The Saint (25 page)

But her silent pleas had no effect. A few moments later, Magnus took another long drink of ale, slammed his cup down, and pushed back from the table. He stood, said something to his companions that caused them to laugh, and then made his way out of the Hall, his destination—or assignation—clear.

Every step he took landed on her heart, a heavy footfall that ground her hope into the dirt.

Why was he doing this? Was he trying to prove to her how little she meant to him? Was he trying to discourage her? Had she pushed him too hard?

Helen didn’t know. She just knew that she couldn’t let him do this. She wasn’t naive enough to think there hadn’t been other women in his past. But this wasn’t the past, this was now. She had to stop him before he did something …

Something that would break her heart for good.

She waited as long as she dared. But when she saw Joanna leave the Hall, she knew she couldn’t wait any longer.

*   *   *

A short while later, Helen had the information she needed and headed to the alehouse—more precisely, to the small storage room inside it. Like many of the larger and more modern castles, Dunrobin had an alehouse within its gates. The small wooden building adjoined the kitchens, and both buildings had vaulted floors with storage below.

In one of those rooms, Magnus was waiting.

Helen pursed her mouth, steeling herself for what was sure to be her second unpleasant conversation of the evening.

Joanna had not given up the information willingly. Helen bit her lip, feeling a tad guilty for the lies she’d told. But a “strange rash on his groin” could be completely harmless—just as she’d told her.

Her mouth twitched. Being the castle healer was not without its benefits. In any event, she didn’t think Magnus would be making any more assignations, at least not while he was at Dunrobin.

The pungent, yeasty smell of the ale hit her as soon as she entered the alehouse. A fire crackled in the brazier, and a candle flickered on a large table, but with everyone at the Hall, the room was empty. Unfamiliar with the building, it took her a moment to find the storeroom.

But no sooner had she pushed the door open than an arm reached out to snake around her waist and pull her inside. She gasped in surprise. In one smooth move, he spun her around so her back was to his chest and pushed her up against the door, closing it.

The room was nearly pitch black—only the barest hint of light from the candle outside flitted through the wooden planks of the door. The heady scent of yeast filled her nose, drowning out everything else.

For a moment her senses were cut off, blind to everything but the sheer masculine force of the body at her back. He was hot and hard. She could feel the proof of his profession
in every inch of steely, ripped muscle. The years of war and training had honed him to the peak of physical strength.

His arm tightened, pulling her a little snugger, as his lips brushed against her ear and sent a shiver whispering down her spine.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said huskily, drink heavy in his voice.

Helen’s eyes widened.
He doesn’t know it’s me—the wretch!

She opened her mouth to identify herself, but suddenly forgot how to talk when he ground his hips against her bottom. She sucked in her breath; she could feel him grow big and hard against her.

Goodness!
Her eyes widened with amazement. Knowing she could do that to him made her feel somehow stronger—empowered.

He moved the thick column lower, positioning himself between her legs. The blunt tip nudged intimately at her entry.

Dear God
.

She shuddered. Awareness spread over her in a hot wave, the proof of his arousal triggering her body’s response to the primitive call. She started to tingle; a flush of fevered heat spread over her skin in a shimmering wave. She felt alive in a way that she never had before.

I should tell him …

But all thoughts of telling him anything slid from her mind when his lips found her neck and his hand covered her breast. He groaned, cupping and squeezing while his mouth ravished her neck. She’d never imagined him like this. Rough. Demanding. Unabashedly sensual.

He was devouring her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, his lips and tongue trailing hot wet kisses down to the nape of her neck. The scrape of his jaw along the sensitive skin burned like a brand.

Her knees felt weak, her entire body boneless with the
wonder of it. The passion she’d always dreamed of was in her grasp. She didn’t want to let go.

His body was moving against hers in a wicked dance that demanded a response. But she didn’t know the steps. When his hips moved against her she had to press back, increasing the friction. The harder he kissed her neck, the more he squeezed her breast, the faster his movements became, the more bold were her responses. She arched her back, circled her hips, and let the gasps of her pleasure fall more freely from between her lips.

Her body was not her own. It was his. It had always been his.

Magnus should have done this a long time ago. What the hell had he been waiting for? Blood pounded through his veins in anticipation. His heart hammered. He couldn’t wait to be inside her.

He felt as if a weight were being lifted off his shoulders. Despite what his brethren thought, he hadn’t lived like a saint in the years since Helen had refused him. But always before, he’d been burdened by guilt—unwarranted or not.

Tonight he would be free; he could feel it.

He was more than a little drunk, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t believe how turned on the gel was getting him with those little breathy sounds she was making. He loved the way her tight little bottom moved against his hardness, teasing him, driving him mad with the urge to thrust inside her. He loved her smooth, silky skin that tasted like honey, and the full, ripe breasts that could almost make him forget the full, ripe breasts that had been tormenting him for days. Those damned gowns!

Don’t think about her
.

He distracted himself with her chest—Joanna, he reminded himself—squeezing the soft flesh a little more insistently, savoring the heavy weight of it, and then burying his nose in her hair with a groan as the force of his desire
pounded through him. If the soft silkiness and faint scent of lavender stirred a familiar memory, he shook it off. Then, to prove the memory false, he slipped his hand below the fabric of her dress and cupped her bare breast in his hand.

He liked the way she gasped. Liked it so much, in fact, that he set about eliciting some more. He ran his thumb over the taut little tip, caressing it to a firm peak. When it was nice and hard, he rolled it between his fingers and gave it a gentle pinch. He was rewarded with another gasp.

Liked that, did she?

For a moment, he fought the urge to flip the little wanton around and cover that gasp with his mouth. But he shied from the intimacy. He didn’t want to kiss her, he wanted to swive her. So badly that he didn’t know how much longer he could wait.

Helen was awash in sensation. The shock she’d felt when his big, callused hand had made contact with her naked breast had turned to wonder as he began to caress her, and then to urgent moans as his stroking intensified.

Her breasts felt so heavy in his hands. Her nipples were so hard and tight they throbbed. And when he began to pinch them between his fingers, tiny needles of pleasure shot through her straight to her toes.

She felt so strange. So hot and restless. She’d never imagined this kind of passion from him. There was nothing chaste and reverent about his touch. He wanted her, and he was showing her exactly how much.

“God, it’s been so long,” he groaned, his breath coming hard and fast in her ear.

How long?
she wanted to ask, but dared not speak for fear he would realize it was her and stop. She didn’t want him to stop. Her body was clamoring for something she didn’t understand. She was hot everywhere he touched her and needy everywhere he hadn’t.

“I can’t wait much longer, I need to be inside you. I hope
you like it from behind.” He moved against her again, slower and more sensually—like his voice—showing her what he meant. The sheer naughtiness of it sent a wicked thrill running through her.

Why has he never talked to me like this?
It was a side of him she’d never seen before. A little base. A little crude. And more than a little exciting. A passionate, fiercely carnal side that he’d kept hidden from her. It sent a flood of desire pooling between her legs. Damp. Warm. Needy. But it was nothing compared to what happened when his hand covered that warm and achy place. He gripped her firmly, holding her to him.

“Do you?” he teased with that smooth, velvety voice, rocking against her in silent question.

Helen couldn’t seem to breathe. Glad that he couldn’t see her shocked, wide eyes, she nodded furiously, not really knowing what she was agreeing to except that she wanted whatever he wanted to do to her.

“Naughty lass.” He chuckled and flipped her skirts up. A blast of cool air swept over her backside. He paused to give her bottom a swift caress before his hand slipped around the front of her thigh to reach between her legs.

Oh God …

Her heart jumped; her knees buckled at the contact. She hadn’t known what she wanted until he touched her. Until she felt the pressure of his hand on her mound. Until she felt his big, strong finger delve inside her. Stroking, plunging in and out, making the pool of desire low in her belly start to tighten and coil. And pulse. Frantically. She pushed back against his hand, wanting him to go faster. Deeper. Harder. She cried out, feeling the pleasure build.

It was everything she’d always dreamed of. And so much more.

“God, you’re so wet and tight. You’ve got me so hard, I feel like I’m going to explode. I can’t wait to come inside you, Joanna.”

Joanna
.

Helen stilled, the sound of the other woman’s name in his voice a cold shock of reality. All this passion wasn’t for her, it was for Joanna. Suddenly, the fact that he thought he was doing this with someone else wasn’t enough. She needed him to know it was her.

“Magnus, I—”

The suddenness of his movement stopped her. His hand was gone and he pushed away from her as if she’d burned him.

Perhaps she had.

Jerking her away from the door, he swung it open. A beam of soft candlelight flooded the room.

He swore, the look of disgust on his face cutting her to the quick.

She staggered, her legs unsteady from the loss of his support and from the harshness of his expression.

“You!” The accusation of that one word pierced her heart.

Helen took a step toward him, her body still pulsing with desire. “Aye, me.” She reached out to put her hand on his arm, but he flinched from her touch.

“Don’t,” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“Why not? I want to touch you. A moment ago you said you couldn’t wait—”

He grabbed her arm and hauled her up against him, his cheeks stained red. “I know what I said, damn it. I know exactly what I said. But that wasn’t meant for you. None of it was meant for you!”

Helen flinched at the brutal cruelty. Heat tightened her throat. But she refused to let his words hurt her. “But it
was
me. It is me you want.” She looked up into that handsome face fierce with anger and embarrassment, and dared him to deny her. “I can still feel your hands on my body. In my body,” she said softly. “I still ache for you.” She lowered
her eyes, letting her gaze rest on the big bulge between his legs. “And I think you still ache for me.”

The drink had made her bold. Now was not the time for maidenly reserve.
Seize the day
. Before he guessed what she meant to do, she reached down and covered him with her hand.

She’d never touched a man before and the feel of him beating beneath her palm, hard and thick, only heightened her curiosity. She knew what was supposed to happen, but he felt much too big to go inside her.

A sound almost like a hiss seeped out from between his tightly clenched lips. But it was the only crack in his otherwise implacable facade. If her touch affected him, he wasn’t going to do anything about it. His control angered her when her own body was still weeping for his touch.

“Do you deny that you want me?” She leaned against him, letting her breasts brush against his chest.

She was rewarded with the flex of a muscle beneath his jaw. He did want her, but he was determined to deny them both. Throwing caution completely into the fire, she lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against that spot. His skin was warm and scratchy, with the faint taste of soap and salt. She’d placed her hand on his chest to balance herself and felt his heart stop for a beat. But then it began to beat again, hard and angry.

Furious, he set her aside, every muscle straining with anger. “I know what you are doing and it won’t work. I’m not going to change my mind.”

Helen stared at him, not understanding why he was choosing to hold on to the past and his memories of a friend over her. The hot prick of frustration gathered behind her eyes. How easy it was for him to pull himself back from a precipice when she was still falling! “Would it be so horrible if you did?”

For one moment his expression cracked, and she could see the longing that mirrored her own.

“There are things you don’t know,” he said hoarsely.

“Then tell me.”

He held her gaze, a strange look crossing his face. Guilt? Shame? But then the mask fell back into place, and he turned away. “It makes no difference. It will not change anything. I can’t do this.”

A steel curtain had come down around him, and she knew it was useless to argue, but she couldn’t help trying. “Can’t, or won’t?” He didn’t say anything, but the look of pity in his gaze made it seem so much worse. She wanted to bang on his chest and force him to let her inside. She wasn’t alone in this. She wasn’t. “Yet you had no problem when you thought it was someone else?”

He turned from the accusation in her gaze. “I owe you no explanations, Helen. I can bed whomever I wish.”

She sucked in her breath at the cold strike of pain. She held his gaze, the crushing truth of that statement hitting her with finality. He owed her nothing. The only bond between them existed in her heart.