The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)(69)

She smiled, removing her hose. “Following orders.” She gazed up at him innocently. “Do you need some water?”

“Water? No, why?”

“Your throat sounds a little dry.”

And with that, she lifted the shirt over her head.

It must have been the battle. Or perhaps the physical exhaustion of the past few days. But as Ewen stood there, watching her, his limbs turned to lead. He couldn’t move. He didn’t have the strength to stop her.

Oh God, stop her.

But before some manner of self-preservation could take hold, her shirt landed on the ground.

The world stopped. His heart forgot to beat. His mouth was dry all right. Burning dry. Searing dry. His throat was as parched as the deserts of Outremer, and he knew there wasn’t enough water in the oceans of Christendom to quench the thirst he had for her.

She was perfect. Long of limb, slender and curved in all the right places, with miles and miles of flawless, creamy skin. The firm, round br**sts that had been emblazoned on his memory were even more spectacular than he’d remembered, the ni**les smaller, tighter, and darker pink, and the soft, feminine place between her legs …

Sweet God in heaven! He groaned. Desire fisted in his groin, hot and aching, pulling and squeezing with need.

Her voice brought him back. “Is this what you wanted?”

The husky challenge of her voice sent a fireball of lust racing down his spine. It gathered at the base, pulsing—nay, quaking—with need.

He looked into her eyes.

Damn her! The lass didn’t have a weak or vulnerable bone in her body. Even naked as the day God made her, she was bold and challenging and strong.

Strong enough to break him.

In the spate of two long heartbeats, he had her in his arms, her velvety-soft skin plastered against him.

She gasped at the suddenness of his movement but didn’t resist. Nay, she’d asked for this, and by all that was holy, she would get it.

For one fraction of a heartbeat, Janet felt a flicker of fear and wondered whether she’d pushed him too far. But then she was in his arms, and she knew he would never hurt her. Even out of control, Ewen held her with a gentleness that was belied by the strong, hard-as-a-rock body against her.

The leather and steel of his armor against her naked flesh was a shock, albeit not an unpleasant one. There was something oddly sensual about having all that warm leather and cool metal pressed against her. Or maybe it was just that she’d been so cold before, the heat radiating from his body made any discomfort seem small.

She tilted her head back, looking into his eyes.

The fierceness of his expression sent a thrill shooting through her veins.

“Damn you,” he said angrily, his last gasp of protest before surrender.

All thoughts of gentleness were forgotten as his mouth covered hers. He kissed her roughly, his lips moving over hers with a fierce possessiveness that made her gasp. And moan. More than once. Especially when he started to use his tongue. The deep, penetrating strokes definitely elicited lots of moans from her. Low, urgent moans that seemed to start somewhere deep inside—right about the place she could feel him hard against her.

She shuddered, her body responding to the primitive evidence of his desire. She was achingly aware of every thick inch of that evidence.

He pulled her in closer, bending her back, going deeper and deeper. She had to fight to keep up with him, her innocence no match for the raw onslaught of passion.

She knew he was punishing her for forcing him to this, trying to frighten her off with the intensity of his desire. But Janet met him stroke for stroke. She might be an innocent maid, but the instincts he roused in her were those of a wanton.

She wanted this. Every bit as much as he did, and the raw sensuality of his passion only fired her own.

Aye, she was hot, her skin almost feverish. She seemed to be melting, dissolving into a pool of molten heat.

He’d removed his gauntlets and the feel of his big, callused hands roaming over her bare skin—stroking, caressing, squeezing, leaving no inch untouched—only increased that heat and elicited far more of those little moans.

“God, you feel so good. Your skin is so soft.” The warmth of his breath tickled her ear, but it was his words that made her shudder. “I want to touch you all over. Every inch of you, mo chroí.”

“My heart.” The tender endearment made her chest squeeze. Janet couldn’t believe it was Ewen speaking to her like this. The silky-smooth words couldn’t have been more at odds with the brusque warrior who spoke without thought or care of social graces. It was a heady combination, the fierce, rough passion mixed with the soft, sensual words.

His hands possessed her, sliding down her back, over her bottom, lifting her a little harder against him, rocking …

Sweet Mother! She might have jumped, her entire body sparking with an energy not unlike bottled lightning. She forgot to breathe, her body clenched and waiting.

For what?

“God, you’re killing me.”

Normally, she wouldn’t think that was such a good thing, but the way he said it made her think it might be.

His mouth moved down and over her neck hungrily, setting her skin ablaze in its path.

Her heart was pounding. Her knees were wobbling. And the place between her legs …

A fresh surge of heat rose to her cheeks. She didn’t even want to think about what was happening there. She was hot and achy and … wet, with strange little flickers—