The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(26)

Good Lord, she loved the way he smelled—the mix of the wind in his hair, the pine of the forest on his skin, and the leather of his cotun.

His face lowered to hers, and she sucked in her breath, wishing that helm covered the steely blue-gray eyes that were flashing at her with as much danger as the sword he had strapped to his back once again. “Did you stop to think that my ‘wife’s’ sudden disappearance from our bed before dawn might be a little suspicious?”

Janet bit her lip, fighting back the flush. She hadn’t. All she’d been thinking of was getting out of there. “I’m sure you thought of something to appease her.”

“Not everyone is as clever at lying as you.”

There was no stopping the flush this time. He didn’t know the half of it. She lifted her chin stubbornly. “Even if the innkeeper is curious, I’m sure it will come to nothing.”

“Is that so? I’m not sure the party of English soldiers I saw approaching the inn as I was leaving will agree with you. But let’s hope the excuse I made will suffice.”

English soldiers? The first prickles of guilt started to form. “What did you say to her?”

“That you’d gone to the local church to pray for your mother’s recovery before we started out on our journey.”

Air eased out of her lungs, and she nodded. “It’s a good excuse.” She was surprised he’d come up with it.

His eyes narrowed as if he could read her mind. “The innkeeper might have believed me, but the English sure as hell won’t if they decide to follow up on us at the church.”

“If they are indeed looking for us, and if they make the connection, perhaps. But there is no reason to suspect either. It was probably just an English scouting party from the castle.” She wrenched her arm out of his hold and took a step back. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t insisted on accompanying her, she wouldn’t be feeling so … confused, and she wouldn’t have felt the need to run away. “I’m sorry for leaving you with an explanation to make to the innkeeper, but there is something I have to do in Roxburgh, and you aren’t going to stop me.”

Janet saw the flash in his eyes and knew she’d made a mistake. Whether it was the challenge of her words or something else, she didn’t know. But before she could take another breath, he’d jerked off his helm, pulled her into arms, and fitted her tightly to his body, giving her no doubt of his intent.

This time the thrill that shuddered through her was unmistakable. It was as if a wave of molten heat had been poured over every limb. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t push him away.

She didn’t want to push him away.

“The hell I’m not,” he said, right before his mouth covered hers.

So this was what it felt like to lose control. Ewen didn’t know what possessed him to take her in his arms, but the moment his lips touched hers he no longer gave a damn.

Her lips were so silky soft and sweet, he groaned at the first taste of her. The blood and anger roaring through him urged him to go fast and hard, to take and plunder, to lose himself in the sweet, enveloping heat. But something stronger quieted the primitive urge and made him slow down.

Innocent. She was so damned innocent, and suddenly that was all that mattered. As much as he wanted to ravish her senseless, he didn’t want to scare her. So he loosened the hold he had around her, lightened the pressure of his lips, and kissed her gently. Tenderly. Reverently.

He couldn’t recall ever wooing a lass with his mouth, but he did so now. With each deft caress he beckoned her to him, showing her—teaching her—what he wanted from her.

Slowly, he could feel the shock slip away and her body begin to relax. He wanted to roar with masculine satisfaction, but he settled for a soft growl.

But then she nestled in closer against him with a sound that went straight to his c**k and nearly wiped away all his good intentions.

Take it slow, he told himself. You can do this. It’s nothing you haven’t done hundreds of times before.

He nearly chuckled at the exaggeration, recalling her reaction—oddly, it had seemed more like jealousy than religious condemnation—but he didn’t feel much like laughing when he realized that this was not like anything he’d done before. Kissing her was an entirely different experience, and he didn’t like it.

Except he did like it. Too damned much.

Slow.

But she wasn’t making it easy, the way her fingers were digging into his shoulders as she gripped him harder and harder, and he felt her own pleasure building.

He cradled her face in his hand, stroking his thumb over the soft curve of her cheek, feeling his chest squeezing tighter and tighter with each caress. Her lips were like velvet, her breath like honey, and she smelled … God, she smelled like a fistful of bluebells that had been sitting in the sun. He wanted to sink into her and let that scent swallow him up.

His fingers slid around her neck, plunging through the soft waves of her hair. She’d been wearing a hooded cloak, but the hood had slid back to reveal the magnificent golden mane, loose, no doubt, because of the haste of her departure.

He didn’t want to think about that now—but it was a good thing tracking her had been so appallingly easy. All he wanted to think about was how incredible her lips felt on his, how good it felt to have her br**sts crushed against his chest and her hips nestled to his groin, how silky soft her hair was on his fingers as he gripped the back of her head and held her mouth to his, and how much longer could he stand to take it slow when every fiber, every instinct, every drop of blood and bone in his body wanted to slide his tongue into her mouth and taste her deeper.