Page 29 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
Eamon grabbed a dry cloth and passed it over my shoulders, my collarbones. He pressed it lightly against my breasts, until I thought I would go mad from the teasing contact.
"Are you trying to drive me insane?" I hissed.
He hesitated, his brows contracting. "Not at all. I am trying to be respectful."
"Well, stop it. I give you leave to be as damn disrespectful as you like."
"What does that mean?" A note of painful confusion entered his voice.
I drew in a deep breath. He was about to bolt again, so I had to be careful, and considerate, and very, very clear about my intentions.
"It means that you do not have to fight with yourself anymore." I tilted my head, giving him a soft smile, my lashes hooding my eyes. "Breathe. Feel the desire, and let yourself take what you want. You have my enthusiastic permission."
He glared at me for a moment, then tossed the cloth right over my head, blocking my vision. "I will not take you here in my home, while you are wounded."
I struggled to get the fabric off my face. "You could be very careful with me. No one would ever know." The cloth fell into the tub, but I did not care. I moved closer to him, my breasts grazing his shirt.
"What if you became with child? What then? You are so damned impulsive. Do you ever think about the results of your actions, Katrina?" He ran both hands over his head, his features contorted with frustration.
Truthfully, I had not thought of pregnancy. Embarrassed, I lashed him with the first words that came to mind. "You are right—I am impulsive. We cannot all be cautious, cold-hearted eunuchs like you. Are you sure your head is the only thing that comes off when you change?"
"A eunuch, am I?" He placed one hand on my lower back and hauled my hips against his. I could feel him, hard and eager despite his protests.
Delighted, I looked up. "If you are concerned about getting me with child, there are things we can do that are—not exactlythat." I gave him the same winsome smile I used long ago, when we were children at a party—except now, there was a good deal more of the devil in it. "We can always read tomorrow. Do you want to play with me?"
5
I lay on my side in the Horseman's bed, entirely naked, my skin warm and alive. I faced the wall instead of the room this time, and between me and the wall lay the Horseman himself, shirtless at my insistence, his handsome face flushed scarlet at the idea of what we were about to do.
"We will begin," I said, "with more kissing. And then—allow yourself to do what feels natural. Your hands may wander at your pleasure, as mine will."
He cleared his throat. "But how will I know what to do, for you?" Though he spoke gruffly, there was a plaintive note that delighted my soul.
"I will guide you. I have pleased myself before, many times."
His downcast eyes flicked up to mine for an instant, and he ran his tongue over his lip in a manner I found most distracting.
"Do you think me very wicked?" I whispered.
"Yes," he breathed. "And no. You are clearly a person with higher morals than many in these times—true moral goodness, respect for all your fellow humans, not just those who look like you. Even to me, a monster, you have shown such compassion—" He hesitates, his fingers playing with an unraveled bit of the blanket between us. "Your beauty alone does not compel me to want you—it's your irreverent, buoyant spirit—your sweet fire—your conversation, both amusing and intelligent. Even when I am piqued at you, I cannot really be angry. You know who I am, what I have done, and still you smile at me—yousmile, Katrina. How? How can you accept this—" he touched the band at his throat— "so readily?"
"It is a difference, like any other that may exist between people," I told him. "It is nothing you can control. You do not kill for the pleasure of it, and I believe harming others cleaves such agony into your soul that you can scarcely stand it, that you can hardly believe yourself worthy of communing with other people. That is the real reason you hide up here. Not only because your Ceannaire commands it, but because you do not think you deserve friendship, or companionship."
Tears glittered in his dark eyes, and he turned his head away. "How do you do that?" he asked. "You flay me open, reading my heart better than I can."
My own eyes prickled, the forewarning of coming tears. This was not what I had planned. I wanted amusement and mutual entertainment, not a confession, not an earnest baring of souls. But perhaps the revelation of ourselves would deepen the moment, and make the intimacy even more precious.
"I understand you, somehow," I whispered. "I think there are different languages of the heart, mystical and inaudible. And maybe we share a common language between us, you and I. Now, stop thinking so much, and kiss me."
He shifted nearer, until the tip of his nose brushed mine and his beautiful dark eyes filled my sight. When I looked into those eyes, I felt as if I stood on the brink of a hidden valley, all shadowed hollows and sunny hills and secret spaces no one else had visited. I alone was permitted to enter.
I nudged my face closer to his, until our lips nearly touched. My breath trickled into his parted mouth, and his sigh whispered over my tongue, and the sliver of space between our trembling lips pulsed with the delicious agony of desire.
I flicked my tongue out, sweeping his lower lip—tasting it, savoring its sensual curve. He tilted his face a fraction, and his lips grazed mine, softly, surely, pushing deeper. The tips of our tongues slipped over each other as we kissed, and kissed, and kissed again. Each fresh melding of our mouths was an epiphany, a flood of new sensations both glorious and torturous.
Eamon's broad hand cupped my cheek, his thumb caressing my skin. For what seemed like hours, he touched no other part of me. Knowing my own impatience, it was probably mere minutes, but my enflamed body craved more touches, more tenderness. When he finally slid his palm along my neck to my shoulder, I sighed with satisfaction, because it was about to begin, at last—what I had wanted for all these long years.
His hand stopped at my shoulder and stayed there.
