Her One Desire (21 page)

“Broc!”

“I’m here, angel.” He looked up at her, his hands pushing hordes of heavy material up to her thighs.

“Get me away from the water.”

“Ye’re suffocating inside your garments.”

“Then take the gown off, but get me away from the water!” She jerked her legs out of his grip, dug her heels into the bank, and pushed backward. Her entire body convulsed with tremors as she helplessly struggled to push herself back.

He picked her up and carried her to a small patch of short

grasses spotted with white blooms. Thick fingers worked the

buttons of her false sleeves, then untied the laces of her bodice behind her back. He pulled the stiff material from her arms only to be met with another rigid garment clamped tightly around her ribs. He managed to untie five knots. The sixth he ripped, setting her free of the contraption. She filled her lungs with air, arching her back off the ground, while he went to work on her skirts. He sifted through the layers. “Three skirts? Who the devil needs three damned skirts? Who dressed ye?” “The duchess’s maid,” she answered behind closed lids. Gloucester used his wife’s maid to try to kill Lizbeth. Broc fought the fastenings around her waist like a clumsy boy until he managed to slip her skirts off over her feet. “Ach!” A wool overtunic. “I know ye’re in there, Lizbeth,” he teased, hoping to get a rise out of her.

When at last he had her stripped to a pale undertunic, he stood over her, panting from the chore. White flowers encircled her in a garden of innocence while waves of dark cinnamon framed her angelic face. Her toes curled around silky blades of grass, and her arms splayed wide and trusting. The hot color disappeared from her skin, leaving behind the sweetest blush of happiness. What he found the most appealing of all was the look of peace smoothing her beautiful features. She couldn’t possibly know how much he desired her. An inferno blazed beneath his skin and filled his manhood into a throbbing erection.

Now he was the one who was hot. Damned hot and getting hotter as he took in the sight of her. Her thin, wet undertunic clung to her every curve, sculpting her breasts, the fall of her waist, and the hollow gap at the top of her legs. He had to have her now. The deafening bawl of crashing water roared behind him, silencing the sounds of his eagerness. Weapons flew away to the ground as he divested himself of his surcoat and tunic. He dropped one knee between her thighs, pulling her under tunic lower at the neck. A quick pull released the tiny blue ribbon guarding her breasts. Her eyes blinked open, and her fingertips stilled him.

“Tis enough, m’lord.”

But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough until he was buried inside her. “Again with the ‘m’lords.’ Think ye we are past that?” He slid his hand over the valley between her breasts where her tunic gaped open. Her heart kicked his palm. She sucked air between her teeth. “We are past naught. You are a lord in your country; therefore, I will address you according to your station.”

“Submissive Lady Ives has surfaced again, hasn’t she? Put her away. I want the other woman.” His hand slid beneath the material and cupped the base of her breast as his thumb and forefinger rolled her nipple.

She slapped his hand away. Animosity suddenly replaced what he had mistaken for a playful glint in her eyes. “And what woman might that be? Mayhap the kind you pay to rut in the bushes?” She pushed him.

He fell to his back growling. “What are ye talking about?

I dinnae rut with drabs in the bushes.”

“You are a damned lying Scot.” She sat up. “I met Sybil in the laundry.”

“Who the devil is Sybil?”

“The woman you dragged into the labyrinth after you left my bed unsatisfied,” she spat with all the venom of a scorned lover.

Understanding finally set in. The gypsy dancer. “I dinnae touch her. If the woman said I had my way with her, then she lied.” He closed his eyes and raked his hands through his hair.

A moment of silence fell between them. Then Lizbeth’s knee pressed firmly against his sac.

His lids snapped open.

Lizbeth bent over him, palms flat on the ground, head tilted. Fearless, righteous anger slanted her brows to the point of lunacy. “Then how is it she knew the size of your cock?” Her breasts touched his chest with each draw of air, torturing him further. Any normal woman would have stomped away to sulk, but not Lizbeth. She was a fighter. He flipped her over, pinning her hands to the ground. “Ye denied me. I was angry and acted out of sorts. I sent her away with extra coin to leave. Had I tupped her, I would have found my sleep, instead of getting lost in the damned labyrinth half the night.” Lizbeth studied his face. The rise and fall of her chest slowed, and her fists loosened. He let her push him to his back. She needed to dominate, to be in control, in order to trust him again. She straddled his waist and leaned low into his face, so close he could see the fine lines in her lips. “Did you touch her?”

“Nay.” He raised his hand to caress her cheek, but only brushed her hair with the backs of his fingers. Like a lone doe, he didn’t dare show aggression. The trust was there, building. He could see it in her eyes, but Lizbeth would insist on more. Her gaze dropped to his lips. “Did you kiss her?”

“Nay.”

She brushed the side of her nose against his and tightened her thighs around his waist.

“Vow it upon your soul.” “I vow it. I dinnae want her. I want no other. I want ye.” Lizzy wanted him, too. She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe he could always keep her safe and would protect her heart. She wanted the life he offered her, and she wouldn’t deny herself the chance to love. He was the light in her darkness, and she was tired of hiding, tired of being afraid. She slanted her mouth over his, binding them together in a kiss. She danced inside his mouth while her heart pounded in her ears. The flutter in her gut exploded behind her breasts, and desire, hot and raw, pooled like liquid fire over her skin. She wrenched free of his lips and pulled her tunic over her head, baring herself to him. “I am yours.”

He reached up, cupped her head, and pulled her back to his mouth, then flipped her beneath him. He held her wrists above her head in one hand and kissed his way down her neck, bathing her skin with his warm tongue. Silky grasses tickled her skin and cool air played havoc behind his kisses. The same vibration flitted through her belly as the night before.

Whimpers replaced her pants. “Broc.” She pulled against the vise he held on her wrists, but he wouldn’t release her. Instead, his mouth continued its exquisite torture on her breasts, drawing on her nipples until they proudly pointed upright. Unable to still her movements, she rubbed her feet up the hulk of his calves, desperate for him to …

“Touch me.” “Not this time, angel.” He stood and peeled off his trews. “Mercy Mary!”

she exclaimed, wishing she’d kept her thoughts silent. His arousal stood straight and tall against his abdomen, nearly touching his navel, and his bollocks hung low in a tight sac. Her eyeballs dried, and her toes curled in anticipation, or mayhap fear. He knelt and spread her thighs wide until her hips rotated and her feet came off the ground. Then his hand left her leg and stroked her. One finger ran over her swollen slit, making her jerk, but he quickly deserted her.

She waited for him to pledge his troth, fully prepared to return his words. His blue gaze met hers, full of agony, debate. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, but no promises followed. Instead, he positioned himself at her entrance ready to slide inside.

He pressed against the barrier of her virginity. “I’m sorry.”

With one thrust, her innocence snapped.

She cried out, not expecting the sharp pain to rip through her insides. Fingers clung to his shoulders as every muscle pulsed within her.

He stilled inside her. His eyes closed, and his head bent to gently kiss the tops of her breasts. “Twill pass. I vow it.” She waited, trusting him, while her muscles moved around him, adjusting to his size. After a moment, the white-hot flame of intensity returned. She wiggled to encourage him to do something. She didn’t know what, but there had to be more. Her body needed release, craved it, demanded it. “Are you supposed to move?”

His head popped up, a shock of black hair hanging over one raised brow. He smiled wickedly, exposing his dimples, then drew back.

Her ankles wrapped around his buttocks to prevent him from pulling all the way out, but he broke free of her hold and slipped out of her.
Nay!
she yelled in her head, disappointed by the brevity of their union. She frowned at him. “Are ye done?”

He chuckled. “Nay, but I will not last long. Ye are tight.” Before she could understand his intentions, he curled his hands around the underside of her knees and pushed them up beside her breasts. Indigo eyes hid behind black, sweeping lashes. He looked intoxicated, and the way his eyes bore into her made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world.

Her fingers touched the flexing muscle in his jaw; then her palm flattened against his chest where his pulse hammered. Was he regretting his actions? “Broc?” His name rolled over her tongue.

He closed his eyes and entered her again. And again. Stroke after glorious stroke. She whimpered and mimicked his actions with her hips, seeking fulfillment. The controlled rhythm of his movements bounced the heels of her feet off the backs of her thighs. Then all at once, his control snapped. His knees lifted off the ground, his weight pressed hard against her bent legs, and he drove himself to the hilt inside her. He shook, released one of her legs, and brought his hand between them.

Deft fingers swirled around her swollen pearl of flesh.

“Set yourself free, Lizbeth.”

She did. Her body spiraled in ecstasy until all that surrounded her was white light. He roared.

She screamed.

Then their worlds collided inside her womb.

Chapter 14

Pitch black. Lizzy’s eyes were open, but total blindness enveloped her. The ground beneath her was solid. Rock solid. A trickle of water echoed to her right, along with a jingle of harness and a quiet neigh. The slide of a wool blanket left her skin exposed to cool, damp air; then a burst of heat warmed her neck. Broc was on top of her kneeling between her knees and nibbling his way down her ribs. The last remnants of sleep vanished, replaced by total awareness. She felt invigorated, alive, like she’d slept for days. Mayhap she had. He teased her soft, warm breasts—one in his mouth, one in his hand—until the blood rushed beneath her skin, mimicking the hum of passing water in the distance. Lightning flashed the same time a jolt of desire shot up her spine. She shivered.

“Dinnae be afraid. I’m here.” Broc wrapped strong arms around her, hugging her, ceasing his seduction to comfort her.

But terror didn’t imprison her in this darkness. No faces haunted her, no monsters. “I am not afraid.” She returned his embrace and kissed his neck, filling her senses with him. He tasted of spice, smelled like wood sorrel, and felt like paradise. “The dark should be stealing my breath, but ‘tis not.”

“Because you trust me to protect ye.” He resumed his. nibbling on her collarbone and filled his palms with her backside. “I do,” she admitted freely, empowered by this strange new courage he’d found in her. She wove her fingers through his hair, keeping him close. “’Where are we?”

“In a cavern by the river. I awoke in a bed of wildflowers beside a satisfied angel—a naked satisfied angel,” he corrected in a silky timbre, “and I thought it best I protect her from the storm.”

“Satisfied, aye?” She tested his arrogance, though he certainly sounded full of piss ‘n’

nettles, as John would say. “Oh, aye. Verra satisfied. So satisfied I daresay I might have sent her into a swoon.”

She tried to recollect the moments following their lovemaking, but the truth was, she remembered very little. He’d wrapped his arms around her, protecting her in the shelter of his embrace until she slipped into slumber. Mayhap she did swoon. She was liable to swoon again if his lips continued their course down her belly. “Did you think to collect this naked angel’s garments?”

“Aye. We are lying atop them. Three thick velvet skirts make a fine bed.” His tongue dipped into her navel. She pulled his hair and sucked in air, drawing her stomach away from his teasing tongue.

“I am famished.” His teeth grazed her hip bone.

“I could fix you an oatcake,” she offered.

He laughed at her and popped a quick kiss straight atop her mound. She quickly realized his hunger had naught to do with food. The thought of him kissing her
there
made her ears burn.

He sat back on his heels. “I want no oatcake. I want to taste ye, but your scent is making me wowf.” A strong hand clasped around her calf and brought her foot to his lips, stretching the muscle in her thigh. He kissed the arch, leaving behind atickle, then hooked her ankle at the curve of his neck. He leaned forward, opening her wider, and stroked the side of his erection over her mons. “My control is lost when I’m with ye. I cannae think about anything but being part of you.” His swiftness startled her, as did the brazen position. Another flash of lightning outlined his broad form between her legs. There was no hiding the fact he intended to take her again, and quickly. A dull ache warned her it might be too soon, but then he supported himself on one hand and teased her with his magic fingers, turning her ache into desire. She moaned and lost herself to his touch, while her mind yearned for his promises, his pledge, and his devotion. The musky smell of her sex wafted up between them, and the sounds of her mewling made Broc forget who he was. He pulled slick fingers from her and sheathed himself inside her, moving in long, slow strokes. “Ah, Lizbeth,” he whispered above her. “Touch me.”

Her hands were everywhere—over his shoulders, his chest, titillating his nipples between her fingertips, and then her nails dug into his backside.

He found the woman inside her, and he wanted to claim her for his own. He drove himself inside her, harder, faster, until his senses were overwhelmed with her and only her. Behind his closed lids all he could see were golden eyes. All he could smell was her essence. He would never get enough of her.