To Taste Temptation (Legend of the Four Soldiers #1)(66)

—from Iron Heart

She’d argued with herself all day, even as she’d been careful to keep to her rooms for fear that she might see him. The reasons were well worn by now. They were of different classes, different worlds. She had a son and a family to think of. He was too intense, a man not easily led. She wouldn’t be able to hold the upper hand with him. And yet...

And yet...

Maybe it was because she’d spent all day debating and redebating herself. None of the arguments seemed to hold sway anymore. She shrugged them aside because they paled in comparison to her need. She needed to feel him inside her once again. Shocking, how animal she’d become. She’d never done this before—pushed reason aside, let her physical self rule. It was a frightening thing, to give herself solely over to the sensual. Frightening, and exhilarating at the same time. She’d always held herself in strict control, been the one in control. Someone had had to—all the men who were supposed to hold the family together had left. First Reynaud, then Danny, then six months later, Father, leaving her alone.

So terribly alone.

She tensed as she heard a footstep outside the door. She was ready for him, nude and already in bed, and she felt excitement shoot through her. Then he was opening the door. He closed it behind him, not bothering to disguise his limp once inside the room. In that moment before he saw her, she noticed the lines that carved furrows into his cheeks, the slump of his broad shoulders. He was weary, she could tell, probably not yet recovered from his punishing one-man race of the day before. And she didn’t care. She would have him tonight, would use him as he used her.

She saw the moment he noticed her. He paused, his coat half off, and she sat up in the bed. His bed. The coverlet slipped to her waist, revealing her bare breasts. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Have you?” He pulled off his coat. His tone was casual, but his eyes were on her breasts.

She leaned a little back on the pillows, which had the effect of thrusting out her breasts. She didn’t have to look down to know that her nipples had tightened in reaction to the night air—and to him. “Hours, it seems.”

“I’m sorry.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat, his fingers working nimbly, although he never took his eyes off her. “I would have hurried had I known.”

“I’d prefer you not hurry, actually.” She made a moue, as if displeased at the thought.

His fingers paused. “I shall keep that in mind.”

He flung aside the waistcoat and pulled off his shirt in a flurry of activity, then prowled toward her, bare-chested. He had a lovely chest, broad and muscled, the dark hair curling over nipples and in a line down his belly. Just the sight of him was making her wet, but she must not lose her advantage.

“Yes, you should.” Her gaze flicked downward, toward the breeches, leggings, and moccasins he still wore. “Yet you seem to be approaching me prematurely.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment she thought she’d gone too far. His mouth thinned and he didn’t look particularly pleased. But then he grabbed a wooden chair and set it facing her, only a few feet from the bed. He placed a foot on the chair and began unlacing the moccasin. It was different from the ones he’d ruined; he must have more than that one pair. She watched tiny muscles in his arms and back work as he untied the laces. He pulled the first one off, glanced at her, and began on the other.

She swallowed. He was only taking off his shoes, yet she knew he was preparing himself, undressing himself, solely for her. The thought made her breath catch, and she was aware that her body was ready for him.

He took off the second moccasin and revealed that he’d wrapped his feet in linens. What she could see of his bare feet looked to be healing well, though. He straightened and untied a lace at his side. She saw that his leggings were held up by leather laces tied to a strip of leather about his waist. He untied the lace at his other side and stripped the leggings off. Then he placed his hands on the buttons of his breeches, and she quite forgot about his leggings. He looked at her, holding her eyes as he unbuttoned himself, the flick of his fingers precise and controlled. She thought about what those long, nimble fingers would soon be doing to her and nearly moaned. But she didn’t break the silence, and the rustle as he pushed down his breeches and smallclothes was loud in the room.

He stepped out of his garments and was gloriously nude, except for that band of leather riding below his navel. She held her breath and watched him unwind that as well and toss it atop his leggings. He was long and lean, his skin tanned where it had met the sun and naturally swarthy where it had not. She could’ve spent years just looking at him. He had dark hair on his calves, bony knees, and thighs that were thick and strong. There was that beautiful, secret male spot where hip met belly, just next to his groin. A muscle arched into his hip there. Above that a thin white scar cut across his belly, and another scar, small and puckered, marred his upper right chest. For a moment, her eyes lingered on the thin scar on his belly, and she remembered how Jasper had said he’d run for days with a knife wound in his side. How hard that must have been. How proud she was to have such a brave man want her.

Her eyes wandered down again—saving the best for last—to his manhood. She’d forgotten how wondrous a man’s genitals were. His penis pointed nearly upright, thick and hard, wrapped about with veins that bulged with his arousal. Below, his bollocks were tight and round, and the dark hair that curled at his lower belly merely served to emphasize all. She swallowed and had trouble catching her breath.