“We have talked little about the incident at the abbey,” she said, the memories of how close she had come to dying, taming her passion. “It seems odd that there was an attempt on your life and not long after an attempt on mine. Could the two be somehow connected?”
Ruddock did his best to rub himself dry in front of the flames, running his hands up and down his arms. He was glad his wife’s inquiry put at least somewhat of a damper on his passion that had been rising steadily since he entered the cottage. Three days without making love to his wife was taking a toll on him. He had gone without coupling much longer than that, but with his wife, it was different. It was a different kind of need, a different satisfaction he got from joining with her. Maybe it was that she loved him that made all the difference. He didn’t know. He only knew that when he slipped inside her, he felt like he was home and he was loved, and it was a glorious and addictive feeling.
“I suppose it’s possible,” he said, his hand running across his midriff in circles to dry it. “As soon as we get home, I’m going to send a missive to one of the barbarian tribes. I know the leader well from trading with him. He might have heard something, since word travels fast among the tribes.”
Sorrell tried to ignore the way his hand glided in circles over his middle, the dampness lapping at his hand as if begging him not to stop, to keep caressing his flesh. And damn if she didn’t turn damp when his hand dipped lower as if it would slip beneath his plaid. She tamped down the urge to reach out, push his hand away, and—she squeezed her eyes shut—a mistake. All she could see was herself licking every inch of his middle while her hand slipped beneath his plaid.
She forced herself to gather her thoughts and voiced one, that had been brewing in her head for a while, aloud. “Since there had been no attempts made on my life before I became your wife, I assume this attempt has something to do with me being your wife.”
“An obvious observation,” he said, turning to her, his hand moving to his chest to continue drying himself, though he would have preferred her hands drying him.
“I love solving puzzles and this definitely is a puzzle, husband,” she said, forcing a gleeful smile while fighting the urge to replace his hands with her lips.
“One you will pay caution to,” he ordered, running his hand roughly across his chest and nipples to hurry and rid himself of the last of the dampness, though mostly to rid himself of the images of his wife’s hands doing it for him.
“Oh for goodness sake stop that!” she snapped at him while slapping at his hands. “You’re driving me mad.”
His grin was more seductive than joyful that his wife thought the same as him. “And myself as well, since I can’t stop thinking of planting myself inside you.”
Sorrell backed away from him. “There is little privacy here with your warriors right outside the door that sits barely closed since it is so badly battered. And the hole in the roof allows for sound to escape.”
“The rain pounds down loud enough for no one to hear what goes on inside here. Besides, you need to learn to contain your moans and shouts when needed or there will be times we will suffer for it.”
One step had him in front of her and he slipped her cloak off and draped it over the leg of the broken upended table. He took her hand, kissed the back of it and keeping it firm in his, as if he feared her pulling away, walked her to the corner of the cottage where shadows dwelled.
She almost hesitated, but as if expecting her reluctance, he tugged her hand hard enough for her to fall against him and the shadows swallowed them both.
Ruddock’s hand slipped from hers to cup the back of her neck firmly, holding her head still as his lips came down on hers.
As soon as his lips touched hers, she was lost and she feared as soon as he entered her that her moans would outrival the thunder.
She didn’t want to stop. God, how she didn’t want to stop him. His kiss was magic, sending the most delightfully sensuous ripple through her. And when that ripple culminated between her legs, she knew she was in trouble. She had to stop him before it was too late.
She took a chance, raising her hands to press at his chest, hesitating a minute, since she feared when her hand touched his flesh and felt his thick, hard muscles, she’d want to do nothing more than caress him, and she wouldn’t stop at his chest. She rushed to give him a push, letting him know to stop, yet wishing otherwise.