Page 33 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
"You proved me wrong." Why was I feeling so restlessly hot again? His presence tantalized and tempted me until I could scarcely think.
Then he moved away, and with the heat of his body gone, the chill of the autumn day seeped through my blanket.
"I will make you a bed outdoors," he said. "If you promise to look at me like that again, later."
I spun toward him, eager to comply, and he winked at me before striding back to the cabin.
He seemed so cheerful today, so happy. I wanted to think it was more than the release I provided for his body. Maybe I was also offering some relief for his heart. He was clearly lonely, weighed down by guilt, torn between what he wanted to accomplish with his life and what he was being forced to do. If I could soften that ache for him, even a little, it was a more worthy effort than any I had yet undertaken in my twenty years.
Eamon returned with an armful of blankets and pillows, and his enormous Horseman's coat. He spread half the blankets on the ground, tucked me under them, and draped the rest over me, with strict instructions for me to stay put.
I stayed, only changing positions when he began to chop firewood, because I was neither a nun nor a Puritan, and I was not about to miss the delicious sight of the Horseman stripped to the waist, his tanned skin glistening with sweat as he split chunks of log down the middle. The gold band at his throat flashed in the sun, and every slick ridge of his abs contracted divinely with the power of each swing.
How could Anika keep this beautiful man hidden away in the hills? Was her motive more than secrecy? Perhaps she knew that if I had ever chanced to meet him, Brom would have immediately faded to the background of my mind. What sane woman would not want a man like Eamon—collar, scythe, skull, and all?
Sighing, I tore my eyes from him for a moment and rolled over to stare at the pasture, where Elatha galloped with his head high and his tail streaming in the wind. I should not continue fooling myself with dreams and delusions. What future could there ever be for me with Eamon, while he had to serve Anika?
But I would not give him up, not if I had to climb into the hills every week by myself just to visit him. I burned for him, craved him. I wanted his voice, reading to me. His powerful hands touching me with such care. His gruff responses softened by half-smiles. The way he sliced through all my preening and affectations and unveiled my true self. The way he relished those revelations as though I were some secret treasure he had always coveted.
He was mine. The one I had been waiting for. The face I had desired, without knowing it—the like-minded soul that mine had been searching out.
The sun climbed the azure slope of the sky to its very peak. Eamon quit his labors and came to me with food—bread and apples and berry jam, and more of the soft cheese. I painted some of the jam across my mouth and pursed my lips at him.
"No, Katrina," he said, eyeing the sweet glaze on my lips.
"Why not?" I smiled a little.
"Because—ah, the devil take you." He leaned in and licked my mouth clean, his tongue teasing between my lips. "Where do you get such wicked thoughts?"
"From my own wicked mind." I tugged aside the loose fabric of my shirt, revealing most of one breast. I scooped another dollop of jam and smoothed it onto my skin, near the tip of my breast. Eamon blinked, disbelief flaring his eyes.
"Go on," I said, leaning back on my hands. "It's delicious."
"Katrina—" He glanced around us.
"There is no one but us out here," I said. "You need to have more fun."
His eyes locked with mine. "Have you ever teased anyone else like this?"
"Not this brazenly, no."
"And what we did last night—had you done that with a man?" His tone was serious—no trace of a smile.
My own grin dissolved as well. "You are the only one," I said quietly.
He put his mouth to me then, licking away the sweetness, laving my breast with his broad tongue. Then he kissed me, warm and deep, as if he were sealing a spell.
I cupped the back of his head in both my hands and yielded to the pleasure of kissing him. I teased his lips with delicate touches—flickers of tongue, sweet words whispered across his soft mouth. It was perfect and yet not enough; I opened wider to him, and his kisses turned deliriously savage. His hands swept through my hair, traveled my back—his tongue was a lash of liquid flame in my mouth. Nothing else existed except him and me, breathing and igniting and fusing together. The only spot of darkness marring our glow was the insistent pain in my back, growing stronger with each roll of my hips against his.
I opened my eyes. Somehow I was in his lap, shamelessly surging against him. I did not remember changing positions.
I stilled, biting my lip against the growing discomfort. "I need to stop."
"Of course." He carefully lifted me off him. "Are you all right?"
"Some pain."
"I'm sorry." He looked so dejected that I caught his jaw in my hand and forced him to look at me.
