Page 93 of Laird of Flint
The woman with the power to break his heart beyond repair.
For the first time in his life, he felt fear.
Fear that he would frighten her.
Fear that he would go too far, too fast.
So he withheld a measure of his passion from her. Instead of pouring all his desire into the kiss, he answered her with gentle caution.
He closed his eyes and moved his lips tenderly against hers. He took his time, relishing the sweet softness of her skin. The subtle perfume of her cheek.
He lifted his good hand and rested his fingertips on her jaw, as lightly as if she were made of delicate porcelain. Then he slid his hand tenuously into her hair, tracing the circle of her ear with a single finger.
She gasped and shivered.
Even that small response made his control slip. There was a tightening in his braies, and his veins pulsed with erotic current.
He groaned deep in his throat, fighting to hold back.
But it was too late. Something in his voice called to the primitive female part of her. With a small answering moan, she deepened the kiss. She began to consume him the way the fire had consumed his leine, eating away his will and leaving only carnal flame.
She clutched him closer, eagerly twisting her mouth to satisfy her hunger. Her breath came in fevered panting. With intuitive urgency, she leaned toward him, struggling to get closer.
Hew’s heart pounded. Every bone in his body yearned to answer her craving. Every inch of his flesh ached to solve her womanly dilemma.
Yet he resisted. And it almost worked.
But then she captured his face in her hands. She pulled his head close. Opened his mouth with her own. Dared to let her tongue explore and taste and tempt him.
She tasted warm. Sweet. As delicious as the first cup of wassail at Yule.
And when she boldly pushed herself against him, molding her body to his, when he felt her supple breasts like soft pillows against his chest, he could no longer hold back.
Oblivious to the pain of his burns, he swept both hands into her silken tresses and growled against her lips. Delved his tongue into her mouth with starving need. And pressed against her belly with that part of him that wanted her most.
Carenza’s head was spinning. But it was a delightful giddiness, the way she’d felt as a wee lass, twirling among the sheep in a grassy glen.
He’d said the words baldly. Boldly. He’d called herthe woman he loved.Deep in her heart, she’d felt it, known it. But his constant denials and his variable affection had hammered at that belief. They’d almost convinced her he didn’t truly care for her.
Now their embrace felt like a glorious celebration of the truth. The unlocking of a secret chest filled with treasure beyond her wildest dreams.
Her body hummed like summer bees as Hew dipped into the flower of her mouth to collect nectar.
Her veins gushed like a swollen burn in spring. Racing eagerly. Gathering speed. Heading to a destination unknown.
She couldn’t remember how she’d come to be here. But she was certain it had been her idea. Now she felt as if she’d saddled a wild destrier and was clinging to him for dear life.
Still, she didn’t want the breathtaking ride to end.
Hew’s hands were strong yet gentle as he cradled her head.
Beneath her own fingers, his jaw felt manly. Firm and rough with stubble.
He tasted of ale and spice and restless hunger. And when he groaned against her mouth, it sent a sensuous current through her that drew from her an answering moan.
His chest was hard but yielding. She felt protected there. Yet where her breasts brushed against him, her nipples roused with heady longing.
But what filled her with the most thrilling heat and danger and excitement was the part of him that pulsed against her belly with eager need.
