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“I want you to understand my intentions, Lady Willow. I will be exorcising you from my thoughts. It has been six years, and I still dream of your smile and laughter, of your taste, of your kisses and gentle opinion. No more. I will make you want me until it is an unrelenting ache, and then I will bury my cock deep inside you. You will sob my name and claw my back, begging for the sweetest of pleasure never to end, I will brand your soul with me, and when I am finished, I hope you will regret, as I do, the loss of us.”
Utter shock had her hand fluttering to her throat. Then startling hope rose, pushing aside all other emotions. Was this not what she wished for every day? To feel passion, to taste it, to indulge in it? To be daring and independent of Society’s derision and her family’s overprotectiveness. But not like this…not with anger and pain, the voice in her heart whispered.
She stepped in closer to his warmth. “I am intrigued by this method you would use to make me beg, to make me ache so relentlessly.” The words slipped from her before she thought of the consequences of being so bold.
He became so motionless, she fretted she had said the wrong thing. Then her ears picked up the hitch in his throat, the softly shuddered breath. She affected him just as he did her, despite the anger. The realization filled her with delight, and for the first time in years, Willow felt wicked… and wonderful.
A touch. A whisper of air passed over her lips, and she knew he had dipped closer than what was considered proper. A fleeting caress. She savored it, though their lips barely touched. Another breath puffed across her cheek. Every touch, whisper was a torment. But such a sweet torment. His scent flooded her senses, and acting on instinct, she rose on her toes and leaned forward. The taste of his lips was like spiced wine and strawberries. He stilled, and blood roared in her ears. She had kissed him! How shockingly improper and scandalous of her. She parted her lips to his entreaty. A soft groan slipped from him, then his tongue stroked the edge of her teeth. Not once did he draw her closer or press his body against hers. But she felt the heat of him, tasted the strength of him, and lost a bit of herself that she had sworn to keep protected, after enduring what had seemed like an endless nightmare.
His tongue glided over her lips and into her mouth. Though he had never touched her with such boldness, she reveled in his embrace. For once she pulled from this forbidden and exhilarating encounter, she would never allow herself to be in his presence again. How could she? While his promise filled her with scandalous temptations, she would not lead herself into more heartache. Not with this man.
A shiver cascaded down her spine. She itched to thrust her fingers through his hair, but she did not want to shatter the moment. Their kissing without touching seemed more intimate than if they had been grasping each other. She fixated on the taste and texture of his lips, learning and enjoying him. His lips were rough, hard and possessive. Instead of frightening her, Willow leaned more into his tantalizing warmth. Something hot and confusing unfurled inside of her. It created a throb that started from her breasts, down to her navel and even lower to her most intimate valley. His touch coaxed, tempted, and teased. Unable to resist, she ran a single finger against the hard length of his jaw.
He pulled his lips from her, breathing raggedly, and she sucked in an unsteady gulp of air when he nipped at her neck.
“Sweet,” he murmured roughly. “You taste sweet.”
She traced his brows, his nose, learning him, appreciating him. She sank her fingers into the length of his hair, her fingertips gliding through the thick yet silky strands, and she noted his locks were shorn much closer to his scalp.
Removing her fingers, she asked, “What are we doing, Alasdair?” Her voice came out husky, shaky, and heat climbed her cheeks at the undisguised need in her tone. But she needed to understand what they were really thinking. It was inconceivable that after meeting each other for the first time in years, they were doing this, whatever this was.
He kissed her lips tenderly, then whispered against her throat, “I do not know. This was not my intention tonight. Far from it, but you are temptation incarnate, so damn beautiful.”
Willow’s breath hitched. Beautiful? Did he not see her scars? Her thoughts derailed as he claimed her lips again. A moan slipped from her, and she swayed closer. She was losing herself, drowning in his scent and taste, needing him, and fear curled through her.
She would never allow herself to need another again.
Willow drew back from the warmth of him, overwhelmed by the pleasure elicited from only a kiss. “My lor
d, I—”
His hands cupped her cheeks. “I need to know. Is this why you kiss me with such passion, Lady Willow, passion you have never shown me before?” He touched his lips to the corner of her mouth. “Because I am now a marquess… not so low and insignificant to kiss, to touch?” he whispered, but the soft contempt in his tone flayed her.
No, she could not do this, not with so much pain between them. Her body railed at her for rejecting something she had long hungered for and never thought she would experience. But if she hurt so much now, what would she feel when he was through with her body and heart? She pulled from him, shifting left, and her hip slammed into another table, or was it a chair? A moan of pain slipped from her. Devil take it!
“You need to be more careful,” he said. “Here let me help—”
“No! Please, I need a moment without your touch.” Not caring what her admission revealed, she reached out and felt for the chair. Cold iron brushed against her skin. Grasping the back of the chair, she moved toward it and stubbed her toe.
“Bloody hell,” the unladylike curse slipped from her in frustration.
“Are you always this accident prone?” He asked, soft amusement evident in his tone.
“Forgive my clumsiness,” she said through gritted teeth.
“It is I who should beg your forgiveness. It was not my intent to disparage you. The lights from the terrace and gardens do not provide much illumination.”
His footsteps shifted and moved from behind her to stop at her side.
“May I be of assistance?”
Tell him. She was being a coward, yet the words stuck in her throat. She wanted his escort to the library. They would never make such a journey without at least a few bumps and stumbles. The added tables and chairs and the crush of people were confusing. “I cannot see. I am blinded,” she confessed thickly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me,” she said softly.
A cool breeze nipped at her. Willow waited, feeling awkward and exposed.
