Crack.
He settled his back upon the stone wall behind him and tucked his feet up on the bench, as Ella did. The book propped perfectly against his thighs. Genius.
“What are you doing?”
Bronson startled at the feminine voice and lurched into an upright sitting position. Ella stood in the doorway with her hand propped on her hip.
Crack.
“Nothing,” Bronson stammered. “Spending time with Moppet.”
The little beast shot him a look out of the corner of his eye, as if contradicting Bronson’s claim.
“Spending time with him?” Ella’s brow lifted.
Bronson tried to hide the book in his hands. “Aye, just discussing things as men and squirrels do. Eh, Moppet?”
Both Ella’s brows rose this time with skepticism. “He only speaks squirrel.”
Bronson was going to offer a simple shrug when Ella craned her neck to see what he held in his hands. It was in that moment of desperation that Bronson began chattering. Like a squirrel.
Moppet staggered back on his fat little legs and blinked at Bronson, who hoped he’d somehow managed to convey something horribly offensive to the beast.
Ella laughed. “What are you really doing in here?” She stepped closer and made a show of examining what he held in his hands. “Are you reading?”
“Aye.” He lifted a single shoulder and tried to turn away from her.
“What book?” She touched her hand to his shoulder and, without force, drew him back to her.
He unfurled his fingers from the plain green cover, knowing well enough that he had been caught.
“It’s my book.” She lifted it from his grip. “Bronson, were you reading one of my stories?”
He nodded his head slowly. “Aye.”
“Why?” Her brow furrowed.
He took a breath, hesitated, opened his mouth hesitated.
“Please be honest.” Ella watched him with a guarded expression.
Honest.
Bronson had spent almost every day of his life skirting honesty, saying what was needed to make his way at court, to glide out of trouble when favor was scarce. To be honest was to be vulnerable, and that was how one lost their head.
Sunlight streamed in through the window and fell on Ella, lighting her beauty in its full glory. The woman he would marry surely deserved honesty, didn’t she?
Bronson sighed. “Falling in love is important to you, I know, and so I thought…” He trailed off, hating how ludicrous this all was to say aloud. She would think him a fool.
He rubbed at a muscle tightening at the base of his neck. “I hoped I could find what sort of things you found romantic, so I read your stories.” He shifted on the bench, eager to be done with the whole bloody conversation. “Then they were so interesting that I couldn’t stop reading them.”
She ran a hand tenderly over the green leather face of the book. “You read my stories to find out what I like?”
It sounded so invasive when worded so. Bronson braced himself for her ire. “Aye.”
“Bronson, that is…” She shook her head, clearly so upset she could not even find the words to speak to tell him how deplorable he was.
“I’m well aware,” he said miserably. The whole idea had been ridiculous in the first place. He never should have done it.
“That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” she said.
He lifted his head. “I beg your pardon?”
She was beaming at him, joy radiating from her. She set the book on the cushion of the window seat and then took his face in her hands. “You care enough to find out what I hold dear.”
“I want you to marry me,” he said earnestly. Though he assumed now was not the time to mention his need for her dowry, his pitiful estate and how his continued life at court relied on Ella.
“And I will.” She kissed him. “In a fortnight.” She kissed him again. “I wish it was sooner.” She ran her tongue along his bottom lip and arched her body against him in apparent suggestion.
“I want to learn all the things you like too.” Her voice was low and sultry and caressed over every intimate inch of his awareness.
He flicked his gaze toward the open door of the solar. “Not here…”
Ella bit her lip and shook her head. “Nay. Let us go for a ride.”
“We’ll need to bring a guard with us,” Bronson reminded her. The idea of a soldier accompanying their ride did not hold appeal.
Ella scoffed. “I only said that to appease Papa. I don’t intend to bring anyone. You and I are perfectly capable of protecting ourselves, as we did yesterday.”
“Nay,” Bronson said. “Let us stay in Werrick Castle today. We can go in the orchard if you like, with the dogs.”
“And Moppet?” She grinned. “Since you are so well acquainted.”
The squirrel fixed his beady eyes on Bronson, put a nut to its mouth and…
Crack.
Bronson nodded, looking pointedly at the creature. “Aye, even Moppet.”
If nothing else, the animals and being out in the daylight near the castle would keep Bronson’s lust in check. For if things continued as they were going, he did not know how long he could continue to rein himself in before Ella broke down his control.
He would want her in a fortnight, of course. He would want her forever. But God help him, he wanted her desperately now.
Ella couldn’t stop staring at Bronson. Was it just her imagination, or did he truly become more and more handsome with each passing day?
The color of his eyes shifted between emerald green when he laughed, and a deep forest green when they kissed. When he touched her.
It had been nearly impossible to sleep the night before with her body humming with desire. She wanted to run her fingers through his fine brown hair and kiss him until they were both writhing with need.
And then finding out he’d read her books in an effort to win her heart. It was all so perfectly romantic.
“So, the stories you wrote.” He watched where Bear and Wolf roamed about the edge of the woods. “Is everything possible?”
“Dragons and mermaids and female knights?” She smiled to herself. “I wish it were so.”
“I mean the heroic things the princes and troubadours and knights do.” He lifted his arm for her to hold as they strode through the garden. “Like pulling her to his horse, or kissing on horseback, or taking off his shirt at any given moment to reveal his naked torso beneath.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that where you got the ideas from? Kipper sought to thwart your romantic inclinations.”
He grinned. “I think taking off my shirt went over rather well by comparison.”
The image flashed in her mind and desire immediately pulsed through her veins. The beauty of his muscular frame shifting and flexing as he moved, the way the droplets of water trailed down his naked flesh. She nearly moaned remembering. “I wouldn’t complain if it were to happen again.” She winked at him in the flirtatious way he often did with her.
She glanced at him and imagined what he might look like if he did remove his shirt again suddenly. It was a sunny day and the clean, open light would leave every bit of him exposed for her slow perusal.
“I’m sure I can accommodate a lady’s request.” He grinned at her.
Aye, he was getting more and more handsome by the day. Truly. His teeth were white and straight, and his fuller bottom lip drew her attention again and again with the yearning to suck it into her mouth and run her tongue over it.
“What do you want in a woman?” she asked. “After all, you know what I enjoy in a man. ’Tis only fair.”
He nodded. “Aye, it is.” And then he was quiet for a long moment. “I never imagined being married, in truth. My father and I spent the majority of our time at court. We hunted and attended feasts and…did what men do.”
“Then I shall fill in the list for you,” she offered. “You would want a woman who is intelligent, a l
over of the written word, a woman who is in possession of exquisite skill with a battle axe and a mace. One who is slightly stubborn and impertinent, who harbors a penchant for saving animals and has a one-armed squirrel named Moppet. Am I close?”
“I can’t say I’m too keen on the squirrel.” Bronson peered in the bag hanging from Ella’s shoulder and grimaced. “But you forgot beautiful. And passionate.”
She couldn’t help but smile at such compliments. “I didn’t want to fall too hard toward the side of hubris,” she offered, earning her a good-natured laugh from him.
It made her smile to hear him laugh. His eyes twinkled and it softened the sharpness of his face, giving her an idea of what he might have looked like as a boy.
Their steps slowed as they strolled through the garden. The day was a fine one, sunny with birds whistling songs in the trees, and the sounds of fat bees humming over flowers that sprang up in an array of vibrant colors. It was the kind of day perfect for laying in the shaded grass beneath a tree where one might be lulled to sleep with the delicate whisper of a breeze playing over them.
Bronson spun her unexpectedly and caught her in his arms.
She chuckled at the sudden gesture and shook her head as he twirled her about again. “What are you doing?”
“We are dancing to unheard music.” He grinned and leapt into the air with a hop before taking her hand and walking them both in a circle. “Like in your stories.”
She paused to remove the bag from her shoulder. The little squirrel dashed from its depths and darted up the nearest tree.
She returned to Bronson and followed his movements, dancing to music that wasn’t there, and she could not help but giggle at the ridiculousness of it all. Despite her hesitation with Bronson, she was enjoying him immensely. His enthusiasm, his enjoyment of life, and the closeness of his powerful body and all the feelings he drew out of her.
Desire flowed through her as they danced, heating her with the memory of everything they had done before. And she wanted to do it again.
“Let us climb into the trees.” She stopped spinning to face him. Her kirtle continued to move and wrapped itself around her legs before unfurling in the other direction.
“And then the hero led his lady into a tree.” He tilted his head. “I don’t remember that being in one of your stories.”
“Then you haven’t read them all.” She walked backward to the orchard. Her body moved differently around Bronson when they were alone, her hips looser, more sensual, as though she was ripe with an anticipation she felt all through her.
“I can’t say I’ve climbed many trees.” He followed her to her favorite, the one with many sturdy branches that allowed her to climb nearly to the top.
“It’s easy, you simply find branches to haul yourself up on.” She reached up and pulled herself higher in demonstration. “Where do you go for privacy when you’re at court if you have no trees?”
“We don’t have privacy at court.” He looked up at her from where he stood on the ground.
Court did not sound enjoyable, though she did not say as much aloud since he held it in such high regard. The whole mess of it sounded boring and crowded and full of terrible people. Ella climbed up another branch as Bronson continued to watch.
She was high enough now that he could easily see up her skirt and the idea sent an excited thrill through her. This was what she had wanted with this: to entice him, to seduce him, to finally feel what it was like to be intimate.
“Do you need help?” she goaded with a smile.
He glanced around the orchard. “Nay, I was simply worried about the dogs.”
“They’ll be fine, as will Moppet.” And they would. The curtain wall of the castle was extensive and stretched around even the gardens.
Bronson put his arm to the first branch and pulled himself up, then his foot on the second brought him even higher. She hadn’t climbed especially high in the interest of ensuring they both kept their footing. She was glad she’d remained low enough for him to reach her easily now.
He stopped on the branch she stood on and looked about with a half-smile pulling at his lips. “It looks so different.”
“It does.” She gripped the branch above her head and stepped closer to him. For his part, he remained with his back pressed to the tree trunk, both his hands curled around it behind him for support.
“Isn’t it incredible how you can see all around?” She touched his cheek. “But no one can see us up here?”
His eyes found hers. Dark green, lashes lowering. Oh, aye. This was what she had wanted. Craved. Desperately.
She lay against him, pinning him to the tree trunk, and nudged her chin to his. He kissed her, his mouth hungry with a similar need.
“We can do anything up here.” She rubbed her body against him.
“I don’t think ‘anything.’” He chuckled nervously.
“Sit down.” She guided him onto the branch with his back to the trunk, where it felt the safest. She settled in front of him, not needing the same reassurance after years of climbing trees.
She leaned forward to kiss him and put her hand to his chest where his heartbeat thundered beneath her palm. “It’s my turn, Bronson.”
His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Your turn?”
She glided her hand down his flat stomach to the hem of his tunic. “To touch you.”
13
Bronson stared at Ella, certain he had not heard her correctly. She wanted to touch him. Her fingers were wandering farther down his torso and she continued to flick hesitant glances in his direction.
Mayhap he had heard correctly.
He cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”
She scooted closer to him, wickedness teasing her lips into a sensual smile.
The branch beneath moved slightly and sent a spike of nervous energy charging through him. He gripped the trunk behind him more tightly.
“I want to touch you.” Ella’s fingers brushed over his groin.
Bronson sucked in a breath and tried to straighten away from her when the branch swayed under him again. He froze. “Mayhap this is not the best place—”
She kissed him, her tongue curling into his mouth with an expertise he had taught her. While her lips moved over him, so too did her hands, finding the ties of his trews and undoing them.
“Ella…”
“Shh,” she whispered against his lips. “I’ll be your wife soon and none of this will matter.” She reached under his tunic and pressed her palm to his stiffening prick. “Do you really want to wait a fortnight?”
Nay, he did not. But it wouldn’t do any good in the situation for him to say as much. Not up in a tree, not when she had lifted his tunic and was pulling free the ties of his trews. First one slipped free, then another.
He opened his mouth to protest when she wrapped her hot hand around his shaft and drew him out. She held him gently, but even the slight touch was enough to make him swell in appreciation.
She gasped. “Is it getting bigger?”
“Aye,” he ground out.
She rubbed her hand down the shaft and back up, sending tingles of pleasure throughout the whole of his body. “It’s growing larger still,” she said in wonder. Her gaze dragged from his cock in her hands to his face. “What makes it swell like that?”
She looked so innocent sitting on a tree branch like a songbird, her hair falling loose over her shoulders, her mouth parted in amazement. And his engorged cock cradled against her dainty palm.
“You,” he groaned. “The way you are holding it.”
She cast an anxious glance at her hands. “Will it keep growing?”
Bronson grunted. It was hard to talk, hard to think, while she held him like that. A drop of moisture pearled on the tip. She touched it with a curious finger and spread it over the spongy head.
Sweat prickled on Bronson’s brow and his hands practically scraped off the bark behind him. Her fingers stroked down him, petting him, her touch so light it nearl
y drove him mad.
“Your skin is so smooth here,” she murmured. “And it’s so hard beneath.”
Bronson gave a tight nod.
Her fingertips danced over him without offering him any pressure. A blush stained her cheeks. “Tell me what to do. To bring you pleasure like you did for me.”
The idea of explaining it took him aback. He’d never had to offer such details before. The ladies at court played at being innocent but were skilled as whores in the shadows. Yet having to tell Ella what to do appealed to him far more than he would have anticipated.
“Wrap your hand around it.” His voice cracked as he gave the instruction.
She held him as he directed. He cleared his throat. “And squeeze gently.”
The pressure of her hand increased. Such exquisite pressure. He leaned his head back against the tree trunk.
“That’s it?” she asked.
“Move,” he said raggedly. “Your hand. Move it. Up. And down.”
The grip of her palm slid over him and a groan tore from his chest. Ella needed no further instruction as she worked her slender fingers over him, silky and hot and so, so perfect.
His bollocks went tight. He was close. Her rhythm remained too slow, too light. “Harder,” he panted. “Faster.”
He released the trunk in a moment of mindlessness and closed his hand over hers to show her what to do. Except as he was drawn in all directions by pleasure, he had forgotten he was up a tree.
The simple movement upset his balance and his left side dipped too low. His feet kicked out but found no purchase, and that was when he went tumbling out of the tree and onto the unforgiving ground.
He landed on his shoulder and heard a distinctive pop followed by brilliant stars of pain. His mind reeled, having gone from such pleasure to such agony, and in so short a time.
Ella dropped down beside him. “Bronson,” she gasped. “Let me go get Isla.”
“Cover me,” he ground out.
Ella had already started to run off but stopped and turned back around. She knelt at his side, shooed away the dogs, and tied the flap of his trews with shaking fingers. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “The tree was a bad idea.”
Ella's Desire (Borderland Ladies Book 3) Page 10