The Campbell Trilogy (61 page)

But her body wasn’t listening. Her hands twined around his neck in silent invitation to take what he wanted. To give in to this fire that had been burning between them from the first.

Just for a moment,
she vowed.
Just one kiss.
Ever since that day in her cousin’s bedchamber, she could think of little else. The teasing brush of his lips had only made her hungrier to taste him fully. She would do her duty, but she had to know what it felt like to have his mouth on hers, to taste his passion—this man who made her knees weak simply from looking at him. From the first, this rough, dark warrior had intrigued her. She would simply appease her curiosity, that was all.

His mouth covered hers, and for an instant everything stilled. Every nerve ending that had been set on edge in anticipation exploded in a rush of pure pleasure. All that mattered was the exquisite feel of his velvety soft mouth on hers, of dissolving into warmth and heat. Of his firm lips possessing her. Of their breath melding together. Of the connection forged in passion and desire.

God, it was even better than she’d imagined.

Her body ached for him to touch her. Ached in ways it never had before. Lizzie felt the world spin under her feet, drowning in a sea of pleasure.

Her mouth opened against him, and he groaned. Sinking into her with an intensity that told her she was not the only one affected by this kiss. His fingers plunged through her hair to curl around the back of her neck, bringing her mouth more fully against his, as if he would devour her slowly and thoroughly. Very, very thoroughly.

His tongue slid into her mouth with long, slow strokes, fueling a hunger that she feared could consume her.

It came over her so fast, with such force, she couldn’t have prevented it even if she wanted to.

She realized her mistake right away. The passion stirring in her blood was like nothing that had come before it. With John she’d felt a girl’s curiosity, a girl’s desire. But the intense emotion gripping her now went far deeper and was far more dangerous. Her desire for Patrick Murray was elemental. Like food and air, she
needed
him.

She couldn’t get close enough. Wouldn’t be close enough until her body melted into his. Until he was deep inside her, filling her and crying out her name. Loving her.

She sensed that he was holding back, having care for her innocence. How could she tell him that it wasn’t necessary?

She kissed him back, sliding into the damp heat of his mouth. Meeting the thrust of his tongue instinctively with her own. Savoring the dark, delicious taste of him.

He growled and kissed her harder, bringing her body more fully against him, until it seemed that she’d melted into him. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. Soft curve to hard granite. He wedged her between his legs so that she could feel the heavy weight of his manhood straining against her.

God, he was big—and, like the rest of him, hard as a rock. The erotic knowledge settled somewhere low in her belly, clenching tight. And she was wicked, because she wanted to crawl over every inch of him. To feel him thrust up high inside her. To be connected to him in the most primitive, beautiful way.

Her body dampened with desire. She opened her mouth wider, taking him deeper, her tongue circling his in a frantic rhythm. His mouth moved over hers with less tenderness and more raw desperation, his hard jaw scratching the tender skin around her mouth until it tingled and burned.

No gentleman indeed. No gentleman kissed with such raw passion. Patrick Murray was a wickedly carnal man who wasn’t afraid to let her see the depths of his desire.

He covered her breast with his big hand and she arched
her back, pressing into the hard curve of his palm. He dragged his mouth down her throat, sliding wet, hot kisses over her fiery skin as his hand gently plied the soft flesh of her breast. The raggedness of his breath on her damp skin sent shivers sweeping over her.

His hair was soft and silky under her chin, warm from the sun. She had to touch it, to run her fingers through the dark, silky strands.

She could feel his control wane. Feel as the smooth, deliberate movements dissolved into a frenzy that matched her own. His hands were on her back, on her hips, on her bottom. Lifting her and circling her hips against him until the sweet friction made her quiver with need. She moaned, gripping his shoulders to hold herself steady as her body was racked with desperate shivers.

Her breath came quick. Her heart pounded.

He kissed her again, more insistently. His hands were in her hair. His tongue was deep in her mouth, her throat. He kissed her until her head spun. Until her knees weakened. Until all she could think about was collapsing on the ground and feeling the weight of his hard, muscular body on top of hers.

Her skin felt too tight for the sensations erupting inside her. She felt anxious and restless—poised on the precipice of something strange and wondrous—but not sure how to reach it. Something well beyond the short-lived pleasure she’d experienced with John Montgomery.

“Your skin is like velvet,” he murmured against her ear.

She froze; the words uttered once before penetrated the sultry haze like a splash of ice water.

What was she doing? It was only supposed to be a kiss.

Dear God, hadn’t she learned her lesson the first time? Lust was not love. Sex was not closeness. No matter how good it felt, it would not make him care for her. Was she so starved for affection that she would forget?

She’d made this mistake before and would not do it
again. Not for a man who could never be hers. Not for a man still mourning the loss of his wife. She felt a twinge in her chest, realizing why he’d probably reached out to her—to forget. To take solace in oh-so-willing arms.

“No,” she murmured against his mouth, twisting out of his arms and pushing him away with a ferocity that startled them both. “Let go of me,” she choked, her chest heaving for air. “I told you this cannot be.”

His eyes were dark and penetrating, piercing her with intensity. Despite the raggedness of his breath, his words held an edge. “It felt very much like it could … be.”

“Have you forgotten your wife?”

A strange look crossed his face. “For a moment, I did.”

She gasped, not sure what to make of his confession. He took a step closer to her, the hunger in his gaze sending a shiver of trepidation whirling down her spine. Never had she been more aware that he was no courtier, but a warrior—and a Highland one at that. He could take her whether she wished it or not. But strangely enough, she trusted him.

“Don’t lie to yourself, Elizabeth. You want this as much as I do.”

His hand slid around her waist. She could feel the subtle pressure on her hip bringing her toward him again.

Why couldn’t he see that this could not be? Didn’t he know what this was doing to her?

It felt as if she were swimming against a strong current, one determined to drag her under. But she was just as determined to learn from the past. She had to put an end to this once and for all.

Summoning what was left of her resistance, she wrenched free of his hold. “You forget yourself, sirrah.” Lifting her chin, she gazed deep into his eyes so there would be no mistaking her meaning. He was a guardsman and not a suitable suitor. “It was a kiss, nothing more. A mistake, and one that will not be repeated. Do not touch me again.”

Words, Patrick thought, had not the power to strike a blow. He was wrong. She didn’t want him. He could see it in her eyes: He wasn’t good enough for her. And she didn’t know the half of it.

By all that was holy, if there were any justice in this world, they would be equals in every way.

He buried his resentment behind a stiff bow, his jaw clenched tight. “I apologize. I didn’t realize it was so distasteful to you.”

She reached out to grab his arm. “No, I …” But her words fell away as her hand dropped back to her side.

He could see the turmoil on her face, in her eyes, but it did not lessen the sting of her rejection. “You need not worry that I shall make that mistake again. I’ll not press my attentions where they are so obviously unwanted.”

It was clear that she didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

He watched the sweet red mouth he’d just kissed tremble. But nothing could stir the cold, hard stone in his chest. He was a fool to let her get under his skin.

He made no move after her as she turned and ran down the hill toward the castle. He watched her, though, bitterness and longing twisting seamlessly inside him. The smoldering resentment born in a man who wanted something desperately but knew that it didn’t rightly belong to him. She was innocent—

Nay, not so innocent.

The knowledge clawed at him with a viciousness that surprised him. Elizabeth Campbell had been kissed before. Thoroughly kissed. And from the way she had responded to his touch, he suspected that she’d done more than kiss.

How much more?

The question ate at him unrelentingly, a primitive voice in his head that wouldn’t quiet. Every instinct clamored with possessiveness.

He told himself it was because of his plan. She might not
be as easy a mark as he’d thought. Experience would make her less likely to fall into his seductive trap and perhaps even make her wary.

But the intensity of his reaction told him that it was more complicated than that.

Never had a kiss ignited into passion so quickly. He’d been a few minutes away from tossing her down on the grass and taking her right here—like some damn animal. Elizabeth Campbell was far more desirable than he’d ever anticipated.

Patrick’s blood had cooled, but his body still teemed with restless energy, his lust far from sated. Lust that would make him lose focus if he didn’t do something. Hell, he was already losing focus.

He needed to keep his mind on his goal, not on his rock-hard erection. This wasn’t about bedding the lass, it was about getting his land back.

He needed to clear the haze, and there was only one way to do it.

It was only a kiss.

A lapse in judgment. No reason to keep punishing herself for it.

But when Lizzie returned to the castle, the turmoil had not lessened. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing, her mind was going in a thousand directions, and she felt perilously close to tears. She’d never felt more confused, more uncertain, in her life. All she wanted to do was forget about Patrick Murray and how incredible it felt to be in his arms. Forget the way his mouth felt on hers, the hot, spicy taste of him, the imprint of his big swordsman’s hand on her breast.

Forget that it had ever happened.

But what if I can’t?

She quieted the voice in her head the only way she knew how, by attacking the duties for the day with even more than her usual zeal. The remainder of the morning she spent changing the bed linens in each chamber, and fluffing and airing the pillows and hangings. Not hungry, she skipped the midday meal to polish the silver candelabra, and then the furniture. In the afternoon, she swept and mopped the floors until they sparkled. Usually the maids performed such tasks under her supervision, but Lizzie needed the distraction. It worked. The physical labor finally succeeded in clearing her mind.

Only when every muscle in her neck and back ached and she could no longer move her arms did she stop, collapsing in her room in an exhausted heap. So tired that had she not
been covered in dirt, she would have simply gone to bed. But when her bath was brought up, she roused herself sufficiently to sink into the warm water of the deep copper tub.

She closed her eyes, wanting to drift away into nothingness, but the memories found her. The more she tried to push them away, the harder they came.

Even bone-deep exhaustion, it seemed, could not cure what ailed her: the knowledge that she’d acted disgracefully. Not just in allowing him to kiss her, but in her reaction afterward. It wasn’t Patrick Murray’s fault that she lived in fear of repeating her past mistakes. She’d welcomed his kiss, even encouraged him, and then when he’d taken her up on her wanton offer, she’d lashed out.