Rogue's Challenge (16 page)
She pressed her hands to his chest and pulled her lips from his. He clearly saw the questions and confusion burning in her eyes. “I will not lie and say that I am glad of it, but I am relieved in that I would not be the one to take it from you,” he said.
"Why not?"
"Although what I want, what we can share, is far more than sex, I am not your husband. I would not take what is rightfully his due."
A small
oh
escaped her lips upon a sigh and the questions were no more. He lifted her and after kicking her bag out of the way, gently placed her on the bed. Stretching out along side her, he ran a finger up the column of her throat to her lips.
"If you wish to cry nay, now is the time. Because I doubt I will be able to stop once we have begun,” he said, his voice hoarse with need. By the saints! He had never wanted a woman so much before.
"No more interruptions. This stopping and starting is killing me,” she said, and pulled him down for a heady kiss.
This delicate creature, this fey-like woman possessed more passion than he ever imagined. But he should have known. When Jenny approached a task, no matter how large or how small, she gave all of her self to it. Thank the Almighty he was her current mental and physical occupation.
Slowly, he peeled away her clothes, more than pleased to see her perfect form in the dim light of the early evening. Not a scar, not a blemish, not even a birthmark marred her ivory skin. She was perfection in a world where he'd known only imperfection.
"Exquisite,” he whispered roughly.
"You can forgo the pretty words, Ian. I don't have to hear them."
He lifted his gaze from the bounty that lay before him and caught sight of the apprehension in her eyes before her lashes swept down to hide it.
Although not a virgin, she had not been loved as a woman aught. He could see that clearly, and wished he could pummel the cur that had made her feel so inferior.
"You are a rare woman, Jenny Maxwell. A rare beauty,” he said stroking her cheek. “Ne'er let another soul tell you otherwise."
She lifted her lids with a furrowed brow. “That's a nice thing to say, but—"
"'Tis the truth, sweet Jen. I swear it. I have ne'er lied to you, and I ne'er will.” He lowered his lips to hers and began the long slow journey of loving this fragile beauty.
From her welcoming lips he moved down the column of her neck to the sweet peaks of her breasts. Lingering there for a while, relishing her soft moans of pleasure.
Her tiny hands slid beneath his doublet and slipped it from his shoulders. Ian sat up and pulled his shirting over his head and tossed the garments across the room.
"All of it,” she whispered, trailing her trembling fingers down his chest.
He swallowed hard at the sensation then forced himself to pull away from the wonderful torment. Stripping out of his breeches, he paused before returning to the bed, letting her eyes have their fill. This was her one last chance to cry off.
She lifted her hand and beckoned to him, her face and body tinted pink with the flush of desire. He could no more refuse her than he could cease the rising of the sun. And he did not wish to.
He returned to her and with kisses, nibbles, and licks he explored her fair skin. Her sighs of contentment spurred him onward as he moved lower and lower to the center of her heat.
Jenny gasped at the touch of his lips against her sex.
"Easy, little one,” he whispered, his breath sending a wave of warmth rippling across her skin.
Easy? Hardly!
This was an entirely new experience. Her one time didn't consist of a lot of touching and tasting. And Ian seemed intent on his task to examine—no, taste—every inch of her. This was what heaven was like, Jenny thought.
Then she thought again as his deft fingers slid inside her as he tantalized her with his mouth. Her legs drifted further apart as he plucked and sucked. She released the death grip she had on the blanket and spread her hands into the thick crop of fair curls on his head. Urging him on, begging for more, until her body arched against him and a faint but high-pitched cry burst from her throat. Stars darted across the backs of her lids as her lungs begged for oxygen, but she didn't care. She wouldn't mind dying like this, not at all. It was the most extraordinary sensation she'd ever had.
Her tight throat suddenly opened with a sharp inhale, filling her deprived lungs, while her entire body quivered as if she'd run a marathon. She opened her eyes and tried to focus on something, anything, her mind still swirling, then he was there. His piercing blue eyes gazing into hers, he positioned his body above her, supporting his weight upon his elbows, and gently removed her spectacles and set them aside.
"That was..."
"Aye. And ‘tis not o'er yet,” he said, his voice low and firm.
He slid into her still quivering body, his jaw clenching. Beneath her hands at his back she could feel his muscles tense and ready. Yet he held back, moved slowly and surely, deeper inside her. Her lids grew heavy with the sensual glide of their bodies, building, ever building toward release.
A low growl sounded in his throat as he pressed his mouth to her neck and increased the pace. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, until she thought she might break apart with the onslaught. And yet she returned every thrust, taking pleasure in his urgency and her own.
A floodtide of sensations swiftly poured over her like liquid mercury, cool and pure, filling every crevice and pore of her body and soul, stealing all thought. No theories, no questions, not even an idle hypothesis was present in her mind. She was filled with nothing but absolute bliss.
At the highest peak of her pleasure, Ian threw back his head, the corded muscles in his neck taut as a hoarse cry erupted from his throat and he pulled out the last second before climaxing.
She bit her lip, hating the sense of loss that snaked through her. It was silly to feel that way, she'd experienced the most intense climax of her life, but his withdrawal reminded her that their situation was temporary, a fling, nothing more. But she could do this, would do this, and damn the consequences.
His forehead came to rest against hers as their pounding hearts slowed and rapid breaths subsided. “You are fey, I have no doubt of it now,” he said hoarsely.
She cupped his face in her still shaking hands and kissed him. She would survive, perhaps battered and bruised, maybe even broken in the end, but it was well worth it.
Ian moved to lie beside her, enjoying the feel of her sated body curled against him. He stroked her cheek as her lids drifted shut. “Sleep, little one."
"You'll stay?"
"Aye, to leave you now would be most disagreeable.” Odd, though, he'd never done the like before. He always left long before sunrise.
She giggled softly. “You mean you like sleeping in a bed for a change."
"Nay, sweeting. I like sleeping with you, there is a vast difference.” Which was the heart of the problem. She was different.
He kissed her soft lips and she smiled then snuggled in tighter against his side. But he could not deny that this was what lovemaking should be like, what he'd imagined it to be like. Although he had thoroughly enjoyed his many liaisons, this was something else, something new, and he liked it. Quite a bit.
But he feared he would soon make a grave mistake. He'd nearly lost his senses with her sweet body beneath him, the feel of her slick pulsing heat, beckoning him to the edge. With the last ounce of his control, he'd pulled himself from her warmth, praying he'd been in time. He would not bring about a bastard like himself, destroying the life of the woman lying contented in his arms. Yet he would enjoy this moment, this night, and any others she cared to share with him, for their time was short. Her life was in the future, where she wished to be, where she belonged.
Pushing the sad thought from his mind, he said, “I will, however, leave you after midnight, sweeting."
"Why?” she asked sleepily.
"Michael is to relieve me of my watch, and ‘twould be in poor form to announce our ... situation."
She lifted her head and peered at him in the dim firelight, a teasing grin on her lips. “Are you trying to save my reputation?"
"Most definitely."
She giggled and laid her head against his chest. “You really are Prince Charming, even if I'm no Cinderella. But I'd much rather you stay here and keep me warm all night than worry about what others will say. Besides, it wouldn't be logical, we're married,” she said with a small yawn. “And Michael's not foolish enough to risk making you angry with any comments."
Ian grinned at her reasoning. “'Tis true Michael will say little, sweeting, but I fear he has already sworn to defend your honor."
"That's sweet,” she muttered.
"Aye, sweet,” he mumbled, hating what it truly meant. That he would indeed have to leave the comfort of her bed and soon.
He pulled the covers up over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. For once he did not wish to argue with her, but he would leave at the appropriate time.
The next morning their little band was on the road once again. Jenny couldn't stop glaring at Michael's back. If not for him, she would've woken in Ian's arms. He wanted to stay, she knew he did. He'd kissed her before he left, and whispered his regret, thinking she was asleep. She had so wanted to stop time and stay in bed with him forever. The man was amazing, of course her limited experience gave her nothing to compare him to, not really, but wow was no longer enough to describe him.
"'Twould be best if you thought on something else, sweeting, before I find myself looking for a secluded spot where those thoughts might become reality,” Ian said with a wink.
She schooled her features and gave him a superior grin. “I've no idea what you're talking about. I was calculating the number of hours it will take to reach Arreyder at this pace."
He chuckled. “In a hurry are we? And what awaits us there? Let me see, a pregnant bossy woman who will demand most of your time. An overbearing Scot who can do nothing but worry and be a nuisance to you and his wife. A doting aunt and soon to be grandfather who will also demand much of your attention with their never-ending questions.” He sighed as he shook his head. “Nay, I do not wish to hurry our journey.” He cast her a wicked grin, and said, “I wish to have you to myself for as long as may be."
Her heart tipped sideways, and she smiled. “But you don't have me to yourself,” she said, nodding toward Michael's back.
"True, not completely. Not yet. But there will be ample opportunities, little one. I promise you,” he said, and reached across and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers.
Warmth enveloped her and she barely refrained from following his hand as he drew it away.
They rode for hours, pausing only long enough for lunch before stopping for the night. It looked like rain, so Ian and Michael tied the meager shelter amid some trees for protection. There would be no loving tonight, she thought as she sat beneath the canopy.
They ate a light dinner and settled down to sleep with her in the middle.
Ian took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back. “If you should grow cold, feel free to share my blanket,” he whispered, a devilish gleam in his eye.
She lifted her hand and sifted a few stray locks of his hair through her fingers. “I'll keep that in mind."
He sighed and his lids drifted closed. She allowed her hand to travel over his brow, alongside his jaw, and to his lips.
She gasped as he pulled one of her fingers into his mouth and sucked. Mesmerized by the sensation, the subtle grin teasing the corners of his mouth, a low moan threatened to ease out. She bit her lip to keep it at bay and lifted her gaze to his.
He knew what he was doing to her. He knew with every stroke of his tongue, every pull of his mouth, that he stoked a white-hot fire low in her belly. That her breasts tingled and ached for attention, that the apex of her thighs grew moist and ready for him. This was what it was to have a man who knew how to make love to a woman. And he was all hers ... for now.
Ian pulled her finger from his mouth and leaned over her, longing for a taste of her. His mouth met hers and he feasted on her sweetness. Damn Michael, he had best be a deep sleeper, for he could not ignore the hunger burning inside him. He had to have her.
She pushed at his chest and he lifted his head, knowing he would be told quite simply to go back to his own pallet. But she surprised him. Deftly, she slid her small hand into his breeches and wrapped her fingers around him. He could not withhold his moan of pleasure. She slapped a hand over his mouth with a silent giggle and eyed their sleeping comrade.
Seeing that Michael still slept, Ian moved his hand beneath her skirts and found her dewy curls. She tossed her head back, and he quickly covered her mouth with his before a moan or more could escape from her lovely throat.
They made not a sound, not a moan as they pleasured one another, their gazes keenly locked. He watched with utter fascination as she climaxed beneath him, and he quickly followed suit. ‘Twas one of the most unusually satisfying experiences of his life.
Their breathing returned to normal and he returned to his pallet. Facing one another on their sides, he found her hand and laced his fingers with hers. He watched her nod off rather quickly, as was her way, but wearing a sweet smile. He couldn't say how long he watched her sleep before fatigue took him as well, but he knew that when he awoke in the morning, her face was what he wanted to see first.
But when morning came, ‘twas not Jenny's sweet face he saw, but an empty place where her head had rested. He blinked a moment or two, noted Michael's still sleeping form, then jumped to his feet with a sudden rush of fear.
She was gone.
Heart in his throat, he spun about looking for any sign of her. Their horses were still tethered where they'd left them, and ‘twas no sign of a struggle, perhaps—and he prayed it was so—she had merely gone off for some privacy. But he could not stand still and wait for her return. He paced the small clearing, looking for clues to her direction. Finding broken branches amid the brush, he ventured into the wood on stealthy feet.