The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(63)

“Do you deny that you want me?” She leaned against him, letting her br**sts brush against his chest.

She was rewarded with the flex of a muscle beneath his jaw. He did want her, but he was determined to deny them both. Throwing caution completely into the fire, she lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against that spot. His skin was warm and scratchy, with the faint taste of soap and salt. She’d placed her hand on his chest to balance herself and felt his heart stop for a beat. But then it began to beat again, hard and angry.

Furious, he set her aside, every muscle straining with anger. “I know what you are doing and it won’t work. I’m not going to change my mind.”

Helen stared at him, not understanding why he was choosing to hold on to the past and his memories of a friend over her. The hot prick of frustration gathered behind her eyes. How easy it was for him to pull himself back from a precipice when she was still falling! “Would it be so horrible if you did?”

For one moment his expression cracked, and she could see the longing that mirrored her own.

“There are things you don’t know,” he said hoarsely.

“Then tell me.”

He held her gaze, a strange look crossing his face. Guilt? Shame? But then the mask fell back into place, and he turned away. “It makes no difference. It will not change anything. I can’t do this.”

A steel curtain had come down around him, and she knew it was useless to argue, but she couldn’t help trying. “Can’t, or won’t?” He didn’t say anything, but the look of pity in his gaze made it seem so much worse. She wanted to bang on his chest and force him to let her inside. She wasn’t alone in this. She wasn’t. “Yet you had no problem when you thought it was someone else?”

He turned from the accusation in her gaze. “I owe you no explanations, Helen. I can bed whomever I wish.”

She sucked in her breath at the cold strike of pain. She held his gaze, the crushing truth of that statement hitting her with finality. He owed her nothing. The only bond between them existed in her heart.

She stood squarely in front of him, forcing him to look at her one more time. “Except me.”

His eyes met hers. “Except you.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and left.

Helen let him go, resisting the urge to go after him. She knew he wouldn’t change his mind right now. He was too angry. Too determined.

He wanted her, but he was intent on resisting her. Why was he being so stubborn? Why was he trying to hard so make her give up?

Her eyes widened. Was that it? Did he want her to give up? Was this some kind of test to see if she was as feckless and inconstant as before?

Helen straightened her spine, shaking off the discouragement of moments before. She wouldn’t give up. She would fight for him for as long as it took. If seducing him didn’t work, she would wear him down in other ways. She could be stubborn, too.

But how to prove it when he was leaving, and she would remain at—

She stopped, remembering something the king had said earlier. A smile crept up her features. “What am I going to do without you?”

Perhaps they didn’t need to find out.

Fourteen

“Absolutely not.”

The king lifted a brow at Magnus’s bold pronouncement.

Magnus gritted his teeth and amended, “I mean, I do not believe that is a good idea, Sire. Our delay at Dunrobin means we will have much ground to cover and many places to visit. It will not be a pace for ladies.” Especially that lady. “Besides, you do not appear to be in any need of a healer. I thought you declared yourself healthier than you’ve felt in years?”

The king smiled. “All due to Lady Helen. That peasant diet of hers is unpalatable, but it is not without effect. She has graciously offered to continue serving as my healer on our progress.”

Graciously I’ll bet—the devious little termagant. Magnus could kill her. When the king had asked him to come to his chamber after breaking his fast to discuss their journey, he hadn’t anticipated having to fend off another one of Helen’s ploys. He was still in a rage after the trick she’d pulled last night. When he thought of some of the things he’d said to her …

A sickly heat crawled up his face. He would never have talked that way if he’d known it was Helen. Hell, he would never have done any of it, if he’d known it was Helen.

When he thought of how he’d touched her …

Damn it, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d touched her. He could still feel the lush weight of her breast in his hand, still taste her honey-sweet skin on his lips, and still hear the echo of those frantic little pants in his ear as he’d stroked her. She’d been so soft and wet, her body warm and ready for him. All he could think about was slipping inside that tight little glove and …

Devil take the little temptress, he’d been seconds away from taking her from behind like a rabid dog!

Pulling back when his body had been primed to the point of pain had taken every ounce of his strength. Then she’d pushed harder when she’d covered him with her hand. The feel of her dainty fingers wrapped around his c**k had set off every primal instinct in his body. He’d been a hair’s breadth from giving in to his body’s demands. From giving in to her.

Jesus.

Shame bit at him. How could he not have known it was her? The room had been dark and heavy with the scent of ale. He’d been drunk. But he hadn’t been that drunk. He should have known. Perhaps he had. Perhaps on some unconscious level he’d known it all along.