The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(18)

But it was the way he was looking at her that sent her heart slamming to her toes.

His warrior’s heightened senses had alerted Kenneth to the woman’s presence well before he heard her startled gasp. He wouldn’t have lasted very long in this war if someone could sneak up on him—even while engaged in the more sensual pursuits.

Although “engaged” was probably putting it strongly. Engaged implied interest, which he was fighting hard to maintain. He’d been silently wishing for the woman to come already before they’d been interrupted.

It was hardly uncommon in a crowded castle to come upon two people giving way to their baser needs. It wasn’t common, however, to stand there and watch.

Rather than run off in shocked embarrassment as he’d expected—as she should have done—the woman had seemed transfixed. At first, when he’d seen all that black and the wimple, he’d thought her a nun. All she was missing was the natural wool scapular over her gown.

Amused, given her prim, officious attire, and not wanting to frighten her off, he hadn’t looked at her directly but watched her out of the corner of his eye.

Not that she’d seemed likely to catch his gaze, as her attention wasn’t focused on him but on the face of the woman beneath him.

Lady Moira had seemed the wisest of the options presented him tonight. Choosing a bedmate was becoming something of running the gauntlet, trying to avoid any connections to the king or his important lords that might land him in trouble. As the widowed attendant of Lady Elizabeth Lindsay, Lady Moira seemed unlikely to give him any problems.

She was also young, uncomplicated, eager to please, and lusty. A perfect combination, to his mind.

Except he hadn’t been able to muster much enthusiasm for the task. Such interludes, which had suited him well in the past, had started to feel rote. Stale. Interchangeable.

He’d attributed it to his focus on the task ahead of him, but maybe it was something else. Maybe he needed a little excitement.

The wee interloper seemed to have provided it.

God knew why, as there was hardly much to her. His first impression was of a ghostlike, colorless creature hidden behind the ugliest, most shapeless clothes he’d ever seen on a woman who wasn’t old enough to be his grandmother or living in a convent.

She wasn’t either. The slight, pinched face, half hidden behind a pair of what he assumed were glasses, was smooth of lines, and the rings she wore on her fingers, along with the brooch pinned to her gown, suggested she was a lady of some position. Perhaps, like Lady Moira, an attendant to one of the noblewomen.

When he’d first glanced at her, he thought there was something familiar about her. But if he’d met her before he could not place her.

Not surprising, as she seemed perfectly forgettable. Almost too perfectly forgettable. There was something fine in her delicate features that seemed obscured. An echo of beauty that could not be completely erased.

He wished he could see her eyes better. And her hair. Though from the light golden brown of her softly arched brows, he suspected it was blond.

There was no reason in Hades why this slight, bland woman who looked about the farthest thing from wicked could be inspiring him.

He’d wanted to shock her. See a flush rise to those pale cheeks. Rattle the prim and serious from her laced-up-tight exterior. Give her a performance to remember.

She seemed entranced by Lady Moira’s pleasure, as if she’d never seen anything like it. Realizing she probably hadn’t, he’d set out to instruct her. He always saw to his bedmates’ pleasure, but he extended it, drew it out, purposefully touched Lady Moira in places that were sure to shock.

And they did. But to his surprise, they also aroused.

Both of them. When the little voyeur’s breath sharpened and started to quicken, he felt his body respond. Everything felt a little hotter, and a hell of a lot harder.

He couldn’t believe it—the wee drab wren was turning him on.

Hell, if he’d known how much fun it would be to have someone watching him, he would have done this a long time ago.

Anticipation built inside him. He was tempted to drag it out longer, but he couldn’t wait to see how she reacted to what he was going to do next. She was going to like this. Nearly as much as Lady Moira did.

He buried himself full hilt, reached down between Lady Moira’s legs, and stroked her until she started to come. She cried out her pleasure in a soft, keening wail.

But he kept his gaze on the wicked, wee interloper the entire time. He watched her face soften, her lips part, and her eyes fill with such naked longing he would have given anything at that moment to be the one to give her the pleasure she craved.

Jesus. His stomach muscles clenched, fighting against the jolt of lust. He hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected it to affect him so much. But watching the sensual awakening on her face, the combination of shock and desire—unwilling desire—was one of the most erotic things he’d ever beheld.

He was no longer in doubt that he would be able to come.

Who would have ever thought that beneath such a dull, listless exterior lay the dormant passion of a wanton?

The lass was completely unaware of what she was doing to him. But he wanted her to know. He wanted her to look at him.

Finally, she did.

At first he’d been annoyed by Lady Moira’s request to take off his shirt, feeling a little bit like a stallion at market. But he was glad for it now. Glad he could see the open admiration and innocent hunger as the woman’s gaze roamed every inch of his bare skin.