Her One Desire (17 page)

He bent to one knee and braced his elbows on the rim. “What do you mean, nay?” She stared at him with darkening eyes.

Heavy breathing pushed the water to and fro over the curve of her collarbone. His eyes shifted to the middle of the water. Her hand followed the path, leaving her one hand short of covering all three of her treasures. Her knees peeked out of the top of the water, slightly spread and trembling. She slammed them shut.

If he didn’t know better, he would say she was fully aroused.

“I mean nay. Ye want your maid, then go fetch her yourself.”

He cast her a broad grin.

A burst of air shot out of her nose in a fury, popping tiny bubbles atop the surface. His gaze locked on a perfectly shaped breast, sweetly curved with an upturned nipple crinkled into a tight bud. His cullions thickened to hard stones beneath a rigid erection he couldn’t control. A team of oxen couldn’t pull him from the room.

“Hand me a towel and stop gawking at me.”

“I cannae.”

“Why?”

“Because ye are naked.” He dipped his index finger in the water to his knuckle and twirled. ‘”Tis hot.” He studied her nipple surrounded by water. It should be a soft, round, rosecolored circle, but it was as hard as his cock. “Ye are aroused.” “What?!” she yelled, obviously mortified by his statement. “Ye are alone, naked in a tub, with only your thoughts, and ye are fully aroused. Deny it.”

She growled at him in comment.

“Tell me, Lizbeth, is Edlynn talking to ye again?” One finger drew a path down her throat and into the water. He stopped between her breasts and then repeated the action. “I will not play your game.” She bit her bottom lip. “ Tis no game. Tell me what ye were thinking before I came into the chamber.” He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her cheeks turned a darker shade of crimson. The water rippled around her quivering knees. Sharp breaths brought her breast closer to the surface, temptation a hand’s reach away. He tweaked her nipple.

She cried out and grabbed his wrist, but made no resistance when he rolled the tiny nubbin between his thumb and forefinger. Her head lolled in pleasure, and her eyes twitched behind closed lids. “Oh, God.”

“Tell me”—he watched her knees slowly separate—“did I enter your thoughts or is there another man who makes ye burn?”

Her eyes snapped open, fire leaping in their depths. “There is no other man, and you well know it. Now remove yourself from my person and step back.”

Obediently, he did as she asked, but couldn’t look away. He felt intoxicated and the weightlessness in his head had naught to do with the drink.

She scowled at him. “Hand me the wrapper on the bed.” He raised the fine linen up in front of him by the shoulders and shook it. She would have to take at least three steps to get to him. To his astonishment, she stood straight up in the tub; water trickled over her shoulders, down her breasts, and straight into the dark triangle of curls at the apex of her legs. She was probably glaring at him, but he didn’t notice, nor did he care. His gaze remained fixed on luscious legs and creamy skin. The kind of skin a man could dine on for hours searching for all the places that would make her gasp and moan. He licked his lips and swallowed.

She yanked the wrapper from his hands and gloved herself inside it. She may as well still be naked for all the more it hid. In an instant, her wet skin soaked the material, outlining the curve of her hips, the lines of her thighs, and the shadowed circles of her nipples. She tied the strip of silk tight around her petite waist and lowered her head. Hiding. “Thank ye for your assistance, m’lord. You may go,” she said softly and turned toward the darkest corner in the room, combing her hair against the side of her face.
Nay!
He wanted to shake her. The desirable woman disappeared and in her place returned shy, timid Lady Ives. He stepped up behind her and curled one hand around her shoulder. Gathering her thick wet locks, he pulled them aside and kissed the back of her neck. He felt the tremors rack her body. “Where is she?” he whispered against the rim of her ear.

“Who?”

“The woman who breathes fire inside ye. I want her back.”

He nipped her earlobe.

“You rejected her.”

“’Twas a mistake. Bring her back. I’ll not reject her again.” Her head fell against his chest. The hands clutching the edges of her wrapper loosened. “You will kill her if you do.” He peeled the material over her shoulder to expose a perfect brown beauty mark. He kissed it, nibbled at it, and then grazed his teeth over it. There was no going back. She wanted him, and he wouldn’t deny her. He would deal with the complications of his actions when he returned to Scotland. “I will not reject ye.”

“Vow it upon your soul.”

“I vow it.” He surrendered, turned her in his arms, and raised her chin. “All will be well. Bring her back,” he whispered and drew her bottom lip into his mouth. She suckled his top lip, but not with the passion he knew she possessed. He opened her mouth with the press of his thumb and inhaled her air. “I want my angel.” He awaited her kiss. Searched for it. Craved it. Then finally she was there, moistening his lips with her own. She caressed his mouth with exquisite tenderness, then dove in with a vengeance. Her mouth slanted over his. Once, twice, increasing her demand each time. Their tongues mated with a born instinct, chasing one another with fervent speed. He spread his jaw wide to deepen the kiss, and she unleashed a tiny mew—the sound like bells in his ears.

He picked her up and laid her on the bed. her eyes moist, her lips pinked by his kiss. The edge of her wrapper fell away at her hips when she rubbed her legs together—her magnificently long legs. The head of his cock broke from the waistband of his trews. He was going to explode if he didn’t take her. After tossing his weapons to the floor with a clang, he removed his boots and shed his surcoat and tunic in one pull. The tiniest of voices inside his head told him to consider his actions, but his desire to have her deafened his conscience. He planted a knee between her thighs, and the intensity of her stare set his heart pounding against his spine. Her lips parted. He kissed her to silence her words and slid a hand up her thigh beneath her wrapper to squeeze her backside. Her fingers played over his chest, his arms, his stomach, tickling the skin below his navel. He had to control himself, had to reign in the beast that wanted to devour her whole. She whimpered and ground herself against his knee. “Lizbeth, I should warn you. There will be pain at first, but I—“ She released the tie of her wrapper and stole his words. “I am not afraid of you or of what’s about to happen. I might be an innocent, but—“ “Edlynn?” he supplied, saving her an explanation he had no desire to hear.

“Aye.”

He traced a finger from her chin all the way down to her patch of sable curls. She sucked in air at the contact. “I will not deny ye or myself anymore.” He bent and flicked her taut nipple with his tongue—teasing, biting, titillating—before taking her breast into the haven of his mouth while kneading her other forgotten breast inside the nest of his hand. She grasped handfuls of his hair and pressed him harder against her. “Broc,” she whispered and widened her knees. She knew what she wanted, and he wouldn’t make her say it.

Braced atop her, he kissed her again and slowly slid one finger into the tight, silken flesh between her legs. She cried out, but he showed her no mercy. His thumb danced around her untouched bud until he felt her swell for him. Adding a second finger, he teased her until her toes curled, and her body shuddered; then her panting turned into mewling I screams. Her hands seized clumps of bedding as she grasped for something to hold on to. Her reaction was fast and fierce.

“Mercy Mary!” Her back arched.

A surge of liquid heat washed over his hand, shocking him. He’d never had a woman react so quickly. The next time she reached fulfillment, he would be inside her. ‘ He stood above her, rumbling with his trews in a mad rush to free his arousal. He knelt between her parted knees, the smell of her climax driving him insane with need. Sweat rolled down his back as he positioned himself at her entrance. “Pledge your troth to me.”

Her eyes fluttered open. Confusion and satisfaction combined lowered her delicate brow.

“What?” she questioned between heaving breaths.

The tip of his cock slipped between her nether lips. A throaty groan vibrated through his throat. One stroke and he would be finished, but he would make love to her again and again. “I will not take your virtue until we are husband and wife. Pledge your troth and make me your husband.” “Nay. I want no husband.”

Her words sent him reeling. Fury erupted beneath his skull and stabbed the backs of his eyeballs. In the last four days he’d gained everything he’d ever wanted—the future of Clan Maxwell, Lady Juliana, the chance to protect his clan and his country. He was willing to give it all up for her, and she denied him.

He bolted off her, raking his hands through his hair. For once, he had no words. He pulled on his trews and collected his garments from the floor.

“I cannot marry you. Are you mad?” She sat up and jumped from the bed, pulling the wrapper over her flushed skin. He knew her fears, he knew what prevented her from accepting, and she was a fool to doubt his protection. He reached for the door lever. The soft patter of her footsteps stilled behind him. “Broc, please.”

“I have been true to my vow to protect ye. I wield as much power in ray clan as your precious Gloucester. I protect the borders of an entire country. Think ye I would allow our sons to be cursed with your father’s profession?” He opened the door and walked into the corridor, damning her father for instilling such fear in her.

Chapter 12

Women!
They would be the death of Scotland. Tis fortunate for Scotland
that
particular woman denied him. Broc couldn’t marry Lizbeth. ‘Twould be a disgrace to his clan. He was bound to Lady Juliana. Da would disinherit him if he » brought home another bride. Broc paused in the corridor to reposition his weapons, his hands shaking with a rage he should be able to control. How had he become so infatuated with her? Aiden would have never offered a woman marriage. His brother at least had the wit to spend himself inside a woman without promises. Hell, Ian probably knew this by now, and he was barely twenty summers.

The moment Broc was certain Gloucester had the information Lizbeth provided he was going home. For now, he was determined to scratch his itch the same as any lusty Scotsman. ‘

Whisky and women.

The sharp smell of wine and lust led him down the curved stairwell and back to the festivities. John, Celeste, and Smitt ‘ had apparently retired, but the dark-haired seductress still danced for garland in the center of a band of drunkards. She teased them with her movements, bending in all the right positions to allow their imaginations to strip her bare. He swiped two mugs of mead from the tray of a passing maidservant. The liquid amber didn’t even touch his tongue as he poured it down his throat. He scoured his lips with the back of his hand and watched the entertainment. Lizbeth’s face rushed behind his eyes.

He swilled the second mug of mead. He should be thinking of Lady Juliana, not Lizbeth, and he damned sure shouldn’t be ogling the drab dancing with herself like a woman in the throws of passion. She caught his eye and smiled over her shoulder, flirting with him through half-closed eyes. Her pink tongue darted out to lick her top Up, and her fingers cupped her breasts and squeezed.

Broc’s teeth clenched until he felt certain they would crumble into bits. His pulse throbbed in his groin. Every muscle in his body wanted to let the beauty play with him.
To hell with honor.

Two flicks of his finger was all the girl needed. She bounced through the crowd on bare toes, then rubbed herself against his side. She was just the itch he needed to scratch. Her long fingers moved over his stomach, then dipped low to stroke the hard length of his cock. “Oh,
mon dieu.”””
Her eyes lit up, and her smile widened. “Ye want me?” “How much?”

“Three ducats.”

He grabbed the girl by the wrist and dragged her from the hall. Music and merriment dissipated behind them, but her grating voice replaced the hollow void of an empty hallway. “Have ye a name ye want me to use?”

“Julian,” he provided without thought.

The wench prattled on, some words in English, some in

French, but he couldn’t decipher any of it over the pounding

in his chest. She took three steps for every one of his angry strides, desperate to rid himself of the stronghold. He felt more imprisoned here than he had in the Tower. Six archways led them into the castle garden. Rushlights burned around a fishpond alighting alabaster sculptures of naked people. The mixed aromas of fruit trees and plots of herbs called his attention to an abundance of flowers. They were everywhere. Exotic scents slapped him in the face and nearly stopped his footing. Behind his eyes he saw Lizbeth lying in a field of blue flowers.

God’s hooks!
He refused to think about her and tugged the beauty behind him down a series of stone steps. The entrance to a maze presented two options, left or right. He turned right and stalked through two walls of green hedge until darkness surrounded him. He stopped, released the girls hand, and held his aching chest. She panted, bent at the waist, hands on her knees, no longer badgering him with trivial questions. Broc braced his legs. His head fell back. The sky above spun, turning stars into flickering circles. What was he doing? This was not his way. He didn’t pay for pleasure. Village maids served him well in his youth, but after his time in the monastery, he became more selective about the company he shared.

“Ye want me naked?” The girl reached for the gold clasp on the small garment holding her breasts in place. “Nay.” He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her. He wanted Lizbeth. The girl shrugged one shoulder and dropped to her knees in front of him. She looked up at him, her big doe eyes glittering in the starlight, while one hand massaged his sac and the other reached for the string of his trews. “Ach!” He pulled her to her feet. “Forgive me, maiden.