“Nay.” He raised his hand to caress her cheek, but only brushed her hair with the backs of his fingers. Like a lone doe, he didn’t dare show aggression. The trust was there, building. He could see it in her eyes, but Lizbeth would insist on more. Her gaze dropped to his lips. “Did you kiss her?”
“Nay.”
She brushed the side of her nose against his and tightened her thighs around his waist.
“Vow it upon your soul.” “I vow it. I dinnae want her. I want no other. I want ye.” Lizzy wanted him, too. She wanted to trust him, wanted to believe he could always keep her safe and would protect her heart. She wanted the life he offered her, and she wouldn’t deny herself the chance to love. He was the light in her darkness, and she was tired of hiding, tired of being afraid. She slanted her mouth over his, binding them together in a kiss. She danced inside his mouth while her heart pounded in her ears. The flutter in her gut exploded behind her breasts, and desire, hot and raw, pooled like liquid fire over her skin. She wrenched free of his lips and pulled her tunic over her head, baring herself to him. “I am yours.”
He reached up, cupped her head, and pulled her back to his mouth, then flipped her beneath him. He held her wrists above her head in one hand and kissed his way down her neck, bathing her skin with his warm tongue. Silky grasses tickled her skin and cool air played havoc behind his kisses. The same vibration flitted through her belly as the night before.
Whimpers replaced her pants. “Broc.” She pulled against the vise he held on her wrists, but he wouldn’t release her. Instead, his mouth continued its exquisite torture on her breasts, drawing on her nipples until they proudly pointed upright. Unable to still her movements, she rubbed her feet up the hulk of his calves, desperate for him to …
“Touch me.” “Not this time, angel.” He stood and peeled off his trews. “Mercy Mary!”
she exclaimed, wishing she’d kept her thoughts silent. His arousal stood straight and tall against his abdomen, nearly touching his navel, and his bollocks hung low in a tight sac. Her eyeballs dried, and her toes curled in anticipation, or mayhap fear. He knelt and spread her thighs wide until her hips rotated and her feet came off the ground. Then his hand left her leg and stroked her. One finger ran over her swollen slit, making her jerk, but he quickly deserted her.
She waited for him to pledge his troth, fully prepared to return his words. His blue gaze met hers, full of agony, debate. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, but no promises followed. Instead, he positioned himself at her entrance ready to slide inside.
He pressed against the barrier of her virginity. “I’m sorry.”
With one thrust, her innocence snapped.
She cried out, not expecting the sharp pain to rip through her insides. Fingers clung to his shoulders as every muscle pulsed within her.
He stilled inside her. His eyes closed, and his head bent to gently kiss the tops of her breasts. “Twill pass. I vow it.” She waited, trusting him, while her muscles moved around him, adjusting to his size. After a moment, the white-hot flame of intensity returned. She wiggled to encourage him to do something. She didn’t know what, but there had to be more. Her body needed release, craved it, demanded it. “Are you supposed to move?”
His head popped up, a shock of black hair hanging over one raised brow. He smiled wickedly, exposing his dimples, then drew back.
Her ankles wrapped around his buttocks to prevent him from pulling all the way out, but he broke free of her hold and slipped out of her. Nay! she yelled in her head, disappointed by the brevity of their union. She frowned at him. “Are ye done?”
He chuckled. “Nay, but I will not last long. Ye are tight.” Before she could understand his intentions, he curled his hands around the underside of her knees and pushed them up beside her breasts. Indigo eyes hid behind black, sweeping lashes. He looked intoxicated, and the way his eyes bore into her made her feel like the most desirable woman in the world.
Her fingers touched the flexing muscle in his jaw; then her palm flattened against his chest where his pulse hammered. Was he regretting his actions? “Broc?” His name rolled over her tongue.
He closed his eyes and entered her again. And again. Stroke after glorious stroke. She whimpered and mimicked his actions with her hips, seeking fulfillment. The controlled rhythm of his movements bounced the heels of her feet off the backs of her thighs. Then all at once, his control snapped. His knees lifted off the ground, his weight pressed hard against her bent legs, and he drove himself to the hilt inside her. He shook, released one of her legs, and brought his hand between them.
Deft fingers swirled around her swollen pearl of flesh.
“Set yourself free, Lizbeth.”
She did. Her body spiraled in ecstasy until all that surrounded her was white light. He roared.
She screamed.
Then their worlds collided inside her womb.
Chapter 14
Pitch black. Lizzy’s eyes were open, but total blindness enveloped her. The ground beneath her was solid. Rock solid. A trickle of water echoed to her right, along with a jingle of harness and a quiet neigh. The slide of a wool blanket left her skin exposed to cool, damp air; then a burst of heat warmed her neck. Broc was on top of her kneeling between her knees and nibbling his way down her ribs. The last remnants of sleep vanished, replaced by total awareness. She felt invigorated, alive, like she’d slept for days. Mayhap she had. He teased her soft, warm breasts—one in his mouth, one in his hand—until the blood rushed beneath her skin, mimicking the hum of passing water in the distance. Lightning flashed the same time a jolt of desire shot up her spine. She shivered.
“Dinnae be afraid. I’m here.” Broc wrapped strong arms around her, hugging her, ceasing his seduction to comfort her.
But terror didn’t imprison her in this darkness. No faces haunted her, no monsters. “I am not afraid.” She returned his embrace and kissed his neck, filling her senses with him. He tasted of spice, smelled like wood sorrel, and felt like paradise. “The dark should be stealing my breath, but ‘tis not.”
“Because you trust me to protect ye.” He resumed his. nibbling on her collarbone and filled his palms with her backside. “I do,” she admitted freely, empowered by this strange new courage he’d found in her. She wove her fingers through his hair, keeping him close. “’Where are we?”
“In a cavern by the river. I awoke in a bed of wildflowers beside a satisfied angel—a naked satisfied angel,” he corrected in a silky timbre, “and I thought it best I protect her from the storm.”
“Satisfied, aye?” She tested his arrogance, though he certainly sounded full of piss ‘n’
nettles, as John would say. “Oh, aye. Verra satisfied. So satisfied I daresay I might have sent her into a swoon.”
She tried to recollect the moments following their lovemaking, but the truth was, she remembered very little. He’d wrapped his arms around her, protecting her in the shelter of his embrace until she slipped into slumber. Mayhap she did swoon. She was liable to swoon again if his lips continued their course down her belly. “Did you think to collect this naked angel’s garments?”
“Aye. We are lying atop them. Three thick velvet skirts make a fine bed.” His tongue dipped into her navel. She pulled his hair and sucked in air, drawing her stomach away from his teasing tongue.
“I am famished.” His teeth grazed her hip bone.
“I could fix you an oatcake,” she offered.
He laughed at her and popped a quick kiss straight atop her mound. She quickly realized his hunger had naught to do with food. The thought of him kissing her there made her ears burn.
He sat back on his heels. “I want no oatcake. I want to taste ye, but your scent is making me wowf.” A strong hand clasped around her calf and brought her foot to his lips, stretching the muscle in her thigh. He kissed the arch, leaving behind atickle, then hooked her ankle at the curve of his neck. He leaned forward, opening her wider, and stroked the side of his erection over her mons. “My cont
rol is lost when I’m with ye. I cannae think about anything but being part of you.” His swiftness startled her, as did the brazen position. Another flash of lightning outlined his broad form between her legs. There was no hiding the fact he intended to take her again, and quickly. A dull ache warned her it might be too soon, but then he supported himself on one hand and teased her with his magic fingers, turning her ache into desire. She moaned and lost herself to his touch, while her mind yearned for his promises, his pledge, and his devotion. The musky smell of her sex wafted up between them, and the sounds of her mewling made Broc forget who he was. He pulled slick fingers from her and sheathed himself inside her, moving in long, slow strokes. “Ah, Lizbeth,” he whispered above her. “Touch me.”
Her hands were everywhere—over his shoulders, his chest, titillating his nipples between her fingertips, and then her nails dug into his backside.
He found the woman inside her, and he wanted to claim her for his own. He drove himself inside her, harder, faster, until his senses were overwhelmed with her and only her. Behind his closed lids all he could see were golden eyes. All he could smell was her essence. He would never get enough of her.
Her back arched. She wailed out, the sound echoing throughout the cavern. Her muscles wrapped around his cock, and her fingers dug into his backside as she reached the peak of one orgasm after another.
“Ach!” He was going to swoon. His head lolled. He planted his fists beside her hips and pressed his chest against the back of her leg. He moved in tiny, quick draws; then a flurry of starlight exploded in his vision. He shook violently and pumped his seed inside her, marking her, mating her, making her…
Mine.
Completely sated, he collapsed beside her, sucking air in unison with her. The hollow cavern spun in a black circle all around him, and a feeling of weightlessness made him hold tight to the floor. His other hand found Lizbeth’s and he interlocked his fingers with hers, hoping to gain his bearings. This woman somehow managed to defeat the controlled warrior inside him. He should have kept his lusts in check, been able to fight her erotic scent and the innocence in her touch. A war of conscience battled inside him. She might be carrying his child even now. He’d ruined her, taken what didn’t belong to him.
Da kept mistresses. Everyone in the clan knew it, including Mam. Da’s bastards lived among them as prized warriors. His seneschal was his own flesh and blood, but held no namesake. The kinfolk turned a blind eye to Magnus Maxwell’s transgressions because he held the power of chieftain. He claimed to be building an army to protect all of Scotland. Aiden had set himself on a course to rule in like fashion. Their debauchery had always soured Broc’s tongue, but now he faced a similar situation. While Da would have no qualms with Broc keeping Lizbeth as his mistress, the man would, no doubt, insist Broc honor the agreement with Laird Scott.
How was he supposed to explain this to her? Lizbeth turned on her side and nuzzled her way partially on top of him. She curled a leg around his and set her fingers free to roam over his chest, his thighs, and then her curious little fingers cupped his sac and stroked his soft member until he provided her with something to hold on to. “Ah, Lizbeth. What are ye doing to me?”
He felt her smile against his neck as she released his cock to explore his body. Entwined with one another, hands and legs became an orgy of coddled flesh. The leader scolded him, told him to make ready for his journey home, but the man fought back. He wanted to stay a little longer, feel a little more, and make his time with Lizbeth last an eternity. He was content to lie on his back and let her bath his chest with her soft sensual kisses. She became braver and bolder with each passing second. Her tongue dipped into his navel while her breasts slid over his rigid shaft.
His hands coiled through her hair. He should stop her. As if he could. He laughed, but the sound came out more as a moan, inspiring her actions further. She tormented his flesh until the hint of gray slowly speckled his vision. Dawn awoke and brought the pitterpatter of a gentle rain. The pelting of drops shimmered. The low nimble of thunder drummed. The melody reminded him of music.
Broc shot up, forcing her to straddle his thigh. ‘What is it?” Panic touched her voice while her body tensed against him.
“Tis raining.”
She sank. “Thank you for the report.”
“Ye like the rain, do you not?” He jumped up, yanking her to her feet.
“I like the rain just fine, but hardly relish the idea of riding in it all day. Pray forgive me for not sharing your enthusiasm.” Broc’s eyes adjusted to the haze spilling into the cavern. Spiked stone hung down from the ceiling to join their coneshaped counterparts on the floor. He tugged on her arm, pulling her through the damp glittering rock toward the entrance. “Where are you going?” She tried to break free of his hold, obviously thinking him mad.
In truth, he felt a wee bit mad. His mind was certainly not his own this day. He had the oddest compulsion to dance, and he hadn’t danced since Aunt Radella’s third wedding.
“Come, Lizbeth.”
“But I am naked,” she said pointing out the obvious.
“Aye, ye are naked.” He smiled, not at her, but at himself for his creativity. “Twill make this all the more enjoyable.” “Broderick Maxwell! What are you about?”
He spun around and caught her around the waist when she tried to run. “We are going to play.”
“Play?” she yelled at him.
“Tis what Edlynn would have wanted.”
“Edlynn is not here.”
“Mayhap she is.” He laughed aloud as uncontrollable energy brought him closer to insanity. “Mayhap she is in my head this day.” Broc plucked her off her feet and carried her into a small clearing surrounded by pine trees. A slow, steady rain flowed over them, soaking them instantly. He plopped her down and kissed her open mouth, stifling any further protests. Fingers tangled into her silky mane, hanging heavily down her back. He pressed her against his chest and sidestepped her in a circle. “Have ye ever danced in the rain, angel?”
“I’ve never danced, much less naked in the rain.” She blinked up at him and followed his movements—leg over leg, thigh against thigh.
Lacing his fingers into hers, he stretched her arms straight out from her body and began the courtship dance he’d seen at so many weddings. While the press of her breasts excited him, the mental freedom he found in her arms invigorated him. “Dance with me, angel.”
“You are mad,” she insulted him, yet continued the sensual steps around his body.
“I am,” he admitted and spun her in circles until she laughed outright. Most likely, her mirth stemmed from nervousness, but her giggle sounded like viols in his ears. Laughter found her too little—a flaw he wanted to remedy.
Wet grasses wrapped around their calves as he guided her
through the dance. Broc turned and flushed his back to hers,
still holding their hands away from their bodies. His feet stopped. His head fell against hers. The rain hit his face in sharp stinging pinpricks, and though the sun hid behind a sky of gray, he knew the hour of dawn was upon them. This dance was a means of procrastination. They should have left hours before, but he didn’t want to face his kin. Not yet. Not when he finally had Lizbeth on the surface.
He’d challenged himself to find the woman inside her, not realizing until now she’d awoken the man inside him. A man who treasured small moments and memories, such as this one. He wanted to share that person with her, but also he needed to explain why he wasn’t free to choose her. “When I was a lad, I raced my brothers to the loch outside Skonoir Castle every morn before mass. Aiden always won, but one day I beat him in a rain like this.”
He turned and flanked his chest to her back, trying to focus on the point of his story and not the way his erection nestled neatly in the crevice of her backside. He restrained her movements with a hand on each of her hip bones and kissed her shoulder. “I was twelve summers and had finally gained control over my feet. Ian was much younger and always gave
up before we reached the gatehouse. But I matched Aiden’s footing that day, not at his heels, but at his side. Then I accelerated forward and beat him.” Broc smiled, reminded of that long ago moment of victory. “Did you drag me into the weather to tell me this story?”
She tilted her head, exposing the slender column of her neck. He kissed the skin where her pulse beat a fast-paced staccato. “I was free then. Aiden was the eldest, the one who would rule, the one who would protect the clan. Da had him trained by the strongest warriors in the mesnie, schooled by his stewards. I went to Dryburgh to learn how to control my desires.”
“Desires for what?”
“Everything he had. And now that it is mine, I fear I no longer want his life.”
“How can you say such a thing?” She started to turn, but he pinned her shoulders in place. He couldn’t bear her eyes. Guilt weighed heavy on his conscience enough.
“You have the heart of a leader. You were born to protect.
Why would you not want such a privilege?”
“For the right to choose.” He closed his eyes and waited for her to comprehend his words. He wanted her to understand why he couldn’t take her to wife.
“We do not choose our heritage, nor can we change who we are. I did not choose to be sired by the executioner. You are the laird’s son and hold the power to protect your people. You are selfish to wish otherwise.”
“You do. Tell me ye dinnae wish for a different sire.” “I wish for it every day, but my father is a murderer,” she snapped as she stiffened her spine. Twas not his aim to anger her. She completely misdirected his intentions to tell her about Lady Juliana. The courage to do so failed him now.
In an effort to cool her temper, Broc pushed her hair over her shoulder and bent to kiss the back of her neck, but she stepped out of his arms. His gaze followed the curve of her spine and what he saw there ignited a rage in him that made his jaw ache. He clamped his fingers around her arms and held her in place.
Her One Desire Page 17