The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(20)

“Not if you agree.”

“Oh, I do, I do.” And without realizing what she was doing, she threw her arms around him in a childlike embrace, her soft cheek pressed against the plaid he wore around his shoulders. “Thank you. I swear I won’t do anything like this again.”

Tor felt as if he’d just been pole-axed, the spontaneous gesture completely disarming him. A foreign feeling for a man who’d never been defeated in battle.

He caught her to him, instinctively sliding his arm around her waist. He inhaled. Damn, she smelled good.

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and when she gazed up into his eyes, he didn’t know who was more surprised.

Overcome with gratitude, not only for saving her from that horrible man but also for agreeing to keep her secret, Christina reacted unthinkingly, embracing him as she would have her sister.

Except that very clearly he wasn’t her sister. For a moment she felt a tremor of fear.

His body was big and hard and about as yielding as granite. It felt as if she’d raced headlong into another stone wall. A warm stone wall that smelled not of Beatrix’s rose water but of something dark, spicy, and definitively masculine. The warmth and heady scent engulfed her senses. She couldn’t breathe, lost in the depths of the most amazingly blue eyes she’d ever seen.

The fear subsided as her body flooded with heat and awareness. Awareness of how small she felt in his arms and of how closely he was holding her. Awareness of how her br**sts tingled against the hard plane of his chest. Awareness of the rocklike bulge of his arm muscles holding her and of the strength of his big hand on her waist. He could crush her without thought, yet he held her with surprising gentleness.

He seemed just as stunned as she was, at first, but then his gaze sharpened—intensified—in a way that should have alarmed her. It felt as if he was burning a hole into her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. The connection was so strong, it seemed as if she’d been caught in a current that was dragging her out to sea. A sea of deep cerulean blue, framed by dark lashes fringed with gold, set in a face far more handsome than she’d first realized.

Brutally handsome, like some bronze Norse god of war—hard, forbidding, and built for destruction. Not just in his towering, muscular physique, but also in the strong angles of his face that might have been hewn from stone.

It was the strangest thing. Despite his ferocity, she had an urge to reach up and trace her finger down the hard lines of his cheek and jaw. His face was so expertly chiseled, it almost didn’t look real.

There was nothing refined or classical about his features—from the deep-set eyes hooded beneath the heavy, dark brow, to the strong nose widened at the bridge where it must have been broken, to the high cheekbones that descended in a sharp angle to a square jaw, to the softly sculpted wide mouth—yet the combined effect was raw, masculine perfection.

But clearly that of a warrior. Up close she could see the stamp of battles waged on his face. A thin scar bisected his right eyebrow, and a longer one ran down his cheek to the top edge of his lip. She thought he had another on his chin, but the slight indentation had come from the thumb of God, not a weapon.

His skin was darkly tanned except for the tiny white lines etched around eyes and mouth. He was relatively clean-shaven, the dark shadow of a day-old beard emphasizing the hard, implacable jaw, and his hair, worn shorter than most of the men, fell in soft, uneven waves to his chin. It should be brown, but for the bleaching by the sun.

He was gorgeous. The most physically striking man she’d ever seen. And she’d read too many books not to be affected by a handsome knight.

Apparently, she wasn’t alone in her thoughts. His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her lips parted in a soft gasp. He was going to kiss her. She waited, her heart fluttering wildly, like the wings of a bird in a cage frantic to get out. She was scared, but not scared—her body warring with her mind. Could she actually want him to kiss her?

She’d never been kissed before, but his mouth looked so soft compared to the rest of him. It was all that she could think about. Unconsciously, she leaned closer, anticipation shivering down her spine. Her ni**les beaded against his chest.

His gaze darkened with something she didn’t recognize. She thought his hold on her tightened for an instant before he stilled, and then released her so quickly that she wondered if she’d only imagined it.

“Return to your room,” he said gruffly. “You’ve had enough trouble for the night.”

All at once she realized what she’d done. Her face flooded with mortified heat. She’d embraced not only a stranger but a fierce warlord. How could she have so forgotten herself after what had just happened?

By all rights she should be far more terrified of this man than of the one who’d attacked her. He was bigger, stronger, and after what she’d witnessed of the sword fight earlier, far more dangerous. One look at his face had sent her attacker running scared.

Why wasn’t she scared? She had been at first when he’d been so angry, but the moment he sensed her fear, he’d controlled it so effortlessly that she knew she wasn’t in danger. It was so different from her father’s unpredictability.

Despite the improbability of the situation, and with what she knew of these Island warriors, she felt safe with him. Not just because he’d saved her—though that was part of it. It was something in his voice and noble bearing. In the deep, masculine tones and calm authority that resonated with every word and in the regal pride with which he carried himself. Instinctively, at some base level, she trusted him. How else could she explain what she’d just done?