss grew harder,
hotter, more carnal. She was dissolving against him like warm sugar and he couldn’t
seem to devour her fast enough.

The sensations firing inside him were too strong. His desire was too intense. His
heart was beating too hard, his blood rushing too fast, his skin feeling too hot.
He felt himself sinking deeper into the kiss, sinking deeper into her. Moving closer
to the point of no return.

From a damned kiss.

He had to stop.

He tore his mouth away with an oath and had to stop himself from stumbling back. It
felt as if he’d been caught up in a whirlpool, and then suddenly tossed out.

He stepped back to put distance between them, trying to clear his damned head. He
felt light-headed, as if he were moving in a haze.

What the hell was wrong with him? The tincture his sister made him take must have
been more potent than he realized.

It couldn’t just be from a kiss.

But one glance at her equally dazed eyes and he had to wonder.

Looking at her was a mistake. His groin tugged hard. Painfully hard. He was no longer
in doubt about his fantasy. She was the very embodiment of the wanton nun, and when
he looked at her swollen mouth, her half-lidded eyes, and her flushed cheeks he wanted
to rip those clothes off her and debauch her thoroughly.

“Meet me after the feast.” He could barely get the words out, his heart was beating
so fast.

She blinked up at him—apparently, like him, trying to clear the haze from her head.
Their eyes met in the soft glow of firelight. She didn’t say a word; only the heaviness
of their breathing and the occasional snap and crackle from the fire in the brazier
broke the long silence. She was staring at him, looking for something deep in his
eyes while she waged some kind of internal battle.

After what seemed an interminable pause, she finally answered. “I can’t.” He would
have pulled her in his arms again and tried to change her mind, but she stopped him
with a hand to the chest. For something so small, it proved surprisingly potent. “It
has to be now.”

He stilled. “Now? Why?”

She shook her head. “It just does. I can’t explain.”

“But the feast.” Damn it, Bruce was expecting him. He would be furious if he missed
the meeting he’d arranged with the countess. “Surely, a few hours won’t make a difference?”

He made a move toward her, but she spun away from him and shook her head. “Now or
never—it’s up to you.”

He frowned, hearing something in her voice that made him think she meant it. He didn’t
like ultimatums, but he also heard something else. She thought he would refuse.

He
should
go straight to the feast and forget about her. But one glance at those still-pink
cheeks and swollen lips
and he wasn’t sure that was possible. The lass was definitely a distraction he didn’t
need, though a damned enticing one.

What the hell. What was a half-hour? The king and the countess could wait a little
longer.

He smiled, calling her bluff. “Then now it is.”

Mary blinked. “What?”

He wasn’t supposed to say yes.

He smiled that slow half-smile of his that seemed to reach down to her toes and yank
all the good sense right out of her.

He moved closer, the heat of his body engulfing her. It was like standing next to
a raging fire. He was so hot she couldn’t think straight.

Why couldn’t she find herself attracted to a man of non-threatening proportions just
once? She inched back away from him, instinctively looking for somewhere to go. But
he seemed to take up all the space. Tall and broad-shouldered, his powerful form dominated
the small room, radiating a volatile energy.

He’d even stolen the air. Every breath was filled with the subtle scent of his soap.
She’d never known a man could smell so good. Clean and warm, with the faint trace
of sandalwood.

She was too aware of him. Aware of every inch of that hard, muscular physique that
had been plastered against her. She’d never felt so many muscles, and every one—every
bulge, every band, every solid slab—was burned into her memory.

As was that kiss. My God, she’d never felt anything like it! Her body still shook
from the aftereffects. She’d been consumed by sensations unlike anything she’d ever
imagined. He’d robbed her of her breath, her mind, and even her bones, turning her
into a melting pool of desire. All she could think about was the pressure of his mouth,
the
warmth of his tongue licking into her, the hardness of his body, the feel of his arms
around her, and the exquisite sensations building frantically inside her.

She hadn’t wanted it to ever stop.

It had been a glimpse—a powerful, wonderful glimpse—of everything that she’d been
missing. And he was offering her a chance for more. This time, it wasn’t Eve holding
out the apple of temptation but Adam. And one taste of sin wasn’t nearly enough.

But look what had happened to Adam and Eve.

She stopped suddenly when the back of her legs met the edge of what felt like a table.
She hadn’t gotten much of a view of the room before he’d blocked it with his body.

Her heart pounded in her chest, trying to keep up with her racing pulse. Could she
really do this?

“I—I thought you were anxious to go to the feast.” She sounded as nervous as she felt.

He stepped toward her, in one stride erasing the distance she’d put between them.
All six foot three—four?—inches of pure masculine temptation. His mouth curved in
that slow, provoking smile that dared her to try to resist him, revealing a flash
of perfectly straight white teeth. His too-long hair slumped forward across his brow
roguishly, and she had to stop herself from reaching out to tuck it back. She’d like
to say she wasn’t shallow enough to be affected by a handsome face, but the beat of
her heart betrayed her.

“The feast can wait.”

His eyes ran down the length of her body. She wasn’t long, but the slow slide of his
hot gaze made her feel that way. He lingered at her breasts, as if he could see right
through the thick wool of her gown to the nipples peaking below. The flare of hunger
in his eyes made her knees turn to jelly. She wished it was from fear, but the coinciding
flutter in her belly felt like anticipation.

One night …

Temptation beckoned, but she tried to resist. “Isn’t the king expecting you?”

She hadn’t thought he would accept her offer. Or had she? Had it been some kind of
test to see how badly he wanted this? Did he want it as badly as she did?

Apparently, he did. She had no idea why he wanted her with so many young, beautiful
women hanging at his feet, but he did.

Don’t read anything into it
.

“It will wait.”

She
could wait, in other words. Mary might have been annoyed by his obvious disinterest
and lack of regard for the woman the king had chosen to be his wife, but then he reached
down and swept his hand along the curve of her cheek. She sucked in her breath. The
feel of those warm, callused fingers on her skin made every nerve ending crackle.
But it was the gentleness of the gesture that completely disarmed her. She felt a
stab of longing so fierce it stole her breath. For one silly heartbeat she wanted
to snuggle into the caress.

No! She wasn’t a romantic girl anymore. This was passion, nothing else. She needed
to remember that. But Kenneth Sutherland was far more dangerous than she’d realized.
Not only did his kiss make her burn with passion, his gentle touch roused far more
dangerous emotions.

And this too-handsome-for-his-own-good, arrogant warrior with the face and muscular
physique of a Greek god was built for a fantasy, nothing else.

“You’ve no reason to be nervous, little one. I’ll be gentle.”

But gentle wasn’t what she wanted from him. She wanted a fierce storm of passion.
Lust, not tenderness. She wanted to feel what the woman in the barn had felt. Just
once.

He looked into her eyes. The sensual curve of his mouth tantalizingly close, lips
that had touched hers only inches away. She could still taste him on her tongue. She
had
never imagined sin could taste so good. Dark and spicy, with a hint of clove.

“You want this, Mary. I know you do. Just say yes.”

She stared at him helplessly, paralyzed by the sin of her desire, unable to say the
words that would set aside a lifetime of morality.

It wasn’t right.

But was it really so wrong?

Neither of them was married. They wouldn’t be hurting anyone. She was six and twenty.
A widow for three years, an overlooked and neglected wife before that. This might
be the last chance to experience what she’d once dreamed about before her young girl’s
illusions were shattered by a husband who hadn’t wanted her and had never given her
remotely what she’d seen in the barn.

This man wanted her and could give it to her. With no conditions. No bonds that could
not be dissolved. A man on her own terms.

It would only be one time. One night of passion. One night of sin. Was that too much
to ask for?

He seemed to sense her struggle. Reaching behind her, he removed a flagon of wine
that must have been on the table. “Here,” he said, holding it out to her. “Drink this.
It will relax you.”