The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(32)

Her heart beat wildly in her chest on an impatient race toward the unknown. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into the granite of his shoulders, as his tongue claimed every inch of her mouth. And she let him take it, surrendering to the plunder with fierce abandon.

Her br**sts were crushed to his chest. She moaned at the contact, reveling in the sensation of the solid weight of him over her. There was something deeply arousing about the feel of all those muscles pressed up against her. Something primal in the bodily proof of his masculinity and her femininity. He was big and strong; if there was ever a man built to protect, it was he.

Although she no longer looked to a man to protect her, she did like the way all those muscles felt against her. It seemed strange that something so hard and unyielding could make her want to curl against him and never let go.

But it wasn’t just their chests that touched. He dipped his hips toward hers, and she gasped.

Goodness! It was one thing to take note of his size out of the corner of her eye, it was another to have the blatant evidence burning into her stomach. Thick and hard, she could feel every sinful inch of him throbbing against her.

But instead of fear, the proof of his arousal sent a frisson of excitement pulsing between her legs. She felt the strangest urge to move. To rub up and down against that hardness.

As if reading her mind, he slid his hand down to cup her bottom and lifted her more firmly against him. With a groan, he started to rock his hips.

Mary saw stars. A burst of sensation exploded inside her. Heat poured through her limbs, gathering in a damp, anxious pool between her legs.

She no longer thought about moving, she had to move. Her hips rocked back, grinding against the hard thickness that was both the source of her frenzy and the only thing that could ease the strange restlessness.

She wanted to feel him inside her. To feel him filling her. To feel him thrusting, possessing, bringing her all the pleasure she’d witnessed on the face of that woman.

Feelings, responses, urges that she’d experienced as a young bride but had buried beneath the shame of an indifferent husband burst free.

She held nothing back, straining toward him. Plastering every inch of her body to his. But still it wasn’t close enough. She felt the passion reverberating through him in muscles flexing under her fingertips. He was straining, too. Straining against something he wanted just as badly as she did. It was like unharnessing a bolt of lightning. A clap of thunder. Raw, volatile energy ready to be unleashed.

She could feel the pounding of his chest, hear the heaviness of his breath. She wanted to go faster. To have him give her everything she could feel building between them. The hot promise of sensation clenched low in her belly.

He was kissing her so hard, pressing his hips against her so firmly, it seemed nothing could come between them. They were melded together. Not even the barest whisper of air could pass between them. Only heat. Impossible heat.

Suddenly, he tore his mouth away with an oath. “Bloody hell, wait!”

Whether he was talking to himself or her, she didn’t know.

She blinked at him dazedly, shocked from the swift curtailment of pleasure. She felt like a child who’d been gorging herself on stolen sweets and then had the plate removed—guilty and unsatisfied. The only consolation was that she was still in his arms. But then those, too, were gone.

She barely stopped herself from sounding the whine that rose to her lips. Swollen lips. Lips that a moment ago had been crushed to his.

He looked at her fiercely, as if blaming something on her. “We’re going to do this right.”

“That wasn’t right?” She blushed, realizing she’d spoken aloud.

His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I see your point. Perhaps I should have said that table doesn’t look very comfortable. Nor does it look very strong. I wouldn’t want to break it.”

She read the wicked glint in his eye and felt a rush of heat—and not just to her face—when she thought of the force that it would take to break it. The hard, powerful thrusts—

She stopped herself, pushing away the naughty images. Sweet heaven, one taste of passion, and he’d turned her into a wanton!

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, she saw the flare of heat leap into his eyes. The piercing blue darkened to almost black.

He made a sound under his breath that might have been another oath and turned away. If she were still a silly, starry-eyed girl, she would think this paragon of masculine virility was struggling to control himself.

He’d changed from his earlier warrior’s garb to a plaid and a fine dark-blue embroidered tunic for the feast. He unfastened the jeweled pin that held the plaid from around his shoulders, and then laid it out on the stone floor. Sinking to his knees, he held out his hand. “It’s not as comfortable as hay, but it will have to do.”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile. He really was wicked to tease her so. She looked down at his outstretched hand. Now was the time she should be having second thoughts. God save her for being a horrible sinner, but she didn’t have a single thought to stop him. Not a one. She put her hand in his and allowed him to help her down, telling herself there was nothing at all romantic about this. He wasn’t her gallant knight, he was a fantasy.

But when he captured her in his arms, eased her down on the plaid beneath him, and looked into her eyes, her heart was pounding and skipping all over the place.

The warmth was back. He was holding her again, and stretched out against him on the floor, she felt strangely vulnerable. It was intimate, this. Lying with him, they might have been in bed together as husband and wife.