Samantha James (16 page)

His gaze ran over her. Her hair tumbled about her shoulders, loose and free. Her mantle reached nearly to the floor, completely covering her clothes. He frowned. Had she been outside, then?

Glenda clutched the edges of her mantle together. There was a sinking flutter in the pit of her belly. Never had he been so aloof! It was her fault, she knew, yet how was she to explain what she didn’t fully understand herself? From the look of him, he was not even disposed to listen! Yet she had to try. She had to!

Swallowing, she focused on the squareness of his jaw, for she could look no higher. Her voice but a wisp of sound, she began.

“I am ashamed, Egan, deeply ashamed. You are right. I have treated you as…as no wife should treat a husband. I was wrong to—to refuse you. To deny you as I did. But before God, I will not do so again.” Her fingers fumbled with the laces at her throat. A flush stained her cheeks, but she did not stop. “I am yours, Egan. Yours to do with…as you will.”

The mantle fluttered to the floor. It lay in a dark pool about her ankles.

Beneath it she was naked.

There was a ringing silence. He said nothing. Eyes of ice-blue fire pored over her, a scorching appraisal that made her quiver both inside and out. Did she please him? Oh, if only she knew! His lips were drawn in a relentless line. He stood like a fortress of stone, his expression shielded behind a wall that stretched clear to the Heavens. The strain was almost
more than Glenda could stand. A hundred doubts crowded through her mind. She was no longer as young as she’d once been. She’d carried a babe, and bore the marks on her belly and hips to prove it.

Still there was nothing.

“Egan,” she said faintly. “The night I first rode into Dunthorpe”—her voice began to wobble—“you said you wanted me, even then—”

“I know what I said.”

She flinched from the bite in his tone.

He took a step forward, only to stop short. His hands clenched into fists as his sides. “Damn you,” he said feelingly. “Why do you taunt me?”

She saw him through a misty blur. “I do not taunt you!” she cried.

He was suddenly reminded of what he’d done—the crude way in which he’d used her this morn. Lord, he was the one who was ashamed!

Realization dawned suddenly. He gave her no chance to respond. “You pity me, don’t you?”

“Nay!” Glenda was stunned.

His lips twisted. “What then? In truth, I don’t know what you think of me!”

Her lips parted. She gave a shake of her head. “How can you not when I stand before you naked…naked and willing?”

“You said that before,” he accused.

Secretly shattered inside, she wanted to weep. He would reject her! Perhaps this was his way of paying her back—of making her feel what he had felt.

“’Tis different, I swear.” Silently she beseeched him, to no avail. “Egan, I thought you wanted me!”
It was a stricken cry. Shamed and degraded, she bent to retrieve her mantle.

He stopped her, his fingers winding around her wrist and bringing her upright.

“I do want you,” he said tightly. “God above, you know I want you!” His eyes pinned hers. Within his gaze glittered a searing demand. “But what of you, Glenda? What do
you
want?”

“I want…this. I want…you…” She gazed at him, with quavering heart and limbs atremble.

Egan’s eyes darkened. Having her so near, dainty and bare in all her glory, was a temptation beyond bearing. His release this morn had been no release at all! Indeed, it but deepened the frenzied longing that stirred his blood to a molten heat. The urge to drag her against him, to plunge his hardness in her furrowed channel and feel her moist heat clamp tight around his rod surged high in his mind. But they had come so close before…. He was a man, not a monk, and he could not be turned aside again. He had to know for certain this was what she wanted.

“And what if I do not believe you?”

There was a heartbeat of silence. When her voice came, it was but a thread of sound.

“Then it appears I have no choice…but to show you.”

Glenda had hoped he would make this easy for her. He did not. He
would
not. Ah, but she could not blame him! He was wary. She knew it was a test. He was asking her to prove the truth of her claim—her claim that she wanted him.

In all her days, Glenda didn’t know when she’d been so afraid. Her pulse was pounding so that she could scarcely breathe. Her throat was parched and dry.

Candlelight bathed his form in golden silhouette. He stood before her, vital and strong. Fierce and compelling. Dark hair matted the broadness of his chest, the hard plane of his belly. His arms were knotted and lean, cleanly sculpted with muscle. He wore his pride like a targe of iron, so intensely masculine he drove the very breath from her lungs.

His eyes barely flickered as she stepped before him. His expression was unreadable. With her eyes she traced the squareness of his jaw, the flare of a brow both noble and arresting. The journey ended with his mouth; it spun through her mind that she’d always thought his mouth was beautifully shaped,
though stern and a bit thin just now. Gathering all her courage, she eased upward, closed her eyes and kissed him.

His lips remained closed and tight. He might have been a statue carved in marble for all the effect it had on him.

Glenda frowned. Tentatively she splayed her hands across his chest. It was hardly the first time she’d touched a man’s chest, but Niall’s had been smooth and void of hair. Since the day she’d first seen Egan working alongside the mason, naked to the waist, his chest had held a forbidden fascination for her. Responding to an unbidden call within her, she twined her fingers through the dense, curly fur; it was startlingly soft, springing against her palms. Beneath it, his flesh was resilient and warm, almost hot.

“You must do better than that, wife, if you are to convince me.”

“You did not seem to like my kiss.” Glenda couldn’t help it. His coolness hurt.

A roguish brow climbed high. “Then mayhap you should kiss me again.”

Hesitating for a moment, Glenda did as she was bid. This time his mouth moved ever so slightly beneath hers. Encouraged, she pressed her tongue to the very center of his lower lip. She felt more than heard his indrawn breath. His arms started to come up, tensed…then fell to his sides.

Scarcely daring to breathe, she slipped her arms around his neck. She kissed him, opening her mouth against his, melding her body against him so that the
pelt on his chest tickled her nipples…aye, even there at the apex of her thighs.

In all truth, Glenda did not know what came over her then. As always with Egan, she lost track of her senses, of her very self. Succumbing to the pulsebeat of desire that throbbed in her veins—and with a daring she hadn’t known she possessed—she arched her woman’s mound against that part of him that was so very different from her own feminine softness.

And now he was not so indifferent. Everything inside her began to sing, for his body betrayed him. His rod swelled, an iron prod against the hollow of her belly.

Something snapped inside him. The arms around her constricted; for a perilous instant she thought he would crush her, for his embrace was almost frighteningly strong. Then with a groan that vibrated deep in the cavern of her mouth, he lifted her clear from her feet.

“Are we done talking?” His voice was strangely thick.

Her fingers coiled in the hair that grew low on his nape. “Aye,” she said faintly.

“Good, for I have never been one for pretty speeches.”

Suddenly it was no longer she who directed their play, but he. He captured her mouth in a long, fevered kiss that made the world turn over, letting her slide against his body as he lowered her to the floor. He released her long enough to strip off his trews and kick them aside.

When he turned back to her, he was as gloriously naked as she. She had but one mind-spinning
glimpse of his body—long, virile limbs liberally netted with a layer of silky dark hair. Between his legs the spear of his arousal stood stiffly, rigidly erect; its size widened her eyes and left no doubt that her desire was returned in full measure…and more.

All at once his arms engulfed her. His eyes were hot and glittering; they sheared directly into hers. “If you would stop me, do it now, or by God, I’ll not be stopped.”

Her fingers curled and uncurled against his chest. Her pulse knocked wildly. Shyly she laid her fingers against the bristly hollow of his cheek.

“I cannot,” she whispered. “I
will
not.”

Something flared in his eyes. Triumph? Victory? She knew not. She cared not.

“Put your arms around my neck, the way you just did.”

His urgent whisper rushed past her ear. Her arms closed about his neck, and when they did, he braced his legs wide apart. Lean hands curved beneath her buttocks until her thighs were braced upon his.

She could feel him, all of him. Her gaze was drawn down…ever down. She saw him…jutting hard and thick and straining…She saw herself, poised on the very crown of his staff. Neither could look away as his velvety tip breached her damp golden nest. With one burning, scalding stroke he made her his, stretching her flesh, driving deep…deep within her velvet portal, so deep there was no more of him left to give. A shivering cry of sheer pleasure tore from her throat.

His head jerked up at the sound. “Are you all right?”

“Aye,” she whispered, the sound but a breath. His girth nearly made her gasp. She was immeasurably full of him, there where her satin channel fitted tight around his swollen flesh—he was not a small man, and his shaft was buried within her to the hilt. Yet there was no pain. Smiling slightly, she traced her fingers over the shape of his mouth.

He groaned and kissed each tip in turn. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

She complied with no hesitation.

He nearly spilled himself in that instant.

His eyes never left her face as he lifted her—he almost left her completely, but not quite. His arms grew taut. His gaze roved the delicate features upturned to his. And then she was coming down…down on his rod as the long, erotic friction began anew…

Her smile faded.

Thunder crashed inside her.

He kissed her with stark, raw possessiveness, the demands of his mouth hot and fierce. Her head fell back as his lips slid down the slender column of her neck. Kissing. Licking. His tongue darting like living flame along the throbbing vein at the side of her throat. He held her almost desperately, fallen victim to a tormented hunger. He held her as if this were the end of the world and they were the only two left, giving in to the gut-twisting desire. Forever he’d wanted her. Forever he’d waited. And now to finally have her here in his arms…it was too much. He shuddered with the pleasure of being inside her at last, knowing that if he allowed it, but a few quick thrusts and his climax would explode. But he didn’t
want it to end. Not yet. Not so soon. He wanted to make it last forever. He nearly moaned, in sweet satisfaction or sheer frustration, he knew not. But his body succumbed to an urge more powerful than he could command. With hot passion swirling abrim, he could hold nothing back.

Nor could she.

The world was tilting, spinning all awhirl. Dizzy and breathless, she gasped as his dark head dipped low. His lips closed around the burgeoning tip of one breast; with his tongue he circled it again and again, lashed it to quivering erectness, then took it between his lips and sucked strongly.

She ran her hands over the heavy satin of his shoulders, thrilling to the powerful flexion of muscle beneath her fingertips as he lifted her again and again. Somehow she’d always known it would be like this with Egan—raw and explosive and fiercely primitive.

Their hips churned faster and faster. Again and again he plunged into the hot cave of her womanhood, so deep he touched her very womb. Glenda dug her nails into the binding of his shoulders in wild abandon. She felt wicked. Wantonly erotic as his eyes locked on the fullness of her breasts, bobbing with the fierceness of each thrust.

His features were rigid with strain and passion. His hands locked almost convulsively on her hips. He buried his head in the scented hollow of her throat.

“Glenda”—her name was a hoarse, shivering cry, tearing from deep in his chest—and then again: “
Glenda
!”

Slowly he raised his head, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely. “You belong to me now.”

The storm inside her quickened, driving her toward the edge in a great torrent, like the rush of the river toward the sea.

He lunged inside her, a rending force, frenzied and torrid. Once. Twice. Thrice. As if he’d lost all pretense of control…

He gritted his teeth, holding on by a thread. “Say it,” he commanded gratingly. “Say my name.”

His name trembled on her lips. He gazed down at her, his features tense, his eyes searing. Something held her back…something…she knew not what…

“Say it,” came his fiery demand anew. “
Say my name
”…And within that torrid sound was a tortured plea she could no longer deny…

Something gave way inside her. “Egan,” she whispered, and all at once it was as if a dam burst free inside her, as if everything broke apart. His name spilled from her lips. “Egan,” she cried softly, the sound laden with the hazy blur of desire. “Egan…Egan…”

Her body convulsed almost violently around his. Feeling the spasms that shook her, Egan groaned. One last piercing lunge and his seed spewed against the very gates of her womb, a release more scalding and intense than any he had ever known.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes.” He flung back his dark head and cried his ecstasy aloud. “God, yes!”

Lulled to wakefulness by the sunlight glancing through the shutters, Egan woke with his mouth as dry as ashes. Turning his head, he saw that the candle at the bedside table had burned to a stub. His first thought was that he’d consumed more wine than he’d realized…his second was that his body was unaccountably warm. He started to stir, only to freeze. His blood seemed to clog in his veins. His heart surely stopped. For Glenda was here.

Here in his bed.

Long skeins of chestnut and gold streamed across his belly, a thick, satin cloud shot through with morning sunlight. Her head was pillowed against his shoulder. A dainty hand lay upturned in the center of his chest. She was sleeping deeply, the lushness of her form draped against his side, her breath a warm mist against his skin.

It came back to him slowly, tiny snatches of remembrance. His anger at Glenda for denying him…her startling appearance in his chamber. Naked beneath her mantle…so brave…so enticing…He remembered the tremulous way she had kissed him, the feel of her small, delicate frame in his arms, the sweet heat of her passage seizing hold of him as he thrust inside her…

Christ, he’d thought he dreamed it! The most wondrously erotic dream of his life…

An incredible pride washed over him. No other woman but Glenda would have possessed the courage to come to him as she had done. Yet in that instant between one heartbeat and the next, he felt himself slung to the depths of a shame blacker than any he’d ever known.

He’d taken her like a slut. On his feet. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Jesu, but he’d stormed the gates of her womanhood like…like a battering ram!

Where before, his senses had been dulled by sleep and drink, now his mind turned furiously. She should hate him. Yet she was still here—in his bed! And…was it a wholly misbegotten swell of masculine pride and prowess that reared its head here? He could have sworn she’d been as aroused as he—as needy as he. Or was it merely his inebriated state that rendered it so?

He swallowed. Christ! Why had she stayed? Why had she given herself to him?

Her nearness swarmed his senses. Shifting slightly, he eased the sheet from the bare slope of her shoulder to gaze at her more fully. Relaxed in sleep, she still possessed a sensual allure that made his mouth go dry all over again. The mounds of her breasts, plump and full, rose and fell evenly. Her nipples were of deepest rose—he well remembered the taste of those roseate peaks, the way they had puckered and surged into his mouth. Her skin was like palest cream, flawless and unmarred—against his own bronzed hardness, he felt like a heathen.

She shifted, and he froze, for now one slender leg lay intimately entwined between the length of his own.

“Egan?”

His name was the wispiest of murmurs.

“Aye.” His heart pounded. A wary dread knotted his stomach. He paused, awaiting the censure he was sure would follow.

“’Tis late, isn’t it?” Her voice was still husky from sleep.

The beat of his heart ceased its clamor, returning to normal—as normal as could be with soft, feminine flesh plied along the length of him as she was.

“Aye.” His voice was nearly as soft as hers.

“We should rise.”

“We should,” he agreed.

Neither of them did. The twin sounds of their breath filled the air, accompanied by the whirr of insects outside the window, the echo of a distant hammer.

There was a subtle tightening of powerful arms around his tender prey. His fingers weaved through hers, dark against fair, coming to rest there amidst the tangled fur on his chest. Something slipped over him then. Something beyond words, beyond feeling, beyond description…something akin to contentment, but much deeper…It had naught to do with passion’s play, the satiation of physical pleasures. Egan knew it as surely as the sun had risen this very morn.

This, he thought, this was what he’d been waiting for all his life. Wanting it without knowing it.

Reluctantly he eased back so that he could see her face. “We must talk, lass.”

Glenda, too, had enjoyed the quiet peace of the morn, the security she felt while lying snug in his embrace. Tipping her head, she saw that his expression was one of guarded watchfulness. He sounded so serious—and she was not yet ready to be serious.

She smiled slightly. “You were not in the mood for speech last night, as I recall.”

“True,” he admitted. There was a small pause. “But there is something you must know, something I should have told you last night.”