Enraptured

by Candace Camp

  A rap on his door made him start. He turned, irritated. However jangled and jumbled his thoughts were, he preferred to wallow in them alone. The door flew open before he even spoke, and Violet sailed in. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling. She glowed with excitement. A bolt of desire struck Coll, so fierce and hot it stunned him into speechlessness.

  “Coll! I think I found it.” Violet pushed back her hood, smiling.

  Coll scarcely heard what she said. He strode across the floor to her and clamped his hands on her shoulders. He stared down into her face for a long, charged moment, the blood pounding in him. When at last he spoke, his voice was thick and grating, as if the words were torn from him. “Take down your hair.”

  Violet’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, simply gazed into his eyes as she reached up and began to remove the pins from her hair, her movements slow and deliberate. Coll watched as her hair loosened and tumbled down, bit by bit. His heart pounded so hard it was all he could hear; everything in him was focused on her fingers moving through her hair.

  Stretching out his hand, he took one end of the tie securing her cloak and pulled it. The bow opened, and he pushed the garment back off her shoulders, sending it crumpling to the floor. Hooking his fingers into the neckline of her dress, he glided them slowly back and forth, watching the warmth and softness bloom in her face.

  “I dinna want to hurt you.” His voice was low, throbbing with the last vestige of his control. “In any way.”

  A smile curved her lips, slow and delicious. “You will not. I am stronger than I look.”

  “Violet . . .” He spread his hand across her collarbone, sliding his fingers up her neck, halting as he reached her jaw.

  “Yes?”

  But he had nothing to say; he spoke her name only to feel it on his tongue. Bending down, he kissed her. His lips were slow and sweet on hers, the rush of his desire tightly clamped down as he opened her mouth to him with tantalizing care. Violet stretched on tiptoe, her arms going up to encircle his neck. His arms went around her, pulling her flush against him as he deepened the kiss, employed tongue and teeth and lips to arouse her.

  Finally he pulled his mouth from hers and buried his face in her hair, his breath rasping in and out of his throat, his body trembling from the restraint he forced on himself.

  “No,” Violet whispered, her hands stroking his neck and shoulders. “Do not stop.”

  Coll let out a low groan, and he sank slowly to his knees, sliding down her body, his arms encircling her, his cheek flush against her body. His flesh ached with the sweet pleasure of moving over her, and he buried his face in her stomach. He was lost. And he did not care.

  He felt her fingers tangle in his hair, and that, too, brought a rush of mingled delight and hunger. He wanted to take her as hard and fast as he could, but even greater was the need to linger, to arouse and awaken her, drawing every last measure of sweetness.

  He lifted his head to look at her. Slowly his hands glided down over her back and hips, then moved back up to curve around her breasts. “You are so beautiful.”

  Violet smiled, her eyes dreamy, and shook her head as if amused by his foolishness.

  “I will show you.” Coll put his hands on her hips and turned her so he could open the lacings up the back of her simple dress. As he spread the ties apart, the gown loosened and sagged. Violet swung back to him, her hands going up to catch the falling dress and hold it against her chest. He smiled at her sudden shyness and reached up to take her hands. “Nae, dinna hide. Let me look at you.”

  She let go and the gown floated down her body to pool on the floor. Desire leaped in him. He tugged at the ribbon fastening her chemise, maneuvering it down until her breasts came free. “Ah, lass . . .” He took her breasts in his hands, luxuriating in their weight and fullness. “You are lovely. Creamy smooth and soft, perfect.” He eased his thumbs over her nipples, watching them harden. “I’ve imagined your breasts a million times over—dreamed what it would be like to caress them, kiss them. But naught can match the reality. Like silk. Like honey.”

  He slid his hands down her sides, watching the movement of his spread fingers over her curving flesh. Desire clawed at him like a beast, but he kept his movements slow, almost lazy, his hands drifting up her body again to tease at her taut nipples. He watched desire darken Violet’s eyes and passion slacken her face. The signs of her hunger sent his own soaring. With fingers that trembled a little, he untied the ribbons of her undergarments and shoved them down, his hands lingering on her legs. Wordlessly, her hands on his shoulders for balance, she stepped out of the remaining garments and stood naked before him.

  His eyes drank her in. “Come,” he murmured. “Let me show you how beautiful you are.” Putting his hands on her waist, he pulled her down to him.

  Laying her back upon her crumpled clothes, Coll took her mouth in a long kiss, tasting her slowly as his hands explored her body. She was all softness and warmth, her skin trembling beneath his touch. When his fingers slipped between her legs, he found her slick and moist, ready for him, her response so innocently eager that hunger speared him.

  Leaving her lips, he traveled down her neck and on to the pillowy softness of her breasts. He was hard and aching, holding on to his control by his fingertips. She opened the ties of his shirt, fingers slipping inside to caress his naked skin, and it was all he could do not to shove her legs apart and thrust into her with all the force of his need. He reared up, wrenching the shirt off over his head and tossing it aside.

  Her hands moved down to the buttons of his trousers, and he went still, his breath rasping in and out, poised on the blade-sharp edge of pleasure as her fingers’ delicate movements made the sensitive flesh beneath the cloth throb and strain against it. Her eyes flew up to his face, and he saw the surprise and question in her eyes, along with a smoky stirring of delight. A smile curved her lips, secret and filled with feminine power, and she ran her hands under his waistband, shoving down his breeches.

  The gesture shook him. He found that the limits of his desire could be pushed further than he had ever known. He rose, shucking off the remainder of his clothes. She watched him with wide eyes, and for an instant Coll worried that she would pull back, frightened by her first sight of a naked male body. But her eyes moved over him, soft and arousing as a touch, and when she held up her arms to him, he went to her like a starved man.

  He intended to woo her with tender kisses and soft touches, but he found he could not keep his hunger from slipping its leash. She was too soft, too inviting, too delectable. His mouth roamed her breasts, fingertips digging into the lush mounds of her buttocks. Violet seemed to welcome his hunger, her own hands tangling in his hair as soft whimpers of delight came from her throat, and her reaction spurred his passion.

  Sweat dampened their skin, so that his body slid over hers slickly. He heard her breath coming fast and saw the pulse throbbing in the delicate hollow of her throat. His fingers sought out her deepest secrets, and her arousal flooded him, the musky scent teasing at his nostrils. His desire was desperate and aching, and he shuddered under his restraint. When she arched up against him, her hips circling beneath his hand, he could hold back no longer. He slid between her legs, his hands going under her hips and lifting her as he moved slowly into her.

  Violet did not flinch, did not retreat, only shifted a little to take him into her, and that small giving of herself tested his control more than anything else. He thrust into her, unable to stop even at the brief tug of resistance. She was tight and hot around him, every stroke a shattering pleasure. Violet clung to him, and the moans that issued from her lips set him afire. She dug her fingernails into his back, the small, sharp pain intensifying the cataclysm building within him.

  His world, his life, narrowed to this moment. He was filled with heat, with ache and arousal, ecstasy burgeoning to the point of agony. Then life burst in him and poured out into her. Coll shuddered, crushing Violet to him.

  Slowly he relaxed, nuzzling into
the crook of Violet’s neck, then rolled over onto his back, carrying her with him. Sated and drained, he cradled Violet, his nostrils filled with her scent, her hair flowing over him like a cloud. He pressed his lips to her skin, his hand stroking her head and down her back. He whispered her name, the word a breath upon her skin.

  And he slid gently into sleep.

  Violet felt him drift into sleep, his arms relaxing their grip, his breath easing, the thunder of his heart slowing beneath her ear. She smiled to herself, content to lie here with him, her head resting on his chest, and listen to him breathe. She was, in fact, too dazed to do much of anything else. The past few minutes had been wild, overwhelming, and her whole being hummed with pleasure.

  Everything was different—outwardly the same but fundamentally changed. She felt faintly sore and used but in a most delightful way, her body still thrumming and her insides molten, her skin so sensitive she could feel the very air upon it. It was much too tame to say she was happy. Or satisfied. Or vibrating with sensation. She was all those things, in a way that made her want to giggle, but she was far, far more.

  She had run half the way here from the house, eager to reveal her discovery to Coll. Then she had stepped inside, and he had . . . looked at her. She could not convey the way his gaze had ripped through her, the hunger in his eyes so stark and raw that it had stolen her breath. And what she had come here to tell him had lost its importance.

  Violet closed her eyes, remembering Coll’s kiss. The way he had oozed down her body to kneel before her, all power and supplication. His face against her, his hands roaming over her, his voice thick with desire. He had made her his, claiming her with his mouth and hands and body. He had kissed and caressed her as if worshipping at her altar. And at the same time he had owned her.

  She suspected she should be embarrassed by her quivering response to his touch and the helpless, hungry moans and whimpers he had pulled from her. But what she felt was bliss . . . along with an overwhelming desire to have him do those things to her all over again. Violet pressed her lips softly to his chest, then propped herself on her elbow and studied Coll. He looked utterly relaxed and at peace, the tautness vanished from his face, the sharp lines fallen into softness. That, too, filled her with a fizzing happiness.

  She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, and watched him sleep. She was too accustomed to analysis not to poke and pry at her feelings. It was odd for her to be so awash in emotion. She was filled with satisfaction, even a sort of pride, in the knowledge that she had been the cause of such passion in him, that he had been so teased and tormented by desire for her that it had at last cracked his control. Conversely, she was equally warmed by the knowledge that she had been the cause of his pleasure, his relief and release, that she had given him with happiness. Peace.

  Violet was not accustomed to being connected like this to anyone else. Nothing could match that moment when he had pushed into her, that first sharp pain obliterated by a glorious sense of fulfillment. It was as if, for a time, he was part of her. Somehow, she knew, he would always be a part of her. The idea was exhilarating. And a little frightening.

  A shiver ran through her, pulling her for the first time back into the world around her. The fire kept the room from being frigid, but it was not quite warm enough for naked flesh. Coll was lying on her clothes, and she hadn’t the heart to wake him. She picked up his discarded shirt and slipped it on. It occurred to her that the door was unlocked, that anyone could come in on them, and she hastened over to lock it.

  Walking back, she grabbed the knitted afghan from the chair by the fire and draped it over Coll to keep him warm. Then she settled down beside him and watched him sleep. He looked peaceful, even boyish, all strain absent from his face. Her eyes roamed over his features, taking in the broad brow, the fine blond hair that spilled across his forehead, the sweep of his cheekbones and the firm line of his jaw. She smoothed his hair back, and her fingers lingered to trace the curving lines of his eyebrows. She was tempted to draw her finger along his cheekbones, as well, but she refrained. Her eyes dropped to his lips, firm and well defined. She remembered them on her neck. Her breasts. The air came a little faster in her throat.

  Her gaze moved down, taking in the soft hollow of his throat, the hard, high shelf of his collarbone. How could such a thing be so enticing? Just bone and flesh and yet . . . She could not resist; she traced her forefinger along the ridge of his collarbone and down the centerline of his chest. The curling hairs prickled her fingers, and they drifted across his chest, circling the small, flat buds of his nipples. She slid her palm over the high plateau of his chest, tracing each rib and exploring the muscles that padded them, dropping down onto the soft valley of his stomach. Her fingers crept beneath the edge of the soft blanket and paused.

  She should not. It was an invasion of his privacy to gaze at him while he slept, unknowing. She would be indignant if he did the same to her. But heat flooded up her throat at the thought, and excitement stirred in her, not resentment or shame. Her fingers slipped lower, dragging down the knitted blanket an inch at a time. She touched the dip of his navel, her forefinger circling the rim. She ran her hand down him slowly, stirred by the sight of her fingers on his body. The cloth jerked suddenly, and she sucked in a breath. She remembered how he had swelled and pushed against his trousers as she unbuttoned them, how strong and thick his member had been as it sprang free of the restraint. He was responding to her touch now, even in his sleep. Violet itched to see him, to explore him, to discover the texture and strength and heat of his maleness. Her fingers hesitated at the edge of the cover.

  “Dinna stop now.” Coll’s voice was low and husky.

  “Oh!” Violet started, surprised, and turned guiltily. Coll was watching her, one arm crooked behind his head, his eyes hazy with sleep, lips soft and sensual, and the expression on his face started up a fierce throbbing deep in her abdomen. She blushed. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t; that was . . . rude of me.”

  His lips curled into a lazy smile. “I think I like it when you’re rude.” Coll reached out, giving a tug to the shirt she had thrown over herself. “And what’s this? It doesna seem fair, me as naked as the day I was born and you all covered up.” He slid his hand under the shirt, unerringly seeking out her breasts. Violet melted at his touch, and the masculine smugness in Coll’s expression told her he knew that fact well.

  “Stop it,” she protested feebly, and Coll’s smile broadened. He gathered up the loose material in his hand and pulled her to him, lifting his head to take her mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss. By the time he released her, Violet was breathless, the blood pounding in her veins.

  “Come. Do what you will with me.” He flipped back the cover, exposing the very long, very naked length of his body. “I’ll not protest.”

  “Coll . . .” She could not keep her eyes from straying to the lower half of him.

  “What?” He twined a strand of her hair around his hand. She could hear the smile in his voice, but along with it a low vibration of desire. “You know I could deny you nothing.”

  Violet spread her hand on his stomach. He twitched, hissing in a sharp breath. She cast a glance at him, but nothing was in his face but hunger. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, guiding her lower.

  “Dinna stop, lass.”

  She drifted over his body in slow discovery, learning the soft skin of his stomach, the sharp outcropping of his hip bones, the tight prickling of his nipples. She twined her fingers through his hair and curled them around his staff, glided down between his legs and cupped him in her palm. With each stroke, each touch, he stiffened and pulsed. That, too, sent need coiling through her gut. She bent to touch her lips to his nipple, which brought a soft groan from him. Violet stole a glance at him. His eyes were closed, his lips parted.

  She circled the flat bud with her tongue, mimicking what he had done to her, then settled her mouth on him to suckle, her hand roaming over his flesh. His skin flamed, his breat
h rasped. She reveled in each tiny demonstration of his pleasure. Leaving the tight bud, she kissed her way across his chest and down the hard line of his sternum, then dropped to the soft skin of his stomach.

  He went taut, thrusting his hands into her hair, and grated out something in a language she did not recognize. Violet raised her head; his eyes were intense, so fiery and fierce she thought they should have inspired fear in her, but all she felt was a rush of hunger. She slid up his body and sealed his mouth with hers.

  With an inarticulate noise deep in his throat, Coll wrapped his arms around her and rolled over, pinning her beneath him and kissing her as though he would never stop. She arched against him, aching to take him into her again.

  At last he pulled back, bracing his hands on either side of her head. She looked up at him dazedly, reaching up to pull him down to her. “Coll, no . . . please . . .”

  He rolled to his feet, reaching down to pull her up with him. His grin was tight and feral. “Oh, I will please. I swear that to you. But I intend to do it somewhere far more comfortable than this.”

  Bending, he swept her up in his arms and started toward the bedroom.

  18

  Coll carried her to the bed and set her down on her feet. “First, let’s get rid of this.” He pulled his shirt from her and tossed it aside. His eyes drifted down her. “You are so beautiful it stops my heart.” Cupping her face in his hands, he placed a kiss on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “I did not take enough time with you before. I was too . . . driven . . . to use the care I should have.” He trailed his fingers down her arms. “But this time I will. This time you will have it all.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Violet’s voice hitched as his fingers skimmed over her buttocks and back up her sides.

  “I know you don’t.” He took her earlobe gently between his teeth. “But you will.”