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“That would be nice,” Tara said eagerly.
Reeve got the distinct impression that she wasn’t only happy to see him, but she was happy that he wasn’t hurrying off, that he’d be staying a while to share a drink.
They chatted endlessly, about everything and anything. Reeve had her laughing about tales of him and his brothers growing up. And she seemed ever so curious about the strange way Duncan and Mercy had met. Reeve explained their plight of having been chained together as prisoners of the king and on the run. And how after endless weeks, they had finally arrived home and had been freed of their chains, though by then their hearts had been bound by love, and the strong link could never be broken.
A yawn stole Tara’s smile, and Reeve realized she looked tired. With at least three hours left before supper, he thought it a good idea that she take a nap and rest up.
She seemed reluctant.
“A brief nap will refresh you for the evening meal,” he said.
She looked ready to debate the matter when a yawn attacked once again. She laughed. “My body appears to agree with you.”
A wicked grin surfaced on Reeve’s face, which matched his wicked thoughts. He shook his head slowly, silently admonishing himself. “When are you going to realize that I’m always right?”
“That’s still to be proven,” she said laughing again.
Tara went to stand, and Reeve quickly was at her side. Once again, he didn’t ask permission, but then had he ever? He did what came naturally. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
“You needn’t carry me,” she said. “I can walk.”
“Your ankle needs rest.”
“It feels fine, and it is but a short walk to the bed.”
“That’s good.” He hadn’t meant to whisper, his response simply came out that way. But then maybe now was the time for whispers and murmurs and stolen kisses and exploring touches.
Rein it in, Reeve,he silently warned himself.
He sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt down to take her boots off.
“I can do that,” she protested.
“It’s no trouble.”
It was more difficult than he had expected though it wasn’t the boot that gave him trouble. It was his own rapidly mounting passion as one hand cradled her calf, and the other worked the boot off. Her calf was toned, though not rock-hard, and his fingers itched to stroke the inviting flesh beneath the wool stocking.
He moved his hand to take firmer hold of her leg, and his fingertips brushed along the crevice at the back of her knee. The itch to explore farther up along her leg overwhelmed him, as did thoughts of how silky smooth the inside of her thigh must feel.
Heat built in his loins, and he knew he needed a slap of cold air, frigid cold air.
With the stubborn boot finally off, he easily rid her of the other one and placed them near the hearth. He planned to leave, let her sleep, not bother with a kiss. A kiss was not a good idea now. And then he looked at her, and he saw his heated desire mirrored in her eyes.
“Damn,” he mumbled, and sunk down in front of her, his hands gripping the back of her neck. “I need to kiss you.”
He didn’t wait for a response, her deep lavender eyes had told him what he needed to know. She was as eager for his kiss as he was for hers.
Their mouths joined in a dance of passionate hunger. They tasted, melded, and lingered, enjoying the feast that nourished their hearts and souls.
Reeve feared moving his hands from her neck, for if he did, they would surely roam where they should not go ... at least not yet. In time, though. Definitely in time.
He eased the kiss to an end and rested his cheek on hers, the heat almost scorching his own heated flesh. That they were on the verge of more than a kiss was obvious, and he knew he had to leave.
His hands fell away from her, and he stood quickly. “I must go.”
“Yes,” she urged. “Go.”
“I’ll return for you for supper.”
