The Ranger (36 page)

“What I want isn’t the issue. I’m thinking of
you
, Anna. You might not believe me right now, but trust me when I tell you I’m trying to do the right thing. I don’t want to hurt you. A lot can change over the next few days. The war will change everything.”

He was right. It seemed as if all her dreams were hanging by a thread. War was upon them and everything she’d known could change in the blink of an eye. The MacDougalls’ power in the Highlands was balanced on a sword’s edge. But there was one thing she could hold on to. “It won’t change my feelings for you. It’s yours that are in question.” She paused. “You haven’t answered my question.”

He cursed and took a few steps away from the door, trying to pace but unable to find the room. His head nearly touched the ceiling. He looked like a lion stalking in a too-small cage. He was drawn up tight, tension radiating from every inch of his powerfully built form. Finally he jerked around and grabbed her by the arm, his expression furious. “Yes, damn it. Yes, I want to marry you.”

The dark cloud that had descended over her lifted. It wasn’t the most romantic declaration she’d ever heard, but it was enough. Warmth spread through her, and she smiled. “Then that is all that matters.”

She leaned closer to him, instinctively seeking the connection of his body pressed to hers. He flinched at the contact, but this time she did not mistake the reason. He wanted her. Badly. Though he was struggling to resist. She could feel the tension reverberating off him like a drum.

His eyes fell to her mouth, darkening with desire. But still he tried to fight against it. “What if I don’t come back, Anna? What then?”

Her blood stopped cold. Was that what this was about? Was he trying to prepare her for the possibility that he could die on the battlefield?

She couldn’t bear to think of it, but she knew it was a possibility. He could die. She clutched him closer to her, gripping the hard muscles of his upper arms in her hands as if she would never let go.

God couldn’t be cruel enough to take him from her. Her heart squeezed. But if he did ...

She knew what she wanted. She couldn’t control what happened tomorrow, but she could control right now.

Perhaps she had brought him here for a reason.

Arthur knew this was a bad idea, but as he’d already proved more times than he cared to think about, he was a damned fool when it came to Anna MacDougall.

A sheen of perspiration gathered on his brow as his blood pounded hot through his veins. The heavy scent of the wine, the musky earthiness of the small room, and the faint floral fragrance of her skin wrapped around him, intoxicated his senses with desire.

She was too close. His need too raw. His mind was half-crazed with images of what he wanted to do to her.

They were alone, damn it. This was too dangerous.

But if he’d hoped to discourage her with talk of an uncertain future, he’d miscalculated.

“I don’t want to think about war and tomorrow. I want to think about right now. If today was the last day we had together, what would you want?”

You
. He felt the pull. He wanted what she offered more than anything in the world.

Her words. Her certainty. She made him dream. He wanted to believe a future could be possible. Just for a moment, he wanted to believe she could be his.

His heart pounded like a drum as she lifted up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.

He groaned, fighting the urge to sink into her. He knew if he did, he wouldn’t stop.

Her mouth was so warm and silky soft. So sweet. She tasted like honey and smelled ...

God, she smelled like a fresh summer garden steaming in the sun.

She slid her mouth to his jaw, his neck. His body started to shake. He couldn’t hold back much longer. He stood powerless to resist. Praying for her torture to stop.

Instead it grew worse. She nudged her hips to his, rubbing against the neediest part of him. The part of him that was hard, throbbing, and incapable of thought.

“We came so close before,” she whispered against his neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers over his burning skin. “I want to know the rest.”

A bead of sweat slid down his temple. The cool room was fast growing warm and sultry.

She stretched against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her eyes found his. “Show me, Arthur.”

The bold request snapped the last thread of his reserve. With a growl, he pushed her up against the door, pinning her hands back on either side of her head, and kissed her. Nay, devoured her. He feasted on her mouth with his lips and tongue, kissing her as if he’d never be able to get enough.

She met his fervor with her own, sliding her tongue against his, mimicking his erotic movements with her own.

The roaring in his head got louder.

His body got harder.

It wasn’t enough. He leaned into her, fitting his body to hers, and rocked. Gently, and then more insistently as she started to writhe and whimper in innocent frustration.

He wanted to lift up her skirts and sink into her. Feel her shatter around him as he drove into her hard and deep. Over and over. Claiming her as his.

But she was so responsive—so pure in her pleasure—a swell of tenderness rose up inside him, and he pulled away.

She blinked up at him, her eyes swimming with passion, her lips softly parted and swollen from his kiss. “Please, don’t—”

“Shhh.” He stopped her protest with a soft kiss. “I’m not stopping.” It was too late for that. He was a man, not a bloody saint. He wanted her too badly, and she’d pushed him too far. Recriminations would come later. Right now, she was his.

But he wouldn’t take her like a rutting beast against a door.

He unfastened the Campbell brooch that he wore to secure his plaid and spread it out on the stone floor. After sitting, he held out his hand.

She didn’t hesitate, but slid her hand into his with a smile that tore at his heart and allowed him to lower her down beside him. There was just enough room to stretch out between the barrels of wine.

He slid his hand in her hair and drew her face to his, kissing her with all the passion and emotion teeming inside him. Kissing her as if she meant everything to him.

Anna gave herself over to the sweet possessiveness of his kiss. She curled against him, feeling warm, protected, and sheltered from the events taking place outside the magical bower of his embrace. She felt ...

Peace
. In his arms she felt the sense of peace and contentment that had always eluded her.

He slid his hand through her hair, cradling the back of her head in his big, callused palm. His thumb caressed soft little circles at the back of her neck.

She could kiss him like this forever. Lying beside him, molded together, feeling the hard strength of his body pressed against her. His warmth a protective cocoon around them. The long, languid strokes of his tongue making her hot and boneless. It was perfect.

But when the long, languid strokes grew more demanding, when his kiss became harder and deeper, when his hold around her tightened and she became aware of the hard column of steel wedged against her stomach, kissing wasn’t enough.

She felt that strange sensation building inside her again. The awakening. The stirring. The restless energy that pulsed between her legs, making her feel anxious and desperate for pressure.

But this time she knew what would happen. She remembered his hand between her legs. His fingers inside her. The sharp spasms of release. She remembered the plump round head of his manhood pressing intimately inside her.

She moaned, circling her hips against him, wanting the relief that only friction could bring. Her body was on fire, her nipples tight and achy as they raked his chest.

Her hands roamed over the broad span of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his arms and back, trying to draw him closer. Though beneath his plaid he wore only a tunic, chausses, and braies, the thin layers of wool and linen had become a maddening barrier. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin pulsing under her fingertips.

He must have sensed her frustration. Wrenching his mouth away, he unbuckled his belt and jerked the tunic over his head, tossing it to the side.

His chest was as incredible as she remembered. Broad shoulders, heavily muscled arms, flat stomach bisected by rigid bands of steel, the smooth plane of tanned skin marked by various-sized scars. The worst was the star-shaped scar on his upper arm near his shoulder—the type of mark left by an arrow. And she could see the marking on his arm clearer now: the Lion Rampant, the symbol of Scotland’s kingship.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away. Lord, he was beautiful.

“Keep looking at me like that, lass, and this won’t last that long.”

The huskiness of his voice sent a shiver of desire running down her spine. She blushed. “I like looking at you.” His eyes darkened. “You’re magnificent.”

Unable to wait a moment longer, she flattened her palms over his chest, gasping at the sharp sizzle of contact.

He made a deep, guttural sound and drew her into his arms again. This time there was no holding back. She could taste his desire. Feel his need in the erotic thrusts of his tongue.

It was all happening fast now, but each moment burned sharply in her mind. She wanted to remember everything about this. The way he tasted. The way his mouth felt on hers. The rough scrape of his beard on her chin. The heat of his skin. The power of his muscles flexing under her palms. The hard pounding of his heart against hers. She wanted to remember every sensation. Every smell. Every touch.

She was so hot and achy, her skin fevered and flushed. Vaguely she was aware of his hands loosening the ties of her sleeveless surcoat and easing it past her shoulders. Then he was cupping her breasts, kneading them through the wool of her cotte and linen of her chemise as his mouth traveled down her throat. His thumb moved over the hard nub of her nipple. Circling. Caressing. Pinching gently between his fingertips.

Her hands skimmed wildly over his back, clutching his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin with every teasing stroke. She moaned, wanting to strip away the fabric, to feel his hands—his mouth—on her skin.

And then they were. First her cotte, then her chemise, were eased up her legs, past her waist, and then over her head.

She might not have noticed if he hadn’t stopped to look at her. He lifted his head from her throat and slid his gaze over her nakedness.

She blushed and tried to cover herself, but he wouldn’t let her.

He grabbed her wrists and shook his head. “Don’t,” he said roughly, something thick and raw in his voice. “You’re beautiful.” He lay on his side and trailed his finger down her arm as if she were so delicate she might break from his touch. His eyes caressed her breasts, making her nipples tighten even more. He slid a finger over the tip, then around the heavy curve. “Jesu,” he breathed raggedly. “Your breasts are unreal.” He groaned and eased down to cup them in his hands, lifting them to his mouth.

He kissed one throbbing tip, then the other, leaving her trembling with need. When he finally closed his lips over her and sucked one nipple deep in his mouth, she cried out.

Arthur had never seen anything more beautiful. He knew he should slow down to take in every inch of creamy, baby-soft skin, but one glance had been enough to nearly send him over the edge.

Slim and delicately formed from the top of her head to the tiny arches on her feet, she looked like an angel. He might have thought he’d died and gone to heaven, if it weren’t for her breasts. Her breasts were pure sin. A male fantasy come to life. A little too big, round and high with youthful pertness, the soft, creamy flesh was tipped by berry-pink nipples that made his mouth water. And they tasted ...

He groaned and drew her in his mouth again, circling the warm, taut peak with his tongue. They tasted of sweet carnal desires and dark honey pleasures.

He wanted to go slow, to draw out every moment of pleasure, but their need was too hot. Too desperate. And too long denied.

He eased his hand between her legs, testing her with his fingers.

He was hard as a spike, but feeling her dampness—knowing she was already wet for him—made him swell even harder. He sucked her breasts and stroked her with his fingers until her hips lifted against his hand and her breath started to hitch erratically.

When he knew she was close, he quickly rid himself of his chausses and braies and moved over her, positioning himself between her legs.

Their eyes met.

He wished he could say he hesitated, but he didn’t. All he could think about was that he needed to make her his. That he had to hold on to her. That in her eyes he’d seen the acceptance and love he’d never thought would be for him. Love that God knew he didn’t deserve but wanted more than anything in the world.

“Please,” she whimpered.

It was all the invitation he needed.

Gritting his teeth against the urge to thrust hard and deep, he lifted one of her legs around his waist and started to ease inside. Although “ease” was probably the wrong word. She was tight, and he was big—very big.

Sweat gathered on his brow.

Tight. God, so incredibly tight.

He clenched against the hard pull in his groin. His bollocks tightened as the pressure built at the base of his spine.

Her body fought against the invasion, but he wouldn’t be denied. He pushed a little deeper.

She flinched and made a sharp sound of distress.

Blood pounded through his veins. He felt as if he were going to explode, but he held back, giving her a moment to adjust before burying himself deep inside.

Jesus. Don’t push ...

“I-I’m n-not sure this is going to work,” she said anxiously. “M-maybe when you’re a bit smaller?”

A chuckle rumbled from his chest through the pain. He would explain some of the intricacies of the matter later. “Trust me, love. We will fit perfectly.” But admittedly he’d never been with a maid before. “You might feel some pain for a moment.” He looked into her eyes. “All right?”

She nodded, but looked a little less certain than before.