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In no time, he’d parted her thighs with his hands and settled himself between her legs. He held her hips still as he shifted his braies and freed the hard shaft of his manhood. She twisted against him, hungry for the feel of him and shy with maidenly innocence at the same time.
But he caught her chin and tipped her face toward his.
“Nay, Violet. I would look in your eyes when I take you and know that you are mine.”
And she was. Even before she gave him her virginity, she knew she belonged with him. Whether by Fate or chance or an answer to her prayers when she asked the heavens for a man she could accept into her heart, Finn Mac Néill was her destiny.
As their gazes held, locked, he stroked her most sensitive flesh. Now, as he aligned his body with hers, she understood its purpose. The slickness between her thighs welcomed the impossible breadth of his shaft, easing his way.
Still, she scored his back with her nails, unable to stop herself. But his restraint never wavered, his slow claiming a sensual revelation. The tearing within did not come as a surprise, but the pleasure that followed as he began to move inside her was…extraordinary.
“Finn,” she breathed, her heartbeat galloping hard as if she raced toward some invisible finish. “It’s like standing at the edge of a great precipice—”
Everything stilled and gathered inside her. Waiting. Holding. Finn’s eyes never left her face, but he reached between them to stroke the tender place between her legs with one molten caress.
Pleasure blinded her like a lightning strike. Waves of bliss cascaded over her, drowning her. Her body was not her own, undulating in the throes of passion fulfilled. A high, keening cry filled the chamber and somewhere between the sweet convulsions and the drive to catch her breath, she realized the sound came from her throat.
Finn growled in her ear as his hips pumped harder. Faster. She could feel his body arch and tighten the way hers had and knew he must have found the same release. She clung to him, savoring the moment and the knowledge that he had wanted her with the same intensity that she’d hungered for him. Whatever had passed between them, it was as binding as any vow.
At least, it was for her. She could not say what Finn might think in the aftermath of her lost virginity, but she hoped he had been moved in the same way she had. Uneasiness crept through her as he kissed her forehead and turned to pull on his braies.
She edged herself up to a sitting position, not ready to lose the warmth of the connection between them. As she tugged on her tunic, she felt a twinge inside, a soreness she should have expected.
“Let me,” Finn insisted, smoothing the linen garment over her hips with gentle hands.
A blush bloomed over her despite what they’d just done. Strange that dressing could be even more intimate than undressing. She wanted to ask him what would happen. Would he simply accept her virginity as payment for the service he planned to render her father? Or could there be…more?
Licking her lips, she gathered her courage.
“Finn—”
A shuffling sound below stairs cut her off. The creak of a step. Someone else was in the mill with them.
Her gaze darted to Finn, but he was already throwing her kirtle into her lap and retrieving his sword.
“Stay here,” he hissed, his back to the wall as he descended the stairs to face the intruder.
Chapter Five
Finn eased down the stairs slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness as he moved away from the firelight. His ears strained for any hint of sound, but the rainfall outside masked small noises, even muffling his footsteps as he descended.
He gripped the hilt of his sword, keeping the weapon close. Cold wind whistled past him as he reached the lower level. The breeze would be the only thing to get by him. With Violet upstairs, he would make certain of it.
Peering around the main floor of the abandoned mill, Finn could discern no movement. No dark shapes hiding in the corners. The door had blown open, banging on its hinges as another gust of wind barreled through the archway.
Was that all they’d heard?
He moved toward the door, ready to close it, when another shuffling noise in the corner caught his attention.
A shadow took the form of a man rising from the floor. Nay, ascending a set of steps.
“Don’t move.” Finn touched the tip of his sword to the figure’s chest before he could climb to the final tread into the main chamber.
The trespasser was a young man, humbly dressed in dark clothes. Bent to one side, he favored one leg as if he’d sustained an old injury. He did not flinch when Finn’s blade bit into his cloak.
