She observed him with drugged eyes and nodded. "Aye."
He sure as hell was ready for her. He positioned himself and entered her slowly, the tight, drenched heat of her near stripping away his sanity. Instinct possessed him and he thrust hard.
She gasped and pulled at his hair.
"Sorry," he breathed. "You've driven me to the edge of madness." He bit her earlobe and drew it into his mouth.
Caressing his shoulders, she wriggled beneath him, pressing her breasts more firmly against his chest and thrusting her hips.
He cursed, unsure exactly what he said, and thrust. Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain consumed him. Nay, he could not stop. He drove into her, over and over, lust and oblivion devouring him. All he knew was she was perfection, and instinct spurred him to take her as hard as he could. Brand her. Make her his. Moments later, her legs were wrapped around his hips, and her inner muscles caressed him, squeezed him mercilessly. She gave a keening scream of pleasure, and he could do naught but let go and lose himself in her. Never had he experienced such an uncontrollable fire of pleasure.
He knew he acted like a rutting animal, growling, grinding into her, but he could not help it.
Afterward he gasped for breath, cursing himself for not being gentler with her. "I'm sorry." He breathed hard.
"Nay." Trying to catch her own breath, she smiled. "'Twasamazing."
"Aye, indeed." Like no bedding he had ever experienced. And he didn't even know her name.
Rolling to his side, he drew her close against his chest. He was as spent as a lathered horse. At least, he thought he was, until she kissed his chest.
He hummed a low sound of appreciation and she continued. Each kiss awoke his body once more. Soon his shaft was standing at attention. She trailed a hand down his chest and abdomen, over his hip and to his leg.
"Mmm, aye."
Her hand moved upward again, brushing over his erect shaft. He hissed. She drew back and watched while she stroked it.
Observing her lustful expression and erotic actions, he growled.
She glanced up at him, her beautiful eyes darker. How he loved arousing her.
"You are…" God, he didn't know. He stroked a thumb over her smooth, flawless cheek, pushed her hair behind her ear and kissed her lips. "Lovely," he breathed, though the word could never do her justice. Something about her riveted him. Excited him. How could he ever get enough of her? He knew not, but he would try.
Much to his delight, she seemed unable to get enough of him either. Never had he indulged in so many rollicking rounds ofbedsportin one night. 'Slud, he'd be lucky if he could walk in the morn.
In the wee hours, he'd fallen into an exhausted sleep.
When he'd awakened in the gray morning light, she was gone. The room was cold and so was the bed.'Twasalmost as if she hadn't been there at all, except for the long, honey-blond hair he found on the pillow. He wrapped the curl around his finger and stared at it for a long time, remembering what they'd shared, his heart pounding. That day, he'd bought a locket and put the curl inside. Though 'twas daft, he couldn't part with that one tiny part of her he had left.
He'd looked for her aroundStirling, waited each night at the inn to see if she would show up again. How could she simply vanish? He kept wondering if she truly was a widow, or married. If he'd seen her walking down a street with a man, he certainly wouldn't have approached them. He would've been disappointed, but he wouldn't have revealed their secret. He could be as discreet as anyone; he'd simply wanted to know more about her. And if she truly was a widow… well, he didn't know.
Shaking his head, Rebbie came back to the present.Saints!Never had another woman captivated him as much as she had. Not before or since. He'd looked. He'd searched for a woman who engaged his mind, his senses, his lust, a woman who would touch his soul, just as she had, but he'd found none.
***
Calla climbed into the coach atDraughon, eager to be out of the chill morning rain. Her excuse for the errand into the village today was to pick up Lady Elena's new dress. Of course, her main reason was meeting the messenger again, but no one need know that. One maid accompanied her, along with the driver and an armed guard.
Elena was devastated because she'd been the reason Rebbie left and had near made herself sick over the whole debacle. He had been gone for days and no one could predict whether he would return or not. With the rain pouring down, Lady Barclay would not allow Elena outside. And yet, Elena wouldn't stop complaining about not being able to try on her new dress today. Since this was the day Calla was to meet Hobbs again anyway, to send a payment to Claybourne, 'twas the perfect excuse for making a quick excursion into the village.
Gazing out the coach window at the passing greenery, the wood, and the mountains in the distance, Calla wondered where Rebbie was. She felt so conflicted about his disappearance she could hardly sleep at night. One part of her was glad he'd escaped the marriage trap Elena and her father had tried to spring on him. While another part of her missed his mysterious dark gaze and sensual smile. She was powerfully drawn to him, but at the same time, any additional moment spent in his presence was a risk.
In the village, the driver pulled the coach to a halt in front of the dressmaker's shop. "You wait here. I'll be back in a trice," she told the maid. Thankfully, the rain had diminished to a fine mist. Wearing her boots, Calla leapt out into the mud and hurried into the shop.
"Lady Elena was not feeling well this morn and couldn't come," she told MistressMacGee, the matronly dressmaker who always wore an annoyed frown. "If any alterations are required, we'll return at a later time. While you're wrapping up the dress, I'll slip out back and use the privy."
MistressMacGee'sfrown deepened. "Very well."
Of course, Calla had no need for the privy at the moment. She simply needed a way to slip to the livery stable without the guard, driver, or maid seeing her. They would be sure to tell their employer about her odd actions.
