Though she knew she should fight him, beat against his chest, she couldn’t, and the lust that invaded her body was a living, breathing being that was all-consuming. She wanted more of him and didn’t stop his hands from dipping into her chemise and touching her skin.
Her nipple tightened and her suddenly aching breast filled his palm. He teased the dark point with his fingers, and again the beast of desire rolled hot within her, causing her bones to soften.
“Aye, Sorcha, you feel it, too,” he said, holding her against him, breathing across her neck as he slid her cloak from her shoulders and pushed the sleeve of her tunic down her arm. He kissed her neck as he shoved her chemise away from her skin and bared one breast to the firelight. “ ’Tis beautiful you are, and treacherous,” he murmured, stroking her and kissing her bare skin.
Her flesh tingled, and as he drew her to her knees, she couldn’t stop him. He wound his fingers in the tumble of her hair and kissed her with a passion that made the earth shift beneath her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t catch her breath, and losing all will, gave herself up to the passion that burned bright in her soul.
Slowly he dragged his lips from hers, tracing the slope of her jaw and the length of her neck with his tongue. He rimmed the circle of bones at the base of her throat, his tongue dipping into that soft recess to play with her pulse. Sorcha made a low sound that came from the back of her throat, and her body turned, anxious to know more. Still he slid down her body, kissing her flesh as he lowered his head to her breast. She groaned, a deep primal sound that came from her very being. His tongue tickled and laved as he teased her nipple, then drew his lips around the puckering point.
She cradled his head against her, her back arching to meet his mouth. Though her mind denied him, her body acted of its own accord, shaming her in its wanton display.
He kissed her again and his hand moved lower to cup her buttocks and rub across her lower back. In her mind’s eye she shivered as she saw herself, acting like a shameless whore, anxious for the feel of his skin against hers.
Somewhere in the distance she heard the hoot of an owl and she forced herself to grab the shreds of her dignity.
“Nay,” she whispered, grabbing his wrist with her fingers. “Hagan, please, not here. Not like this.” She turned pleading eyes up to his.
His jaw was clenched tight, and tiny dots of sweat broke out on his skin. Staring down at her, he hesitated, but his hard expression slowly vanished, and instead of arguing, he gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her neck. For a second she thought that he had ignored her request, that he still intended to claim her, but he didn’t move. Instead a shudder ripped through him as he regained control and continued to hold her close.
Shoving the hair off her shoulder, he traced her birthmark with his finger. “What are you, Sorcha? Woman or witch?”
“Woman,” she said, her breath still shaking in her lungs, her voice a mere whisper.
“Yet still you bewitch men. None, it seems, is free from your spells.”
“That’s daft,” she said as he moved away from her but stared at her bare skin as if savoring every second. She covered her breast with fumbling fingers, and he clamped his hand over hers. Then, before he placed her cloak around her, he leaned forward and took her nipple into his mouth one last time. Her heart raced unevenly as he suckled and rimmed the nipple with the tip of his tongue. “Sweet are you, but dangerous,” he finally said as he lifted his head and covered her nakedness with the rough black wool of her cloak.
“Dangerous?” she repeated, shame heating her cheeks.
“You can turn a man’s thinking round.” Without further explanation, he stood and refused to offer her his hand. “Come, then; if you know what’s good for you, you’ll hurry back to your room before I change my mind. I’ll take you there.”
“I know where to find—”
He placed a finger to her lips. “Aye, but I trust you not. Should I let you go, you might not return to your chamber.”
“Where would I go?”
“Back to Bjorn?” he suggested with a cruel twist of his mouth.
She couldn’t believe her ears. “Nay, I swear—”
“Come, Sorcha,” he said tightly, the passion in his eyes replaced with distrust. Again taking hold of her elbow, he opened the door and shoved her down the hall past a guard who was dozing, but scrambled to his feet as he heard their footsteps.
“Halt!”
“ ’Tis only I,” Hagan said as he kept walking furiously. “See that you don’t sleep the rest of your shift.”
“I was just … As you wish.”
“And see that this one does not wander around the castle at night. If needs be, post a man at her door.”
Sorcha yanked her arm free. “You bastard.”
“Not me, m’love,” he mocked. “ ’Tis your other lover, the stableboy, who is the bastard.” He kicked open her door, and she breezed past him, certain that no part of her touched him. The door slammed shut behind her, and she kicked at the bed in vexation. Horrible, horrible beast! He thought little enough of her to nearly bed her, then accuse her of lying with someone else.
But when you asked him to stop, he did. He did not force himself on you.
She flung herself across the bed and cursed her luck that Hagan had returned before she’d freed her sister. She would have had an easier time dealing with Darton, for he was a man she could hate without a trace of guilt.