back, AnnaClaire. Do you understand?"
She nodded.
He dragged her roughly toward him and lowered his head. Against
her mouth he murmured, "I thought I could resist. I was determined to
return you to your father as I'd found you. But heaven help me, I'm
only a man."
"Aye. And the only man I want, Rory O'Neil," she managed, before
his mouth crushed hers.
There was such need in him. Such passion as he feasted on her lips.
He plundered her mouth, tasting, devouring, like a man who'd been
starved. His tongue tangled with hers, teasing, tempting. The hands at
her shoulders were almost bruising as he dragged her fully against
him. While his mouth learned the taste of her, his hands began a
frantic exploration, moving along her back, sliding up her sides until
they encountered the swell of her breasts. His clever,
work-roughened thumbs found her nipples already hard, and began
stroking until she thought she'd go mad.
She pushed against him and lifted her head, taking in a deep draught
of air.
He pulled her close, nibbled her throat. "Having second thoughts?"
"Nay." The word came out in a sigh as she arched her neck to give
him easier access. "I just need a moment ter catch my breath."
Instead of giving her what she sought, he dipped his head lower until
his mouth found her breast, further robbing her of breath.
Ignoring the barrier of clothes he began to nibble and suckle until she
moaned and caught his face between her hands. "Do you know what
you're doing to me?"
He grinned, sending her heart spiraling out of control. "I hope it's the
same thing you've been doing to me since the day we met, lovely
AnnaClaire." He kissed her again with such passion he drove her
backward until she was pressed roughly against the trunk of a tree.
His hands were tangled in her hair. Almost savagely he pulled her
head back while he rained kisses along her cheek, to her lobe, which
he took between his teeth, nipping lightly.
She gave a yelp of pleasure and surprise. "Rory. Wait. There's a big
soft bed just inside."
He growled against her cheek, "I hope you didn't think loving me
would be all neat and tidy." His hot breath tickled her ear. But it was
his words that had her shivering. "I'm not interested in a big soft bed,
AnnaClaire. With rose petals scattered among the linens. I'll take
your love wherever you offer it. Whenever you offer it. But I'll
demand the same of you. Love me as I am. Where I am."
"Oh, Rory. I will." She sighed. Swallowed. "I do."
His lips covered hers in a kiss so hot, so hungry, she had no choice but
to answer in kind. But even as they struggled to fill each other, the
hunger between them grew.
The bark of the tree trunk dug into her back, but she was too drunk
with his kisses to notice. He brought his mouth to her throat, then
swore in frustration. She heard the ripping of fabric, felt the coolness
of air against her skin, and was stunned to see her torn gowndrifting
to the ground, where it pooled at her feet. Then his big hands reached
for the ribbons of her chemise, freeing her breasts.
She had always thought she would be shocked, embarrassed, to
display herself to a man. Instead, the look in this man's eyes had her
throat going dry.
"God in heaven, AnnaClaire. You're even lovelier than I'd dreamed."
And then there was no need for words. His hands, his mouth, told her
all that she needed to know. He was a thirsty man, drinking his fill. A
desperate man, clinging to her as though to life itself.
She wanted to see him, feel him, in the same way. Nerves made her
fumble as she reached for the fasteners at his waist.
He closed his hands over hers to steady them as his clothes joined
hers at their feet. When he drew her close and began to press kisses
along her shoulder, across her breasts, her legs were trembling so
violently she feared they would fail her.
Sensing her weakness, he caught her hand and drew her down. They
were kneeling face to face, cushioned by the moss and jumble of
clothes.
The last rays of sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, adding to
the heat that rose up between them. The air was perfumed with the
fragrance of evergreen. High-above them a bird called and its mate
of water in the nearby stream. But the two people locked in an
embrace were aware of none of this. All they heard was their own
shallow breathing and the wild beating of their two hearts. And the
roar of blood pounding in their temples.
Rory fought to bank his needs. He had wanted her for so long. The
need to take was almost overpowering. But for AnnaClaire's sake, he
would force himself to move slowly. This was, after all, the only
thing he could give her. In this act of loving he would take her away
from all this. From the harsh life of an outlaw that he had chosen.
From the dangers that threatened them. From the differences that
separated them. For a little while they could lose themselves in each
other and forget.
His touch gentled, as did his kisses. With lips and fingertips he
explored her face, her throat, the sensitive hollow between her neck
and shoulder. With each touch, each taste, he felt her body grow more
tense, her breathing grow more shallow.
As her blood heated and her body pulsed, AnnaClaire felt her
inhibitions begin to slip away. She had feared that she would feel shy
and uncomfortable with a man. But with Rory she felt no shyness.
With him she felt bold and free. Free to be herself. Free to touch him
as he was touching her. Free to love him in every way.
She savored this gentler side of his lovemaking. Steeped in pleasure,
she sighed with contentment as he kissed and caressed. The pleasant
sensations curling deep inside her lulled her into believing that
passion, at least her own passion, was a quiet whisper.
His lips trailed her throat, then dipped lower to her breast. Without
warning, a demon seemed to spring to life within her. The pleasant
sensations were suddenly writhing and twisting, demanding to be set
free. The quiet whisper became a roaring of blood throbbing inside
her temples.
Rory sensed the change in her and thrilled to it. Here was more than
mere pleasure. More even than passion.
This was need, raw, demanding. Need that had long slumbered within
her, awaiting the right touch to awaken it. He could read it in her eyes,
taste it on her lips. Hot. Wild. Pulsing.
His fingers tangled in her hair as he drew her head back and covered
her mouth in a savage kiss.
"Now," he whispered against her mouth, "I'll show you all the things
I've dreamed of doing."
He lowered her to the ground. With teeth and tongue and fingers he
moved over her body, touching, tasting, until she was unbearably
aroused. Following his lead she brought her arms around his waist
and buried her lips in his throat. She felt his muscles contra
ct
violently. With a new sense of power, she explored him as he had
explored her, daring to touch, to taste, to entice.
His body was alive with need. He had planned to go slowly, to make
this first time as easy, as gentle as possible. But now, with their
passion fully unleashed, he had to call on every ounce of self-control
to keep from losing himself in her.
With exquisite tenderness he kissed her until they were both
breathless. At her whispered sighs he lowered his head to her breast,
nibbling, suckling, until she moaned and writhed and begged for
release. Instead of giving her release, he moved to the other breast,
feasting until she clutched at the moss beneath her.
She made a sound that could have been a plea or a protest, and still he
held back as he drove her higher, then higher still. He was relentless
as he drew out every pleasure until it bordered on pain.
The cool air whispered over them, but nothing could ease the heat that
clogged their throats or the sheen that pearled their flesh.
AnnaClaire strained against him, her body screaming for release, as
he moved over her. Her whole world was now centered on this man.
His clever hands. His enticing lips. His demanding tongue.
He felt her stiffen as she reached the first crest. He gave her no time to
recover as he moved over her, tracing his lips upward until they found
her mouth.
Dizzy with feeling, her eyes darkened with passion. She didn't think it
was possible to want more. But she did. She wanted all.
"Rory. Sweet heaven, Rory. Now. Please. Now."
As he entered her she felt an even deeper arousal. It startled both of
them when she wound herself around him, needing to hold on to him
as the storm began anew.
He filled himself with her, and knew, even as they began to climb
together, that he had lost himself completely. Lost himself in the
wonder of her. In the beauty of her. In the love of her.
"AnnaClaire. God in heaven, AnnaClaire." Her name was torn from
his lips as he closed his mouth over hers and raced toward the very
edge of madness.
And then she was moving with him, racing, climbing. And as they
reached the final shuddering release, she felt them soar through space
and shatter high among the stars.
They lay, still joined, unable, unwilling to move. Little by little they
seemed to drift back, to settle, to find a calm after the storm.
It occurred to Rory that this was the first time in two years that he
wasn't concerned about his sword and daggers. His weapons lay
somewhere in the tangle of their clothes. If the English should come
upon them at this moment, he would be helpless to defend himself
against them. But at least he'd die happy. Delirously happy.
"I'm crushing you."
"Nay." She lifted a hand to his cheek, then let it fall away. "Stay."
"You look..." He lifted his head to stare down at her. "...as stunned as
I feel."
She managed a laugh. "Aye. Stunned."
Suddenly she was weeping uncontrollably.
Alarmed, he sat up. "I'm sorry, love. I've been such a brute. I didn't
mean to..."
Love. The endearment brought fresh tears. She reached a hand to his
mouth. "Rory. It isn't you who made me cry. I feel like such a fool for
weeping. But it was so... amazing. I never dreamed it would be like
this."
He felt his heart begin to beat once more. Pressing his forehead to
hers he whispered, "Aye. It was amazing. And wonderful. You're
wonderful, AnnaClaire. My sweet AnnaClaire."
"Is it always like that? Like being caught in a riptide?"
He threw back his head and laughed. "An apt description, love. It was
like a riptide, wasn't it?"
She nodded.
He "nuzzled her mouth. "It isn't always like that. Sometimes loving
can be sweet and gentle."
"But not with you."
He laughed again. "I warned you."
"You did indeed." She wrinkled her nose. "And I have nothing
against lying here in the moss, mind you. But there is that big warm
bed inside."
"Oh, you'd like a bed next time, would you?"
"It might be different."
"Not so different." He found himself fascinated with the delicate
curve of her shoulder. The taste of it. The softness of the skin. The
way she shivered each time he moved his mouth just so.
"Rory, stop that."
"Why?" He ran wet, nibbling kisses across her throat.
"Because it tickles."
"Sorry. I'll stop. In a few moments." If he could rein in his appetite.
But it seemed that the hunger was back. As strong as before.
"By then I'll be covered with gooseflesh."
"Good." He nibbled his way up to her mouth. "That's my intention."
"But can you...? I mean, can we? Again?"
"Aye, love." He wouldn't have thought it possible, but he wanted her.
Here. Now. "We can love as often as we please. Again and again
and...again."
The words died on his lips as he took her on a slow, leisurely journey.
A journey that left them both breathless. And at last sated.
Chapter Eleven
'Are you warm enough, love?"
In answer, AnnaClaire wrapped her arms around Rory's waist and
buried her lips against his throat. She would never grow weary of
hearing him call her love. Nor would she ever have enough of those
strong arms around her, that warm, solid body beside her.
Sometime just before dark he had carried her to bed. They had spent
the night alternately loving and sleeping. At times the storm of
passion caught them both by surprise. At other times their
lovemaking had been slow and languid, as though they had all the
time in the world.
Rory knew he was behaving recklessly. Every hour spent here in this
simple hut in the forest brought the English closer to them. But he
hadn't the heart to leave yet. Not with AnnaClaire finally his. Not
when his heart was filled to overflowing with so much love.
Now, with dawn light breaking through the darkness, they would be
forced to spend another day here before they could safely take to the
trail.
He glanced down at the woman dozing in his arms.
What a delight she was. Who would have believed that she would
prove to be such a fierce little temptress?
"You're smiling, Rory O'Neil." She yawned, then lifted a finger to
trace his lips.
"Maybe because I'm enjoying such happy thoughts."
"Care to share them?"
"They'd make you blush."
"I think, after last night, nothing could ever make me blush again."
He threw back his head and roared. "Aye. You are a constant source
of amazement to me, my lady. Who would have thought the very
proper AnnaClaire Thompson could think of so many...inventive
ways to please me."
She sat up and surprised him even further by straddling him, leaning
forward and pressing her mouth to his. "You promised to teach me
even more ways."
"So I did. But you may wish to wait a day or two."
"Why?" Her lips turned into a most enchanting pout.
He
traced a finger over them and grinned when she nipped at it.
"Because, my girl, you may be a bit sore today."
"Perhaps you're the one who should worry about being sore." Her
fingers played with the dark hair on his chest, sending delicious curls
of pleasure along his spine. "After all, you're the one who was
wounded and required all that time to mend. You may have...strained
something."
"True enough." He caught her hand to still her movements. "But if
you don't stop doing what you're doing, I'll have to strain even more.
And I'll hold you personally responsible for whatever happens."
She shot him a wicked smile. "Promise?"
"Oh, AnnaClaire, what am I to do with you?"
Her eyes danced with mischief. "I suggest you do what you do so
well, Rory O'Neil."
He gave a mock sigh. "A warrior's work is never done."
He rolled her over and kissed her long and slow and deep until she
was gasping for breath.
She gave a sigh and fluttered her lashes. "Oh, my big, brave, strong
warrior..."
He kissed her again, cutting off any further taunts. "Ah," he muttered
against her lips. "I see I've found an effective way to silence you,
wench."
With soft sighs they drifted once more into that wonderful world of
love. A world where there was no longer any need for words.
"Hungry?" Rory lay in a tangle of pelts, one arm above his head, the
other wrapped around AnnaClaire's waist.
Late morning sunshine filtered through the cracks in the walls.
"Famished." She rested her head on his shoulder. "We never did eat
that fish you caught."
He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger and watched the
sunlight turn the ends to gold. ' 'As I recall we had more important
things to think about."
"Aye. But now you must feed me, Rory O'Neil."
"And if I don't?"
She smiled. "I suppose I'll just be too weak to do more than kiss you."
He sprang up out of bed and began pulling on his clothes. "Don't
move. Just rest here and I'll see you properly fed, my lady. I wouldn't
want anything to steal your energy now."
She knelt up in the middle of the bed, unmindful of the fact that she
was naked. "I can't believe how easy that was. Is that all it will ever
take to get you to do my bidding?"
He tangled his fingers in her hair and tilted her head back, kissing her