The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(109)

She bristled. “I don’t think it’s funny.”

He skimmed his hands over her naked body, caressing every inch of velvety skin until it was warm and pliable. “If you only knew how beautiful you are to me, you’d think it was funny, too.” He shook his head. “Men love seeing women naked. And you …”

He slid his hands down the slim curve of her waist, over her shapely bottom, and up her smooth stomach to cup her br**sts in his hands. “Your body is a fantasy.”

He kissed her again, but he could still sense her nervousness. He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I thought you were seducing me.”

“Aye, well I’ve never done this before.”

He frowned, the vague outline of a question forming in his mind. Seduction, that’s what she must mean. She was inexperienced but not innocent. He forced his mind away. He couldn’t let himself think about it.

Put it in the past.

So he kissed her, kissed her until he couldn’t think about anything other than the sweet taste of her mouth and the incredible sensation of her body moving under his. Skin to skin.

He broke the kiss, rolled onto his knees before her, and slowly inched the sheet from her body.

He kneeled before her, taking in every inch of creamy skin.

Jesus. His mouth went dry. He’d imagined this—hell, even tried to put together pieces of glimpses he’d caught before—but nothing, nothing prepared him for the vision splayed out before him.

Her br**sts were high and round, tipped by small, raspberry-pink ni**les. He took one between his fingertips because they were too tempting not to touch. He rolled the hard tip between his fingers, gently caressing her to an even harder peak.

He liked the way her breath started to hitch.

He let his gaze drop to her stomach. To her slim waist and gently curved hips. To the woman’s place between her legs. To the long, shapely legs and high-arched feet.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he rasped, his throat too tight with longing.

His gaze locked on hers, and he could see her relax. See the breath that she’d been holding exhale.

“So are you,” she said, her eyes exploring the wide spans of his chest, his arms, his legs, and then—God, have mercy!—his manhood.

Heat flooded her cheeks and she lifted her gaze back to his, aware that she’d been staring.

“I like it when you look at me, love,” he said huskily.

Her eyes widened a little. “You do?”

He nodded, because he couldn’t speak.

Boldly, her gaze took him in again, and then as he’d done to her, she touched him. Sculpting her hands over the muscles of his shoulders and arms, testing his strength with soft little squeezes. He flexed hard under her fingertips.

“Your arms are as yielding as stone. You’re much more muscular than you were before.”

He laughed. “I should hope so. I’ve four years of battle behind me.”

“What’s this?”

Her fingers trailed over the mark on his arm. The same mark borne by all the members of the Highland Guard. The Lion Rampant, the symbol of Scotland’s kingship, with a torque-like band of a spiderweb around his arm. The spider in the cave that had reminded the king at his lowest point to not give up.

“It’s nothing.” He took her hands from his body, gripping her by the wrist, and slammed them back against the mattress on either side of her head.

She gasped, startled.

He loomed over her, locking his gaze on hers. “Do you want to ask questions, Helen, or do you want me to make love to you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer; the eager glint in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

Helen gazed up at the man leaning over her. This rough, physical side of him was a surprise. He was always so courteous and gentle, so noble and reserved. But there was nothing noble and reserved about him now. He looked fierce and dangerous, his handsome face cast to wickedness in the shadows.

With her hands pinned on either side of her head, he held her completely at his mercy. She couldn’t move if she wanted to. But she had no intention of going anywhere.

She liked him like this. Physical. Dominating. A little rough. She liked the weight of his body on top of hers, liked to see the way the muscles of his broad chest and big arms rippled and flexed in the candlelight above her, liked to feel his strength.

Instead of threatening, it made her feel safe and protected. She knew he would never hurt her. She bit her lip. At least she hoped. She had to admit being a little nervous about the first time. He was a big man, and she … she wasn’t quite sure how well they would fit together. But she assured herself that if women could give birth to babies, her body could adjust.

Now was probably not the best time to remember all the screams that accompanied those babies.

Fortunately, Magnus distracted her with far more pleasant thoughts.

He kissed her mouth, her neck, her throat. Dragging his tongue and lips on a shivery trail to her br**sts.

Oh yes. She felt a quiver of anticipation between her legs.

He cupped them in his big hands, rubbing the hard calluses of his thumbs over each tip. The gentle touch sent off flickers of sensation darting through her.

“Your br**sts are beautiful.” He tore his gaze away long enough to look into her eyes. “So soft and round.” He demonstrated his point with a gentle squeeze that made her hips press up against his. “Flawless ivory skin topped with two ripe little berries.” His eyes hooded as he gazed on them hungrily. A rush of dampness flooded between her legs. “I can’t wait to taste them.”