The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)(60)

He removed his weapons, placed them under a rock where they wouldn’t be visible from the path, and then started taking off his clothes, carelessly tossing them to the side. She was so transfixed, she didn’t even feel the urge to fold them for him.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

She couldn’t form a response; her pulse was beating too fast, watching as he peeled off each layer of clothing. The man had no shame. Why should he, with a body like a finely honed weapon of war? He started to lift off the plain tunic he wore under his cotun, and she knew the linen braies would come next.

“Don’t!” she cried with a burst of maidenly alarm (and that innate sense of self-preservation).

He grinned, and she realized he’d only been testing her. Incorrigible. But at least she wasn’t being forced to contend with his bare chest and … more.

He chuckled, the husky sound reverberating in her bones. “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “You can watch if you’re too scared.”

She scowled. “I’m not too—”

The wretch! He was already gone, leaping off the cliff, somersaulting in the air, and plunging into the water with the effortless grace of a man who’d been diving off cliffs his whole life, which he undoubtedly had.

She stood there for a few minutes, tapping her foot, gazing out to sea, up to the sky, doing anything to avoid looking at the man swimming in the water below.

As always, a steady stream of boats patrolled the waterways—a number of them appeared to be English galleys. On their expeditions around the island it was something she’d grown used to seeing. But there seemed to be more of them than usual. She felt a prickle of apprehension, wondering what was happening. At times it was hard to remind herself that there was a world beyond this island.

She gazed down at the sword he’d tucked into a rock near her foot. Squinting against the glare from the sunlight, she noticed writing near the handle. Knowing it was common practice for warriors to inscribe their swords with something meaningful, she pulled the blade out enough to read the rest: dileas an comhnaidh. Always faithful. She frowned. Strange motto for a womanizing pirate. She’d expected something more along the lines of “bloodletter” or “beheader.”

She heard a splash and glanced back down. He looked as though he was having the time of his life, drat him.

Her forbearance lasted all of five minutes.

She mumbled a few of her brothers’ favorite curses and removed the plaid from around her shoulders, then her borrowed shoes, hose, and cotte, carefully folding them in a neat pile.

Wearing only the chemise she’d arrived in, she inched forward on the rocks until her toes gripped the edge. She shivered—and not just from the gust of wind. Her heart was fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. She hoped it was like riding a horse, because she hadn’t done this in at least five years.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and fell forward.

For a moment she felt buoyed by a swell of air. It held her weightless for a long heartbeat, before rushing past her in a blast of wind as she plunged downward. She arched her back, twisted, and then tucked her knees into her chest, rolling over before reaching forward as her body extended to a dive just as she hit the water.

The shock of cold penetrated to her bones. She dove a few more feet, then came back up, bursting to the surface in a spray of water.

He was at her side before she could catch her breath. She grinned excitedly, surprised to see the fierce expression on his face. He had that scary Viking look again, except that he was a little pale beneath his dripping face and slicked-back hair. “What in Hades do you think you were doing? You were supposed to jump. You could have broken your damn neck!”

She laughed, which only seemed to make him angrier. “That was fun. I haven’t done that in years.” She shot him a look. “And I really must insist you stop cursing around me.”

She heard the angry string of expletives lashing after her as she dove away from him, narrowly avoiding his grasp.

But outswimming him was impossible, and her escape was short-lived. He snaked an arm around her waist and drew her against him, bringing them back to the surface together.

She felt as if she was plastered against a big stone wall. A stone wall with lots and lots of rock-hard muscle. She didn’t bother trying to pull away; struggling was useless. She was all too aware of the power in the body pressed so intimately to hers. Legs entwined, her br**sts crushed against his chest, it felt … perfect.

His eyes locked on hers, and she felt the force of it like a blow to the lungs. This was why women loved him so much. He made them feel as if they were the most important person in the world. The only person in the world.

“I think you’ve had enough fun for today,” he said softly, his voice gruff.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” she couldn’t resist taunting back at him.

“Back there with my heart after that dive,” he said dryly.

Her mouth tugged, but he sounded so upset that she decided not to press her luck by laughing at him again. Not this close. Not when she was fairly sure what her teasing could unleash.

He desired her. She could feel him hard against her stomach and it made her cautious. Her good sense warred with the not-so-gentle stirrings of her body. It wasn’t much of a war—not really.

He gazed down at her, his jaw locked, hard and forbidding. She gasped when his rough fingertips swept her cheek. She swore his eyes filled with tenderness. Not knowing what he intended, she couldn’t breathe for the entire time it took him to tuck a sopping strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered for an agonizing moment, tracing the curve of her chin.