Highland Brides 04 - Lion Heart

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “Beautiful,” he whispered, and bent to touch his tongue to her nipple, tugging it gently into his mouth.

  Elizabet gasped in pleasure, her hand falling helplessly at her side while he suckled at her bosom. His expression alone sent her senses reeling. His face, shadowed on one side and lit on the other by golden light, was more beautiful in that moment than she could have ever imagined. No artist could have painted the intensity of that expression. No brush could have revealed the glimmer in his hair. No words could have expressed the passion depicted upon his face. One hand cupped the side of her breast, scarce touching it, while he suckled with eyes closed, seeming to draw from her body his manna.

  She could do nothing but watch… and cry out in pleasure.

  Chapter Twenty

  Broc had never wanted to please a woman more than he yearned to please her. He wanted to possess her body and soul. She was the most beautiful thing ever to come into his life, and he didn’t want to think of what it would be like returning to a life without her.

  If only for tonight, he wanted to imagine she was his… would be his until he took his dying breath.

  He suckled her beautiful breasts, imagining his future bairns nourished there. He would die a happy man if he could hold her this close every night for the rest of his given days. He would do anything to please her, never let harm come to her, cherish her always.

  His heart had nearly burst through his ribs when she bared herself to him so artlessly and then arched her breasts seductively toward his hungering lips.

  He divested himself of his dress while he suckled her, wanting to give her time to object. If she would deny him; he wanted to hear it now, before it was too late. He wanted her to know his desires, wanted her to see what she’d done to him—what she continued to do to him with the simple sound of her voice… a mere glance…

  The scent of her skin was driving him mad. His body was hard, hungry.

  He tore himself away from the feast she had offered, still ravenous with desire, and looked down at her flushed face. Her eyes were closed, her breasts arched upward, silently begging for more. Her nipple was dark and wet and shiny from his kisses, and his mouth was left wanting, with the taste of her sweet flesh lingering like ambrosia on his lips.

  Christ, she was lovely.

  When he was wholly divested, she opened her eyes and gasped audibly as her eyes fastened upon his very erect shaft. For an instant, he thought she would cry out in fear. Her lips parted, but no sound came from them.

  He arched a brow at her. “The wee lad would like some attention,” he told her.

  Wee lad was hardly the correct description.

  It was Elizabet’s turn to lift her brows.

  Smiling shyly up at him, she reached down to grasp the hem of her gown. And taking a deep breath, she lifted it up over her head. She didn’t have to ask for his help. The gown was whisked away and tossed aside faster than she had time to part her lips.

  “Christ you are lovely, woman!”

  So was he, but she couldn’t speak to say so. The heat of his gaze left her disarmed. His blue eyes smoldered with desire, sweeping the length of her body from her eyes to her limbs, lingering lustfully upon her breast and lower…

  Her breath caught, and her throat felt suddenly too thick to speak. Her nipples hardened, and her body trembled. Without another word, he reached out to touch a finger to that intimate place between her thighs.

  She nearly cried out with the shocking heat of his fingertip. He bent to take her mouth, then, and slid his tongue between her lips. At the same time, he slipped a scalding finger between those lips down below. The sensation of it left her dizzy, and her knees might have given way beneath her, save that he caught her in his arms, kissing her passionately… touching her gently… pressing deeper with each stroke.

  “My God!” she cried breathlessly.

  Her heart leapt higher with every caress.

  He pulled her closer then and deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue within and ravaging her mouth with an intensity that left her weak.

  “Give me your tongue,” he demanded. “Taste me.”

  She did as he asked, her eyes closing in pleasure.

  Broc held himself in his hand, caressing her with the tip of his shaft, reveling in the wetness she showered upon him. In that instant, as he stroked himself between her moist, sweet lips, he craved the tightness of her body beyond madness. It was all he could do not to push himself inside her. But he’d encountered her maidenhead, and he wanted her first time to be pleasurable.

  He wanted her wet… and wanting… wanted to lay her back upon the pallet and drink the nectar of her body.

  She was limp in his arms, offering herself without reservation, gifting him with the most glorious prize ever bestowed upon man.

  Groaning with desire, he laid her down upon the pallet, kissing her lips until they were as wet and swollen as her flower.

  She didn’t protest, and his hands found her breasts of their own accord. She arched into them, and his body shuddered in response. Christ, it was not easy to restrain himself. It had been far too long.

  He nibbled her breasts, then, seeking her sweet dew, lapped downward along the gentle curve of her belly, his heart hammering with anticipation.

  His body shattered at the first taste of her, his heart constricting painfully as she spread her legs and arched her body, offering him a magnificent banquet.

  The taste of her was like nothing he’d ever imagined, the scent of her like sweet pollen. He tasted her feverishly, suckling the bud of her desire, tugging it gently into his mouth as he had with her nipples. She cried out, lifting her legs over his shoulders, and he swore to God he would die where he lay.

  “You… taste…” He forced himself away from her sweet bounty, replacing his lips with his fingers, while he nibbled and kissed his way back to her mouth. “… so good,” he finished, offering her his tongue.

  His body shuddered violently as she took him into her mouth.

  It was the most wicked invitation, but Elizabet was too oblivious with desire to protest his offer. She suckled his tongue, tasting herself on his lips… his mouth… while his fingers danced the most erotic dance she had ever known.

  Every nerve in her body felt alive to his touch, every breath she took a shuddering breath, every tremor she felt a quiver of ecstasy.

  She was helpless beneath the onslaught of sensation. Even if she’d known what to do in return, she wouldn’t have had the sense to do it, so oblivious was she.

  “Spread your legs for me, love…”

  Moaning softly, Elizabet did as she was told, spreading her legs so that his fingers could better dance within her. She panted softly, her heart jolting with every single touch he bestowed upon her. His kisses were rapturous, his caresses shocking, but she shamelessly delighted in every glide of his fingers.

  He lifted his hand suddenly to their mouths and pressed wet fingers between their joined lips, lapping them lustfully. It shocked her merely an instant, and then she joined him, her heart pounding fiercely against her ribs. Her legs spread of their own accord, seeking something, though she knew not what.

  And then suddenly she felt the pressure between her legs, and she cried out, arching instinctively, impaling herself joyfully upon his body. His own cry was ragged against her ear. His body shuddered in answer, and he growled huskily, holding her closer. The pain was minimal, and the sound of his pleasure only heightened her own.

  Wrapping her arms about his neck, she moved her body, undulating beneath him, needing him deeper… and deeper… deeper.

  Something within her belly began to coil, spiraling its way toward a center of sensation so great in intensity that it nearly stopped her heartbeat. With every stroke of his body inside her, the thread of pleasure intensified.

  And then time seemed to stand still for an interminable instant, and she felt her body climax. Her consciousness shattered into a thousand brilliant pieces in that glorious instant, and she cried out, trem
bling in exultation.

  He answered her cry with one of his own and thrust himself one last time so deep within her that she felt him pulse against her very heart. She cried out with him, her body convulsing again.

  He placed a hand at her bottom and rolled to one side, spent, dragging her with him, until she lay replete atop him, still intimately joined with his body. Her own body still pulsed with pleasure, drawing from him every last drop of his seed.

  The sound of whimpering penetrated her consciousness. She peered at Harpy, who sat staring at them, whining anxiously, her expression full of curiosity. Somehow, the realization that her mother’s hound had witnessed every shameless display of affection left her cheeks hot.

  Harpy tilted her head, peering at their naked, entwined bodies.

  “Oh, God!” she exclaimed. Her face flushing with mortification, she buried her head against Broc’s neck.

  He laughed softly, the sound of his laugh wholly sated and relaxed. His hand went to her nape, massaging it gently. “Next time, we’ll put the hound outside,” he promised, and kissed her gently on the cheek, then hugged her sweetly.

  Elizabet had never felt more cherished than she did at that moment. Her heart felt so big that it no longer seemed to fit within her breast.

  She had no regrets.

  None at all.

  She dozed with her face in the crook of Broc’s shoulder while he stroked her back and combed his fingers through her hair.

  Vaguely, she was aware that Harpy gave one last whine and then laid down beside them, relaxing as surely as Elizabet was falling asleep.

  “I’m going to make everything right, Elizabet,” she thought she heard him whisper, but she was far too satiated to ask precisely what he meant, and then her body eased her into a blissful state of slumber.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Morning dawned on black ashes. The stable had burned to the ground. The barracks behind it was half ravaged. It was going to take hard work to restore them and funds that Piers didn’t have on hand.

  “We’ll help however we may,” Leith assured.

  Piers nodded appreciatively. He had begun to make progress toward building a friendship with Meghan’s brothers—more with Colin than with Leith, but Leith was probably the most honorable of the three. Gavin was virtuous but too blinded by his piety, and Colin had been, until Seana, far too concerned with his personal pleasures. But Piers felt closest to Colin. He was the most personable and the most genuine of the Brodie brothers. And there was hope for the man, as Seana seemed to have brought him to his knees. It was clear to everyone who knew them that he was in love with his new bride.

  “Count me in, as well,” Gavin offered.

  “I appreciate the offer,” he told the brothers.

  It was the second time Leith had pledged his men to help Piers rebuild. The first time had been to repair his fence. He was beginning to feel a sense of guilt. Someday he was going to return the favor. He just hoped for both their sakes that it wouldn’t be soon.

  Colin stood beside him, considering the demolished building with narrowed eyes. It was obvious he was lost in thought, because he wasn’t the least aware of their conversation. Seana came up behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist, and he was scarce aware of her until she laid her head upon his shoulder.

  He peered over his shoulder at her, and she smiled wanly.

  “Meghan told me what happened.”

  Colin nodded.

  She turned to Piers then and said, “I’m so sorry.”

  “’Tis hardly your fault, Seana. Where is Meghan?” Seeing the intimacy between Colin and Seana made him yearn for his wife.

  “Tending to David. The lad is a stalwart young fellow.”

  Piers nodded. “That he is.”

  “Have you any notion who set the fire?”

  Piers was glad Tomas wasn’t in his presence at the instant. He would hardly accuse the man without proof, but he trusted his gut, and his gut said the man was foul. “None,” he replied, and had to clench his teeth to keep from sharing his suspicions.

  Colin met his gaze, his blue eyes without a glimmer of recognition, lost in his own thoughts. Without a word, Colin turned again to stare at the ruins, and Piers reproached himself. Christ, he was beginning to see conspiracy in every glance. And yet he sensed Colin knew something he wasn’t saying.

  Still, he was hardly prepared to confront him when the peace they had established was so new. Meghan would never forgive him if he hurled accusations at any of her brothers without evidence to support his charges. Colin was a good man. If there was aught he had to reveal, he would come to Piers of his own accord.

  Piers was counting on it.

  In the meantime, he had set two guards to watch Tomas at a distance, as he was near certain Tomas was somehow at the center of all that had transpired. His arrival seemed to have precipitated everything.

  “I’m not feeling verra well,” Seana said suddenly. Her husband turned to her at once. “I think mayhap I should go home.”

  “Like hell!” he barked. “You’re not going anywhere alone!”

  “We don’t need you at the moment,” Piers assured Colin. “Take her home if she wishes to go”

  He shook his head stubbornly. “’tis my duty to remain, and if I meant to stay, so will she!”

  She lifted her chin, standing tall. “Dinna be silly, Colin!” she chastised. “It’s not far to walk, and it’s certainly not as though I havena traveled these woods all my life! Do ye think that in the few days since we’ve been wed that I’ve suddenly turned into an invalid?”

  He frowned at her reproach but seemed to consider her words.

  “I will be fine to go alone,” she assured him, her tone leaving no doubt as to the strength of her determination. Piers smiled appreciatively, wholly pleased that he was not the only man to be plagued by willful, troublesome wenches.

  Colin’s expression remained harried, his fears obviously not alleviated, but it was clear from Seana’s stance that she was not going to back down.

  Her expression continued to challenge him.

  Colin arched a brow at her and smiled slightly, obviously believing he’d found a deterrent. “On one condition…”

  She lifted her own brow. “And what may that be, husband?”

  “That you ride, not walk.” The request took her momentarily aback, and he smirked at her just a little. “Take my mount,” he offered, a little too sure of himself.

  Piers might have warned him against being too cocky. Such tactics never worked with Meghan.

  For an instant, Seana didn’t respond, and then she replied, more determined than ever, “Verra well, husband.” She smiled back at him, returning his smirk. “I’ll ride.”

  “Good Christ, Seana!” Colin exploded. “You dinna even like horses!”

  She winked at him. “I suppose now is as good a time as any to learn to like them. Dinna ye think?” And with that, she turned to go, and Colin bounded after her, trying in vain to talk her out of leaving.

  Gavin peered at his eldest brother with lifted brows, and Leith cast a glance at Piers. The three of them shared a rare laugh together.

  “That’s what ye get for choosing flesh over spirit,” Gavin reproached them both.

  Leith ignored his rebuke. “She doesna look verra ill to me,” he commented.

  In truth, she didn’t look ill to Piers, either, but he said nothing, as it wasn’t his place to comment.

  He had enough to worry about with his own wife—not to mention Elizabet’s disappearance, John’s death and a stable that had been sabotaged—and if he didn’t repair the damned barracks this afternoon, his men were going to be sleeping outside his bedroom door.

  Only one thing made his temper more sour than Tomas’s presence in his house, and that was the prospect of spending his private time with Meghan with thirty-three pairs of ears outside his door.

  “Let’s get to work,” he suggested.

  Colin could damned well handle his own affair
s without an audience.

  Broc scarce slept.

  He didn’t even close his eyes until the candle extinguished itself. He hadn’t dared move, lest she awaken and leave him. It had all seemed such an exquisite dream, and if he was dreaming, he damned well didn’t want to wake.

  Harpy had other ideas.

  The dog buried its wet nose in his ear. The shock of it startled him. The animal seemed to grin down at him, satisfied with his reaction.

  “Willful hound!”

  Elizabet stretched atop him, turning a beautiful smile on her belligerent dog. “What are you doing to Broc, silly dog?” she asked as though she expected an answer and then yawned prettily.

  “She’s competing for your attention,” Broc said, grinning.

  Elizabet reached up to kiss him sweetly upon the lips and his heart swelled with joy over the gesture.

  Broc dumped her at his side and rolled atop her, caressing her brow, admiring the silky perfection of her face. She closed her eyes and her lashes lay thick upon her cheeks. He bent to kiss her reverently upon the lips, hardly believing the completeness he felt in her arms.

  “Kiss me again,” she demanded sleepily, wrapping her arms about his neck.

  Broc didn’t need to be asked twice.

  With a growl of pleasure, he pressed his mouth to hers, and she responded by entwining her legs around his.

  He made love to her then with all his heart and soul, knowing that far too soon it would be time for him to go.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  “I have something to show you,” Broc said, leading Elizabet along the moorland. It was early yet and he knew Piers and his men would be put off the search until the fire was well under control and they could better determined how it had begun. It bought him a small reprieve, and where he was taking her, there wasn’t much chance they would be discovered anyway.

  He wanted to share something with Elizabet that he had never shared with another human being—not even his cousin Cameron.