Run Wild (27 page)

And then the sound of silk in his grasp, sliding upward, baring her calf, her knee, her thigh, seemed louder than the crackle of the fire.

“Samantha?” he whispered, his voice odd, rough.

She opened her eyes, not understanding his question, until she realized that she had her legs pressed tightly together.

“Do you want me to continue?”

She couldn’t answer for a moment, struck by the tension in him—the knotted muscles of his arm around her back, the sheen of sweat on his bare chest, the strain etched in every line of his body, his face.

“Yes.” Unable to resist, she lifted her hand to stroke his bearded cheek, her heart thundering. “Oh, yes.”

He trembled, actually trembled, at the light contact of her fingertips. “Samantha,
please
.” He choked out an oath. “Don’t.”

“You don’t want me to touch you?”

“No, that’s not—” As she moved her fingers lower, along the corded muscles of his neck, he groaned. “Oh, God.”

“I like touching you.”

“But this time is just for you, angel.” He grabbed for her hand and lightly pressed her arm back to the ground beside her head. “You can...” His breathing was so harsh in his throat, it sounded as if he were in pain. “You can touch me later.”

He didn’t give her a chance to argue, stealing her words and her breath with another deep kiss. Then she felt his hand on her hip, sliding her skirt out of the way.

She felt no fear, no resistance, no hesitation. As easily as his fingers had parted the silk and lace of her gown, his tenderness had parted the defenses around her heart. She trusted him. She was safe with him.

Safe.

In that moment she realized she had been a fool to think that safety would ever lie in being alone, in living apart from the world.
This
was what she needed. To share, to trust, to hold and be held. This feeling of being cherished and sheltered... in this man’s arms.

She parted her lips and deepened the kiss, welcoming the slow, languid penetration of his tongue. Liquid heat poured through her, flowing into her heart, her body. She felt as if she were made entirely of sun-heated water, of melting honey. His fingers traced along her thigh in slow circles as he waited for her, patient, letting her decide.

And with a soft, deep sound of acceptance, she relaxed, letting her thighs part, feeling no more need to guard any of her secrets from him.

He lifted his mouth from hers, nuzzled her cheek. “
Yes
,” he whispered in her ear, brushing his fingers along the inside of her thigh. “Open for me, sweetheart... that’s right.”

He sought and found that most feminine center of her being, touching her so gently, so softly. She felt as if she’d been struck by a bolt of white-hot lightning, felt a liquid heat flowing forth to meet his hand, as if his touch filled her with so much light, warmth, life, that her body became a cascade of fire.

She cried out his name, her hips lifting from the ground as a new, almost violent wanting twisted through her. He stroked her with exquisite care, his fingertips unfolding the soft petals that concealed her innermost core, finding the hot flow of honey within.

“Sweet angel,” he rasped.

She was writhing beneath him now, swept up in a whirlwind of sensation, of yearning. Even as she knew she couldn’t bear any more, he found a small bud within those damp curls, teasing it lightly with his thumb. A pulsing wave of pleasure rocked her entire body. Her breath broke on a ragged cry.

He stroked that swollen, sensitive part of her, again and again, until she thought she would go mad. The wanting, the tension wound so tight she knew she would shatter and did not care. It was a wildness. An all-consuming need. Tendrils of fire that lashed her with sweet torment. But the more she ached for his touch, the more lightly he grazed the delicate bud, building an unbearable excitement and longing within her. She wanted... wanted...

His mouth covered hers and he kissed her again in that spellbinding way, a slow stroke of his tongue against hers, like hot velvet, matching the glide of his fingers below as they slipped
inside
her. She moaned, shivering with shock and pleasure at the fierce, gentle claiming. The tension spun tighter, faster, winding through her. His thumb whisked over the swollen bud, urging her onward, lifting her beyond earth,
higher
—

Suddenly all the tendrils of fire snapped at once.

A wordless cry of revelation and release tore from her throat. She was shuddering, falling through the heavens, through a drenching shower of flame, her entire body shattered in ecstasy just as the sun broke through the trees.

The first light of dawn bathed her and she was floating down... down through the clouds, utterly spent, more alive than she had ever been. She felt like the light itself, hot, clear, new. Felt as free as the wind, soaring over all the earth.

She didn’t come back to herself until she felt the sun warming her face, wasn’t sure how long she had lain trembling in his arms. Opening her eyes, she blinked, half-expecting to find herself still floating through the clouds with angels.

Instead she was here on earth.

With her dark angel.

He looked down at her with a smile, eyes sparkling, and she noticed a softness in his expression that she had never seen before.

Her heart beating too fast, she smiled up at him, wanting to touch him as he had touched her, to learn every texture, every taste, every breath of him. To wrap her arms around him and hold him close.

But she felt strangely sleepy, her body heavy. “Nick, I—”

He stole her words with a kiss. “Shh, Samantha, don’t try to understand it. Just let yourself feel it.”

With a drowsy murmur of assent, she closed her eyes and leaned into him as he settled back against one of the trees. She wanted nothing more at the moment than to stay right here, with him. It seemed so natural, to fall asleep with her head pillowed on his chest. So comfortable.

So perfect.

This wasn’t how she had expected the day to end at all, she thought, smiling sleepily.

Then again, nothing had been as she expected from the moment she met Nick James.

~ ~ ~

The afternoon sun beat down on Nicholas’s bare shoulders as they trudged alongside the river. He had finally abandoned the tattered, blood-stained remains of his shirt. Samantha had used what was left of the sheet to wrap a bandage around his chest, covering the brand. It would have to do for now.

They had been on the move for hours, heading upstream, figuring that their pursuers—if they were still anywhere in Cannock Chase—would be focusing their search downstream. He wanted to get to a town as quickly as possible. He had five days left to make it to York, which meant he had to do two things as quickly as possible. One, get a horse.

Two, get free of the lovely lady at his side.

A thought which no longer held any appeal.

He shook his head in amazement. Just days ago, he had wanted nothing
but
to get away from Samantha Delafield. But now the idea of being separated from her brought a peculiar ache to his chest. One that had nothing to do with the sensual torture he had endured this morning, the arousal still running through his blood like a river of fire.

He had never experienced this strange... longing before. He rubbed at his chest, wishing he could wipe away the feeling as easily as he brushed off the perspiration that dotted his skin.

The chain caught on a root and he stumbled.

He recovered before he could fall, but Samantha caught his arm. “Are you sure you’re strong enough to keep going?”

“I’m fine.”

She let go of him at once.

Realizing he had snapped at her, he repeated it more gently. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced, but he wasn’t about to explain that it hadn’t been physical weakness that tripped him, but thoughts of her.

Which was becoming a weakness in itself
. As she looked up at him, as their gazes met and held, a blush suffused her cheeks. He couldn’t help smiling. She had been blushing all day, every time she glanced at him. Reaching out, he touched her face. She smiled shyly, her lashes sweeping downward. He would have sworn he saw a shiver go through her.

“It seems I’ve put a permanent smile on your face,” he said wickedly, enjoying the way his teasing made her color deepen. He lightly caressed her cheek. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, angel.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, raising her chin.

Her reaction pleased him. He saw no trace of shame or regret in her eyes. She had embraced passion the same way she embraced all of life. Simply and completely. With warmth and enthusiasm and her whole heart.

She kept surprising him with her conflicting facets, each more intriguing than the last. Miss Samantha Delafield was a woman of delicate sensibilities and steely strength. A refined lady and a talented thief. A sweet innocent who could unabashedly enjoy her sensuality.

Before he knew what he was doing, Nicholas bent his head and kissed her. Her mouth met his warmly, softly. Already she was learning to kiss him back, meeting his passion with her own. His hands came up to her shoulders and he pulled her close. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He had known so little tenderness in his life and she had so much to give, shared it so willingly, that he drank it in like a man cast adrift.

His lips molded to hers and her sweet feminine fire seared him, sending a riot of sensations through him. His response to her seemed to grow stronger every time he touched her.

Abruptly he lifted his head, his body taut, his heart pounding. “You are dangerous, lady.”

He said it with a grin, kept his tone light, but knew he was only half-joking.

She was breathing as hard as he was, her eyes a deep, molten gold. “Are you going to keep your word later?” A mysterious smile played at one corner of her mouth.

“My word?” he echoed, confused.

“You said I could touch you,” she reminded him softly, “later.”

Nicholas felt her voice flow through him like a potent draught of whiskey, felt as if every nerve ending in his body had just been set alight. “Right,” he choked out at last. “I did, didn’t I?” Desperately trying to think of a way to back out of that agreement, he turned her away from him, still holding her by the shoulders, and nudged her forward. “But right now, we need to keep our minds on the trouble we’re in, or else we’re going to find ourselves back in gaol. Or worse.”

She flashed him a look over her shoulder and started off, leading the way.

Following behind her, he tried to gather up the scrambled pieces of his reason. Which was bloody difficult. Especially when she looked at him as she just had—with a glance that held sweet sensual promise, eyes that shimmered with...

He didn’t know what to call it. Didn’t want to think about it. Tried to put it out of his mind.

Later
. He felt his gut twist into a knot tighter than a Spanish bowline hitch.

No. Absolutely not. There would be no later.

Nicholas frowned. Until this morning, he had been convinced there would be nothing wrong with taking his pleasure of her and then taking his leave. Why should she be different from any other woman he had known? It wasn’t as if he’d never had a virgin before. He’d sent more than one maiden on her way with a few new skills in her feminine arsenal and a smile on her face. Never had he hesitated in bedding a willing lady.

Until now. Until Samantha. It seemed important to him, somehow, to protect her innocence. To avoid taking the treasure she offered.

That was a first for Captain Nicholas Brogan, he thought with a rueful twist to his mouth—protecting a treasure instead of taking it.

No one would ever believe it.

He watched her walking just ahead of him, infinitely fascinated by the way she moved, the way her hair caught the light. He couldn’t puzzle out his reasons, but he intended their first moment of physical intimacy this morning to be their last.

He didn’t dare trust himself to touch her that way a second time, to hold her lush, naked body in his arms and not take her.

His gaze lingered over her, his thoughts drifting back to the glade. He still could not believe what had happened between them. Not the way she had responded to him so perfectly. That didn’t surprise him.

No, what baffled him was that her dazzling release had been as pleasurable for him as it had been for her—even though he had been in torment, raked by need, longing to bury himself in her depths. It had taken every ounce of will he possessed not to claim her. She had been like melted honey in his arms, yielding, open, ready. And he had restrained himself.

It had been the first time he’d ever given pleasure without taking some in return. And it had made him feel unbelievably... good. More than good.

Happy.

He shook his head, reminding himself that more pressing matters required his attention. Matters of life and death. He needed to concentrate. York. The blackmailer. Five days left.

Less than five days.

Damn it, Brogan, concentrate.

They kept walking, each lost in their own thoughts, the forest passing by in a monotonous parade of tree after tree, branch after branch, evergreen after evergreen.

The afternoon sun slanted low through the canopy of leaves when he thought he heard a sound up ahead.

“Wait a moment.” He stopped Samantha, coming up to stand beside her. “What’s that noise?”

They both stood still, listening. The wind carried the sound toward him: voices.

“Bloody hell.” Grabbing her, he darted into the underbrush.

“Who do you think they are?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer, knew what they were both thinking.
Lawmen
.

But the sound didn’t grow louder. Whoever it was, they apparently weren’t moving. And he heard no dogs or horses.

And some of the voices were undeniably feminine. “I’m not sure,” he whispered. “Care to take a closer look?”

She nodded. They crept forward, cautiously, staying within the shadows of the trees.

A few yards further on, they could see them: a group of people camped in a clearing ahead.