The Raider (Highland Guard #8)(101)

He was in awe.

He was in rapture.

He was in…

Oh hell, he was in trouble. The past few days had been like a dream. He felt himself caught up in the magical web she’d spun around him and didn’t know how he was going to get out. Didn’t know whether he wanted to get out. Though he knew he shouldn’t be encouraging her fantasy of a future between them, like Icarus to the sun, he was powerless to stay away from the warmth in her eyes. And the heat. That, he sure as hell couldn’t stay away from.

She paused when she reached her shift. Their eyes met. The anger that he’d counted on to make her forget her embarrassment had faded. She looked at him uncertainly. But he was too far gone—and too damned aroused—to have pity.

“Take it off, sweetheart. I want to see every inch of you.” His voice was husky and dark and full of sensual promise.

“What about you?”

She was stalling, but as his being naked worked with his plan, he let her get away with it. He removed his weapons first, then his leather armor and boots, and finally his shirt and braies. As always, he was conscious of her eyes on him when he undressed, which only added to his arousal. By the time he was standing naked in front of her, his c**k was so hard it was practically pounding a hole in his ribs.

She might have been a maid a few days ago, but the heat in her gaze as her eyes roamed over his naked body was anything but innocent. When she got to his manhood and stopped, and unconsciously licked her bottom lip, he had to grit his teeth against the surge of lust that pulsed through him.

If she ever realized the sensual power she wielded over him, he feared she could have him following her around like an eager pup with one crook of that slender white finger.

“Is that better?” he challenged.

Her eyes skated over him again, getting that soft, heavy-lidded look of arousal that he’d come to crave. She gave a quick nod and with a deep breath, lifted the linen chemise over her head and let it drop in a pool at her feet.

He sucked in his breath, his eyes slowly scanning the delicate feminine curves of the lithe beauty before him. Christ, she was even more beautiful than he’d imagined from the pieced-together views he’d managed. Her legs were long, her waist slim, her br**sts firm and perfectly round. And her skin…It was incredible. As smooth and flawless as freshly churned cream. He knew the baby-softness, the velvety feel, and when he dared to run the back of his finger over her breast, he groaned.

Realizing her cheeks were pink and her eyes had dropped to her feet, he cupped her chin and forced her gaze to his. “You are perfect, mo ghrá. There is no cause for you to be embarrassed.”

But she was. And as jittery as a filly before a storm. Not a bad analogy for what was to come.

“Make love to me, Robbie,” she whispered.

It was the sweetest plea he’d ever heard, and one he sure as hell wasn’t going to refuse. “Aye, my lady. I intend to.” In one smooth motion, he swept her up into his arms, cradling her like a child. Although the sensation set off by the contact of her naked skin to his left him no doubt of her womanliness.

She laughed in surprise and gazed up at him with so much emotion in her eyes it made his chest hurt. He bent down to pick up the plaid she’d worn around her shoulders and carried her toward the large tree.

She latched her arms around his neck. “You’ll hurt your ribs carrying me like this.”

“My ribs are fine. And the day I can’t carry a slip of a lass like you is the day I’ll resign my title at the Games forever.”

She grinned. “I suppose there are a few benefits to that title of yours—other than the more obvious ones.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. His brows knit together in question.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’ll get no more compliments from me. I’m sure you are well aware of how the ladies view that impressive physique of yours.”

He grinned wickedly. “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that, you wretch.” She swiped at him, but as he decided at that moment to put her down on the plaid he’d spread out on a bed of leaves, she missed.

He grinned down at her. “You hit like a lass.”

“I am a ‘lass,’ in case you hadn’t noticed.”

He gave her a long, hot look up and down. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

He bent on one knee and leaned over her. She looked so beautiful it took his breath away. Naked, in a bed of leaves, hair spread out wildly behind her, she looked like a wood nymph in some kind of erotic dream. Except it wasn’t a dream. This was real.

The moment of playfulness was gone. “There is only one lady whose opinion matters to me,” he said truthfully, bringing her hand to his lips.

She smiled, the knightly gesture obviously surprising her as much as it did him.

He kissed her then. Gently. Tenderly. Giving free rein not just to the passion, but also to the powerful feelings that seemed to give it much more force.

He worshipped her body with his mouth and tongue, leaving no inch of her unclaimed. Her skin was like the sweetest cream, and he drank her in like a man dying of thirst. Like a dying man. That’s what she was—ambrosia for his soul.

He feasted on her, burying his face between her velvety thighs and lapping her creamy softness. He licked and nuzzled, flicked and sucked until her beautiful br**sts arched into the sun and her thighs tightened around his neck. He held her to his mouth as she shattered, crying out his name.