The Recruit (14 page)

She did as he bade, nearly choking when she realized it wasn’t wine but whisky. He
laughed, urging her to take another drink. She steeled herself, taking a long sip
of the fiery brew.

When she was done, she handed it back to him. She wondered if maybe he wasn’t quite
as confident as he appeared when he took a long, hard sip of the flagon as well—emptying
it.

His eyes seemed a little hotter when he leaned over her again, putting his hands on
either side of her hips as she rested against the table. “Tell me, Mary,” he repeated,
the
lilting huskiness of his voice adding a new level of temptation. She’d descended from
purgatory straight to hell.

She shuddered. Powerful arms and the broad shield of his chest surrounded her like
a steel cage. She couldn’t escape if she wanted to.

But she didn’t want to. She’d learned to make her own decisions, hadn’t she? She was
going to do this.

That is, if her heart would stop racing long enough for her to take a breath.

But breathing became an afterthought when his mouth found the tender spot next to
her ear. The heat of his breath against the damp skin sent a hot bellow of desire
rushing through her. His mouth trailed along her jaw and then dipped to her neck,
finding all the sensitive places along the way. She shuddered and moaned, defenseless
against the powerful onslaught of sensation. He pressed a kiss on the frantic beat
of her pulse.

“Say yes, Mary,” he whispered.

“Yes. Please, yes.”

Six
 

The moment the word was out of her mouth, he fell on her with a fierce growl of possession
that sent a thrill right down to her toes. The chains of his passion had been released,
and there was no holding him back. It was magnificent. Physical proof of his desire
for her.

The slow, seductive caress of his lips on her throat and neck turned ravishing. He
devoured whatever inch of bare skin he could find with his lips and tongue. Kissing.
Sucking. Sliding and flicking his tongue over her fevered skin until she thought she
would die from sheer pleasure. And then his lips were on hers again, and she was certain
of it.

His tongue licked into her mouth, filling her with the exquisite taste of him.

For such a powerfully built man, his lips were surprisingly soft. And warm. Deliciously
warm. She wanted to sink into him and never come up. She returned his kiss with all
the newly wrought passion surging through her veins.

His kiss devastated, destroying whatever lingering doubt she had with each fierce
stroke. Her chest squeezed with longing. She wanted this. Wanted it desperately. Wanted
it more than she’d ever dreamed possible. He was making her feel things she’d never
felt before. Her body tingled and burned with a restless energy. Feelings long dormant
had come to life. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. She savored
it. Welcomed it. Let it crash over her in
wave after thrilling wave. He was a hot, drenching storm to her parched desert.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest on an impatient race toward the unknown. She clutched
at him, her fingers digging into the granite of his shoulders, as his tongue claimed
every inch of her mouth. And she let him take it, surrendering to the plunder with
fierce abandon.

Her breasts were crushed to his chest. She moaned at the contact, reveling in the
sensation of the solid weight of him over her. There was something deeply arousing
about the feel of all those muscles pressed up against her. Something primal in the
bodily proof of his masculinity and her femininity. He was big and strong; if there
was ever a man built to protect, it was he.

Although she no longer looked to a man to protect her, she did like the way all those
muscles felt against her. It seemed strange that something so hard and unyielding
could make her want to curl against him and never let go.

But it wasn’t just their chests that touched. He dipped his hips toward hers, and
she gasped.

Goodness! It was one thing to take note of his size out of the corner of her eye,
it was another to have the blatant evidence burning into her stomach. Thick and hard,
she could feel every sinful inch of him throbbing against her.

But instead of fear, the proof of his arousal sent a frisson of excitement pulsing
between her legs. She felt the strangest urge to move. To rub up and down against
that hardness.

As if reading her mind, he slid his hand down to cup her bottom and lifted her more
firmly against him. With a groan, he started to rock his hips.

Mary saw stars. A burst of sensation exploded inside her. Heat poured through her
limbs, gathering in a damp, anxious pool between her legs.

She no longer thought about moving, she
had
to move. Her hips rocked back, grinding against the hard thickness
that was both the source of her frenzy and the only thing that could ease the strange
restlessness.

She wanted to feel him inside her. To feel him filling her. To feel him thrusting,
possessing, bringing her all the pleasure she’d witnessed on the face of that woman.

Feelings, responses, urges that she’d experienced as a young bride but had buried
beneath the shame of an indifferent husband burst free.

She held nothing back, straining toward him. Plastering every inch of her body to
his. But still it wasn’t close enough. She felt the passion reverberating through
him in muscles flexing under her fingertips. He was straining, too. Straining against
something he wanted just as badly as she did. It was like unharnessing a bolt of lightning.
A clap of thunder. Raw, volatile energy ready to be unleashed.

She could feel the pounding of his chest, hear the heaviness of his breath. She wanted
to go faster. To have him give her everything she could feel building between them.
The hot promise of sensation clenched low in her belly.

He was kissing her so hard, pressing his hips against her so firmly, it seemed nothing
could come between them. They were melded together. Not even the barest whisper of
air could pass between them. Only heat. Impossible heat.

Suddenly, he tore his mouth away with an oath. “Bloody hell, wait!”

Whether he was talking to himself or her, she didn’t know.

She blinked at him dazedly, shocked from the swift curtailment of pleasure. She felt
like a child who’d been gorging herself on stolen sweets and then had the plate removed—guilty
and unsatisfied. The only consolation was that she was still in his arms. But then
those, too, were gone.

She barely stopped herself from sounding the whine that rose to her lips. Swollen
lips. Lips that a moment ago had been crushed to his.

He looked at her fiercely, as if blaming something on her. “We’re going to do this
right.”

“That wasn’t right?” She blushed, realizing she’d spoken aloud.

His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I see your point. Perhaps I should have said that
table doesn’t look very comfortable. Nor does it look very strong. I wouldn’t want
to break it.”

She read the wicked glint in his eye and felt a rush of heat—and not just to her face—when
she thought of the force that it would take to break it. The hard, powerful thrusts—

She stopped herself, pushing away the naughty images. Sweet heaven, one taste of passion,
and he’d turned her into a wanton!

Almost as if he could read her thoughts, she saw the flare of heat leap into his eyes.
The piercing blue darkened to almost black.

He made a sound under his breath that might have been another oath and turned away.
If she were still a silly, starry-eyed girl, she would think this paragon of masculine
virility was struggling to control himself.

He’d changed from his earlier warrior’s garb to a plaid and a fine dark-blue embroidered
tunic for the feast. He unfastened the jeweled pin that held the plaid from around
his shoulders, and then laid it out on the stone floor. Sinking to his knees, he held
out his hand. “It’s not as comfortable as hay, but it will have to do.”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile. He really was wicked to tease her so. She looked
down at his outstretched hand. Now was the time she should be having second thoughts.
God save her for being a horrible sinner, but she didn’t have a single thought to
stop him. Not a one. She put her hand in his and allowed him to help her down, telling
herself there was nothing at all romantic about this. He wasn’t
her
gallant knight, he was a fantasy.

But when he captured her in his arms, eased her down on the plaid beneath him, and
looked into her eyes, her heart was pounding and skipping all over the place.

The warmth was back. He was holding her again, and stretched out against him on the
floor, she felt strangely vulnerable. It was intimate, this. Lying with him, they
might have been in bed together as husband and wife.

It didn’t feel illicit. It didn’t feel wicked. It felt … right.

No!
She felt a stab of fear, wishing she could tell him to go back to the table. Wishing
he’d never stopped. Wishing he’d just let the passion explode between them and be
done with it.

He pressed a soft kiss on her mouth, still looking into her eyes.

His gaze hypnotized. He was entrancing her, putting her under some kind of spell,
making her think, making her believe, that this was somehow special.

One night
.

His finger traced her cheek and dipped down to behind her ear. “Your veil,” he said
huskily. “Can you put it back on by yourself?”

She nodded. “Why?”

She had her answer when he started to pull the pins from her hair. A moment later
her veil was tossed to the side.

He drew in his breath.

Her gaze shot to his, and what she saw there made her turn away, shying from the unexpected
pleasure. Her hair had been her one vanity. But it had been hidden for so long, she’d
wondered if a man would still find it pretty. If his expression was any indication,
the answer was yes.

She could feel the weight of his scrutiny as his fingers ran through the long waves.

“It’s a sin to cover something so beautiful.” His voice was almost reverent. After
a moment, he cupped her chin, turning her gaze to his. “What else are you hiding,
my Mary?”

She shook her head wordlessly, something in his voice causing her to panic. This was
a man who could uncover secrets. Who could dig up emotions buried a long time ago.
My Mary …
“Nothing,” she managed in a gasp.

He didn’t believe her. “We shall see.”

And then he kissed her, turning that gasp of panic into one of pleasure.

She could taste his intent. He kissed her like a man with a purpose. This wasn’t a
kiss meant to seduce but one that was already certain of the end. Bold. Fierce. Carnal.
He was taking what he wanted, yet giving her everything in return. He kissed her as
if he couldn’t get enough of her, as if he was never going to let her go.

Her body responded as if there had never been an interruption. All the passion he’d
roused in her returned full force. She slid her hand around his neck, bringing more
of his weight down on top of her.

His erection was pressing against her thigh, but he shifted, nudging it closer to
the place she wanted it.

She must have cried out. He growled in response, his movements quickening, becoming
more frenzied. He slid his hand along the curve of her hips and she arched against
him like a cat.

Who was this woman? What had he done to her?

His kiss slid from her mouth, down her chin and to her throat. “You’re so sweet.”
His voice sounded tight, strained.

She could hear the sounds of her breathing in her ears but was too overcome to care.
She couldn’t seem to do anything but writhe in restless anticipation as his mouth
burned a trail down her throat and his hands singed an equally hot path over her body.
He knew exactly where to touch her. His hands were on her hips, her stomach, the curve
at her waist, and then—finally then—her breast.

He cupped her, squeezed, molded her into his hand, and she moaned at the absolute
wonder of it.

His mouth had descended as far down her bodice as the
modest gown would allow him to go. “God, I wish we had more time,” he murmured. “I
want you naked.” A memory of his bare chest flashed before her eyes. She shuddered
at the thought of all that hot, tanned skin against her. He lifted his head to look
into her eyes. “I want to see these pretty nipples before I take them in my mouth.”

He placed his mouth right on the spot he was talking about. She gasped, feeling the
damp heat right through the silk and linen.

She arched into his mouth, and she heard him swear again as he sucked. Sucked hard.
Sucked so she could feel the sweet tightness around her nipple and shimmery needles
of pleasure shot to her toes. She started to moan, soft, urgent sounds that she’d
never made before.

He made a harsh sound and pulled away. “God, you’re killing me,” he said, before returning
his mouth to hers for a fierce kiss.