The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(29)

It didn’t make any sense, but he was too angry to wonder how a too-skinny widow past her prime, doing her best to look unattractive, was making him feel like a squire about to tup his first maid.

He intended to show her exactly what kind of claim he had. He’d seen her first, damn it. If anyone was going to cut those too-tight laces of hers and watch her explode, it was going to be him.

Planting his hands on either side of her face, he leaned in closer. She smelled good. Not with the overwhelming, cloying scent of strong perfumes, but a faint whiff of flowers, as if she’d bathed in rose petals.

Her breath did an enticing little hitch as his face lowered. In the dim light of the fire he saw her lips part in innocent invitation, but it was the flutter of her pulse below her jaw that sent a pool of heat rushing straight to his groin.

Aye, she wanted him. He could almost taste the desire on her lips, and it shot through him with a surprisingly powerful surge.

“I’m making one,” he said, staring in her eyes and daring her to deny him.

He could see her eyes widen as she took in his meaning. “I don’t—”

He cut off her protest with a kiss. He’d only meant to make his point, to stake his claim with a possessive, irrefutable press of his mouth. But the first touch of his lips on hers changed his mind.

He suddenly understood the poetical allusions of bards. The ground did indeed feel like it had shifted as he was hit with an overwhelming blast of sensation. Passion exploded between them on contact. The kind of raw, primal passion that reached down, grabbed him by the bollocks, and wouldn’t let go. Aye, his bollocks could feel it—as did his cock.

His bodily reaction to her was fierce. Primal. The strange attraction vibrating between them tightened, and the connection once made could not be undone. It had happened to him before—an unexpectedly powerful reaction to a woman on an elemental level—but never to this extent.

Hell, he wouldn’t need the recipe for black powder if he could bottle this.

He hadn’t expected this at all. It was a surprise. A pleasant one, but a surprise nonetheless. Who would have thought he’d be so turned on by a colorless little wren? The fierce attraction didn’t make sense, but it was undeniable.

Christ, her lips were so soft they didn’t feel real. He groaned, sinking a little deeper in the kiss. And so sweet. He couldn’t believe how sweet. He’d had honeysuckle once, and that was what he thought of now. Blooming in the warm sun.

He moved his lips over hers. Slowly at first, urging her response. She wasn’t fighting him, seeming to be in almost a stunned daze, but it was equally clear she didn’t know what to do.

He showed her. With slow, gentle strokes, he told her with each lingering drag of his lips on hers exactly what he wanted from her.

She mimicked his movements tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence as the kiss intensified.

A shudder of sensation rippled through him. His chest buckled. It felt incredible. He had to fight the urge to sink in deeper, to bend her to him and take everything he wanted from her all at once.

He felt strange—drugged with desire. It was coming over him too fast and hard. He was hot and hard—and getting harder by the minute. And she was practically melting against him. The press of his hips against hers had become a sweet grind, as the gentle friction of their kiss intensified.

Christ.

He groaned, needing to taste her deeper. His hand was on her cheek, caressing the velvety-soft skin, his fingers urging her to open her mouth. When she did, he wanted to let out a roar of pure masculine pleasure. He wanted to plunder her mouth with his tongue, claim every inch of her surrender.

But instead he forced himself to slow. Swallowing her gasp of surprise, he swept his tongue inside, letting her get used to the sensation.

But slow wasn’t working. Not when she responded. At the first slide of her tongue against his, he felt his control slip. With every stroke, every taste, he was descending deeper and deeper into a mindless haze. The smooth seduction was becoming a conflagration of urgent groans and frantic movements.

His body was responding to her with an urgency he couldn’t recall. He couldn’t seem to get enough.

The roar of lust in his ears grew louder, drowning out everything else. It was pounding through his veins in a rush of hot molten lava. All he could think about was the tiny woman against him. The feel of her slight body pressing against his. The feel of her mouth sliding under his. How much he wanted to hitch her up against the door, wrap her legs around him, and sink inside her.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten this hot from a kiss. The awakening of her desire was egging him on.

He dug his fingers through the hair concealed by the veil, groaning at its silky softness. Cradling the back of her head, he brought her mouth closer to his. The kiss grew harder, hotter, more carnal. She was dissolving against him like warm sugar and he couldn’t seem to devour her fast enough.

The sensations firing inside him were too strong. His desire was too intense. His heart was beating too hard, his blood rushing too fast, his skin feeling too hot. He felt himself sinking deeper into the kiss, sinking deeper into her. Moving closer to the point of no return.

From a damned kiss.

He had to stop.

He tore his mouth away with an oath and had to stop himself from stumbling back. It felt as if he’d been caught up in a whirlpool, and then suddenly tossed out.