Page 55 of My Warrior
CHAPTER 11
It took Cambria a moment, reeling in a lusty fog, to realize what he’d said. Even then, she couldn’t for the life of her frame an appropriate reply.
“What?” she whispered at last. “You know? How did you know?”
He answered with more raw desire than he’d intended. “Did you think I hadn’t memorized every inch of you, watching you sleep beside me?”
The mist began to clear from Cambria’s mind. She drew a ragged breath. Part of her wanted to collapse in relief—Holden hadn’t been unfaithful after all—but that emotion was soon squelched beneath a landslide of other, far more powerful ones.
“You let me make a fool of myself,” she said as the truth dawned. Then anger ignited in her faster than a spark on a thatched roof. “You made me suffer in this damnably hot cloak…forced me to wait on your knights, hand and foot, when… You commanded me to your pavilion like a common—“
“Enough!” He halted her with a shake, realizing too late that he should never have stopped seducing her. He’d had her in the palm of his hand. Now, she was slipping from his grasp. “The fact remains that you’re here, garbed as a peasant, and I want to know why.”
Cambria fumed, struggling against his renewed grip. She felt utterly humiliated. She wished to God she’d never come. She should have just let him march off to his death.
“I don’t have to account for my comings and goings!” she snapped. “I’m the laird of Gavin!”
“Laird you may be,” he countered firmly, “but you’ve wed me, and nowIam your overlord.”
She jerked against him. “Am I a prisoner?”
“Until you comply with my command and tell me why you’re here, aye.”
She clamped her jaw shut and gave him her most withering glare, even though it was wasted in the darkness. She’d be damned if she’d tell him why she’d come. He’d only laugh at her misplaced concern.
Holden whispered against her cheek. “Perhaps you came because you missed my kisses.”
Before she could retort with some cutting remark, Holden took her jaw firmly in one hand and pressed his lips hard against hers. Predictably, she squealed in outrage, kicking and swatting at him like a wildcat. But when he released her abruptly, she was forced to grab onto him to keep from toppling from his lap.
“Let me go!” she hissed even as she clutched at him for balance.
“Not until you answer me.”
She refused.
“Why have you followed me, Cambria?” Threat tainted his murmur as he trailed one finger down her throat, dangerously close to her breast.
“We had a bargain,husband,” she protested, batting at his roving hand, “or is your word worthless?”
“I’ve never broken my word,” he answered calmly, capturing her wrist. “Rest assured I’ve no intention of bedding you.”
Holden wished his body would believe that. It was taking every ounce of discipline he possessed to hide his increasing ardor. Wincing as Cambria squirmed against his loins, he trapped her other wrist and held both arms down with one of his hands.
Then, as swiftly as a falcon swooping down on its prey, he captured her by the hair, drawing her head back to press his voracious mouth against her neck.
For one crazed moment, as his teeth raked her fragile skin, Cambria thought he meant to bite her. Then his mouth slipped upwards, and she whimpered in dread as he neared her sensitive ear.
“This is a battle you can’t win, Cambria,” he breathed gently. “I have far more experience on this battleground. Sooner or later, you’ll surrender.”
Cambria shivered. God help her, he was right. His voice was honey-sweet seduction, and already her blood warmed to his touch.
She should never have come to his pavilion. She had to get away. Yet she was like a fly in his web, unable to do more than wiggle in his lap, and she blushed to think what she’d feel against her bottom if she did that.
He kept her head still as his tongue began to lave her ear tenderly, and instantly, all thought of escape spun away like maple seeds in the wind. She could neither stop her moan of sweet agony nor resist when he released her to slide his fingers under the neck of her kirtle and along the valley of her bosom.
He cupped one of her breasts beneath the linen, squeezing gently, slowing circling the nipple with his thumb. She protested faintly, a protest he silenced with soft words—words of encouragement, words of praise, words that left her breathless.
“I want to suckle there,” he whispered.
