Page 86 of My Warrior
Holden! Her cheeks flamed. With a sound that was half-gasp and half-giggle, she yanked the coverlet up under her chin and slammed her eyes shut, feigning sleep.
The oak panel creaked open. His presence intruded into the darkened room like a burning brand. Her heart hammered at her ribs. But she didn’t dare open her eyes. If she looked at him, he’d know instantly what she’d been thinking, what she’d been doing.
Holden took a deep, measured breath as he ran his gaze along the length of the woman in his bed. She was naked beneath that coverlet. He knew it.
Seven days had been too long. They were practically strangers again. Here he stood with a platter of sweetmeats, like a squire come to beg the affections of a maid. It was like starting over. And the last thing his raging, snarling hound of a body wanted was to start over. Not when she was his wife. Not when she lay naked under there.
The telltale fluttering of Cambria’s eyelids belied her pathetic attempt at pretending sleep.
“You’re awake,” he accused, reining in the beast of his lust and easing the door shut behind him.
Her eyelids twitched, their lashes brushing soft and thick upon her pink cheek, but didn’t open.
“I’ve brought sweetmeats,” he crooned, unpinning his cloak with one hand and draping it across the chest at the foot of the bed. It was almost laughable, he thought. The Wolf de Ware was reduced to courting his own wife with sweets.
And still Cambria pretended to doze. She was holding her breath, but a rapid heartbeat pulsed in her neck. That slim, smooth column begged for a kiss.
“Well then,” he softly announced, creeping close, “since you’re not awake to protest…” He lowered his head to hers until he could see the nervous quiver of her nostrils. “Perhaps I’ll steal a kiss from you, and—“
Her eyes snapped open.
“Ah,” he breathed, mildly disappointed. “Youareawake. Have a sweetmeat then.”
He popped a honeyed walnut between her astonished lips and stuffed another into his own mouth. Sweet syrup bathed his tongue, but the flavor paled in comparison to the honey of Cambria’s kiss.
As if she could read his thoughts, Cambria flicked out her tongue to lap up a stray drop of honey from her lower lip. And then, because she could hide nothing from him, he saw it in her eyes. Desire. Naked, pure, powerful desire.
Instantly, all the molten lust bottled up for seven lonely days surged within him. He ached to press his lips to hers, to hold her against his hungry flesh, to couple with her. And she wanted it as well. Her gaze was hot and liquid, her skin flushed with longing. Her eyes lowered to his mouth.
He sighed her name. She closed her eyes. The platter of walnuts clattered to the floor as he lowered his mouth to hers. It was as sweet as coming home. Her lips softened at once in eager welcome. Her arms pulled him close, and he caught the curious, wonderful fragrance of her hair—a blend of thyme and leather and the sweet woodruff of her bath. He tangled his hand in the thick tresses, deepening the kiss, grazing the tips of her teeth with his tongue, then plunging into the honey-sweet recesses of her mouth. She tasted of heaven and summer and the wild hills of Scotland, of freedom and youth and desire.
He snagged the upper edge of the coverlet and slowly drew it back to her waist, feasting on her at first with his eyes and then his lips, until he’d baptized every inch of bared skin. His heart pounded as he hastily wrenched away his clothing.
And then, sliding the coverlet down, he lay upon her, flesh to fevered flesh, groaning with the pleasured pain of it. She was perfection—warm, yielding, and female. Her body cleaved to his like fine chain mail, caressing his shoulders, enveloping his chest, molding to his thighs. He shivered as delicious, fiery waves of lust rocked him.
Cambria moaned breathlessly. What she’d imagined before was nothing compared to the reality of Holden’s touch. Where his fingers lingered there was fire. Where his lips brushed…
She drew in great draughts of his male scent—smoke and leather and spice. She tasted the salty tang of his muscles as she feverishly kissed his shoulder and lapped at the pillar of his neck. She was hopelessly drunk with desire, but she didn’t care if he thought her wanton or witch. She only knew she wanted this. Needed it. This closeness, this soul-forging intimacy. Now.
Her heart hammered insistently, urging her on, compelling her to quench her growing thirst. Her body strove upward against his hot flesh, as if with a will of its own, arching her toward her destiny, toward what must be.
And then he sank into her, hot and strong and true as a lance, filling the hungry place inside her, and the breath was raked from her throat. This was the melding she’d desired, the joining of their bodies until there wasn’t a whisper’s breadth between them, the summoning of her heart by his until they beat in tandem.
He drew back then, prolonging the agony of separation as his flesh pulled slowly from hers. And just before she could sob in protest, he sheathed himself once more. Firmly. Deeply.
A low cry of passion was wrung from her lips. Every inch of her body felt charged with lightning. She peered through lead-heavy lashes at the forest-dark eyes above her. They were half closed, glazed with need, shadowed with purpose. They told her he knew exactly what he was doing, and nothing on heaven or earth would stop him. She closed her eyes and surrendered.
Holden feared it would be over far too soon. Never had he felt so aroused. But the woman beneath him deserved more. She deserved his patience. She deserved his restraint. He tried to think of her needs, lapping delicately at the shell of her ear, tracing the curve of her breast, grazing slowly across the nubbin of flesh that was the center of her lust. But the more she responded, the more demanding his own body became, like a runaway warhorse charging to its natural rhythm.
And then they were galloping together. She clutched at his mane, and he whispered meaningless commands against her hair. Faster and harder they rode, climbing the mountain of desire, striving upward with muscle and sinew and quivering flesh until the pinnacle was in sight.
Cambria gasped as she crested the top of the hill. A lush, fertile valley seemed to stretch out before her, taking her breath away, promising its bounty, filling her with awe. Holden must have felt it, too, for he paused on the precipice. And then they were racing down the hill together, bounding, falling, tumbling—wild and free and alive with joy.
Cambria didn’t remember drifting off. But the next thing she knew, she was drowsily rousing to find Holden easing his weight from her, tucking the coverlet in around her, and moving toward the window to gaze at the countryside beyond. Sunlight burnished the contours of his body, accentuating the wide curve of his chest, the casual sling of his hip, the rounded swell of his shoulder. Every inch of him exuded power.
And yet he was capable of infinite tenderness. His touch could be iron firm or as delicate as the wing of a butterfly, and the way he caressed her breast… Already she wanted him again.
Holden turned from the fire and dusted his hands. He glanced toward the pallet. His beautiful Cambria was awake. Her hair was artfully tousled. Her skin glowed like a pale candle. Her eyes glimmered behind sultry lashes. And she was looking at himthatway again. Damn, she tempted him. She was an angel in his arms—warm and soft and sweet.
