Once again she was immersed in a rush of sensation at the exquisite caress. His lips were warm and firm, yet enticingly soft at the same time—and much too tempting.
Stifling a gasp, Rheda pressed her palms against his chest and pulled back her reeling head. “I am not a mare to be taken on your whim.”
“So you admit you want to be taken. It is only a matter of when.”
Anger flared, dousing her desire. She shoved him away from her and moved away from the wall. To her disappointment he did not even try to stop her. She stood breathing hard looking at his strong face, arresting and strikingly handsome in the dim stable light. He had a beautiful mouth; his lips were chiseled and generous, and they curved now in a knowing smile as he returned her regard.
“You are delusional,” she scathingly stated.
“You have no idea what you are missing, sweetheart. Unlike animals, people experience passion.”
“I am sure you would know.”
He approached across the stable floor. Her legs were shaking too much to move away. He stood so close her breasts almost brushed his chest, but he did not touch her. “But do you know? Have you ever been so caught up in passion you forgot yourself?” His voice became husky. “I’d like to kiss you again.”
She was trapped by the fire in his eyes. Rufus bent toward her, and his warm breath caressed her mouth. Rheda was powerless to move. His hand cupped the back of her head. He drew her close, and his other arm encircled her waist, pulling her roughly against his solid form. She was swamped by the strength and power of the man, yet not afraid. His lips began to play over hers with exquisite pressure. This kiss was slow and erotic and extremely thorough. Parting her lips, his tongue slid into her mouth, creating an intense yearning inside her.
The effect of his kiss had her reaching to grip his shoulders. His lips deepened the kiss, his tongue penetrating and swirling in her mouth, stroking her desire. The heady sensation he aroused was addictive.
She could not resist letting him continue.
Not when he was assailing her mouth with such silken roughness ... molding, tasting, teasing, and ultimately conquering. All her senses felt pummeled as his tongue worked its magic provocatively against hers, playing a game she desperately wanted to win. But the winning strategy escaped her knowledge. Her body pushed hard against him, and a small moan of surrender escaped her lips.
In response, his kiss only deepened.
She raised her hand to his dark chestnut locks. They felt amazingly thick and silky. His hand that had been holding her head slid down her shoulder and moved to where the square décolletage of her dress exposed the pale skin above her breasts.
She was unprepared for the explosion of feeling that swept her body when his knuckles skimmed the upper swells of her breasts. She gasped against his mouth, but he kept on kissing her, arousing with firm tender stokes of his tongue, slowly driving, deliciously plundering.
She wanted to move closer, to climb right in him and take that which had been denied her for so long. He shifted, and through her skirts she felt the pressure of his sinewy thigh against her femininity. At the same time his hand moved lower to mould and cup her aching breast.
Her moan was decidedly audible within the quiet of the stable, but she was beyond caring as the feverish surge of pleasure overwhelmed her. When his fingertips discovered her nipple through her bodice, fire streaked through her limbs, flooding her veins with shuddering heat.
She could feel the wildness stirring in her blood. It clamored for this captivating man’s erotic assault on her senses. He was driving her mad, encouraging her response and taking her to a place she longed to go.
He was seducing her. And she was content to let him.
Yet, it was his tenderness that stunned her the most. She could feel how he was holding back his own strength and needs. Needs? She could feel the hard, extremely large evidence of his arousal against her stomach. Merciful heaven, what was she doing? A desperate voice protested in her head, more was dangerous.
He was dangerous.
Danger had never been more tantalizing.
Rufus lifted his mouth from hers. He struggled to get his breathing under control. “See what you do to me, Rheda? I’m as eager as my stallion.”
“I’m not doing anything to you. From what little I know of your reputation you’d be eager for any woman. You are merely trying to seduce me.”
“Yes. I am,” he admitted, “and it’s working.”
He caught her blink of surprise at his admission and boast. She cut her gaze away, and he stood mesmerized by the swallow of her throat. “Your touch ... it does excite me.” She turned to look into his eyes. “But a seasoned rake such as you knows that. The signs are there for your senses to see and feel.”
Rufus shook his head to clear it of his driving need to possess her. He could take her, here and now. He knew it, and the beauty before him knew it, too. Yet, he felt dissatisfied. Where was the honor in her surrender? He was too skilled for her to resist, and having seen the primal mating of the horses, her blood was stirred.
Yet, he had to push her. Had to try and break down her resolve. He would not make love to her here even though his body hurt from his restraint. He wanted the first time with Rheda to be in a bed—his bed. Not in a stable reeking of manure and horses. He wanted to take his time, overwhelm her with pleasure, and ensure she fell completely under his thrall.
He would enslave her body. Make her crave his touch. Make her lose her mind in pleasure. Then perhaps she’d be more pliable. Perhaps she’d do anything to share his bed again, including letting her guard down and giving him what he really wanted—information.
The only problem was that each time he kissed her, what he wanted changed. Metamorphosed into something dangerous. Retrieving much needed intelligence began to diminish as his desire to claim her rose to a crescendo, beating loudly through his veins.
He lifted his hand and stroked the back of his knuckles along her cheek.
Her sweep of fair lashes lowered, fanning across her warm skin.
“I do wish to seduce you, sweetheart. But I also desire you. Far more than I would wish,” he added in a ghost of a whisper.
She looked up at him, unblinking. “Do you always get what you desire, my lord?”
He answered with action. He lifted his hands to cradle her face, then stroked his thumb around the corner of her mouth and then across her sensuous bottom lip. He felt the plump swell of it quiver beneath the pad of his thumb. He leaned forward and skimmed his mouth along the shell of her ear. “Yes,” he murmured. “Always.”
With a soft growl he picked her up and walked a few strides and sat her upon some hay bales. He crouched at her feet, sliding his hands over her firm thighs, flat stomach, and cradled her breasts. He felt her nipples harden through the layers of her clothes.
He watched her face for any sign of denial. The sun shone through the open doorway, but the gloom of the stable caused the light to flicker over the fine bones of her face and the silken sweep of her eyelashes.
Rheda gasped faintly at his touch and trembled when he hooked his thumbs in the edge of her bodice. No corset. It was as if she welcomed his seduction. Her head went back to rest on the bales piled behind her, and with a deft tug he drew the fabric down, taking her chemise with it, until her pink nipples were exposed. The roaring in his ears increased—she was beautiful.
He hesitated, willing her to protest, but the snorts of the animals surrounding them was the only sound.
Rufus leaned forward to draw her left nipple between his lips; she gasped as his mouth suckled and gently nipped. He took that as a sound of approval. He drew her breast more fully into his mouth until she began to make small, breathy sounds of pleasure. Then he moved to the other breast, first circling the nipple with his tongue, teasing her as Caesar had teased her mare, then sucking at the very hardened tip as he gently nipped with his teeth.
Her murmurs grew more demanding. As Rufus cradled one breast and kissed her deeply, his other hand fisted in her skirts. Fleetingly, he knew he should be horsewhipped. He was not so lost in pleasure that he could not appreciate the precariousness of their situation. Anyone could come across them—Jamieson, Daniel ...
Instead he inched her skirts higher, then eased one hand between her thighs, touching her lightly in her most intimate place. He stroked her there, wanting to tease and tantalize. He played her with harmless little touches interspersed with the most unchaste caresses possible.
He drew back in order to feast on the golden curls at the junction of her thighs and breathe in the arousing scent of her.
Then he touched her intimately, and her small gasp made his blood flow molten in his veins. The silken skin between her thighs acted like a compass. All else, even her perfect breasts, were forgotten.
He touched the tangle of silken curls, and his body thrilled as he felt her wetness. “Oh, sweet Jesus,” she murmured as he stroked her sensitive flesh.
He leaned forward and whispered “Beautiful Rheda” against her mouth before he stroked a finger deep inside her tight sheath. This time her gasp verged on something more.
She gave a little moan of surrender when he eased a second finger inside her. He wanted to give her pleasure. Exquisite, extraordinary pleasure. The kind of mind-clouding pleasure that might make her forget to be wary of him and divulge what he needed to hear.
With one hand fingering her taut nipple, he plunged his tongue deep within her mouth to match his fingers’ ministrations. Her hips rose and she cried out again, but softly. A wither of a sound. Her breathing slowly grew raspier with each stroke of his thumb over her tightened nub, as he continued to penetrate her. Over and over he drew his fingers through the folds that guarded her pleasure until he could feel the little nub of her arousal, unmistakably firm and trembling.
“Rufus,” she whispered, her hands clawing the bales of hay they sat upon.
He felt her climax inching near. She was murmuring his name over and over, and it fairly blew his head off. The endearment almost making him spill in his breeches, something he’d not done since a very young lad.
Her head jerked up, and her breath came on a rough cry. Her hips undulated with each stroke. He felt her begin to tighten around his fingers. She was passion personified. Beautiful. Wild. Sensual. With one finger and his thumb, he opened her wider, teasing her with quick, delicate strokes until she gave a strangled cry. And then she was shaking all over, her limbs stiffening as she shuddered with her release. He kissed her slender neck as she trembled and then nuzzled the frantic pulse at the base of her throat. Erotic. The sight and sound of her was so erotic it killed him.
He rose up and took her trembling lips in a searing kiss. He felt his heart flutter and engage in his chest. No. He forced the heady feelings down. He could not want to want her. His own needs must be denied. There was too much at stake.
Just then a commotion out by the corral made him draw back. He took in her flushed face. With a pang he realized he wished there could be more. Wished she wasn’t who he knew her to be. A woman with secrets. A possible traitor. Never again would he let himself feel for a woman involved in his mission. He would have no more deaths on his hands.
He felt tarnished at the knowledge only her seduction and complete surrender would aid in the capture of the traitor. If he could he’d wish more for her.
He needed some fresh air. The scent of her was making him light-headed.
“It seems another female is impatient for her mate’s touch. Please excuse me while I see to Caesar.”
How could she have let that happen? Her body tingled in the afterglow of his skillful lovemaking, quickly followed by heated shame. He’d boasted of his skills as a rake, and he was not wrong. The pleasure was indescribable, and to her horror it left her wanting more.
Worse. Wanting him.
Why did he unleash these strong feelings within her? He was a rake like any other.
Except, cried a tiny voice inside her, he is not like any other. His combination of beauty, wit, and brains had her in a scramble. She’d not met a man who matched her in intellect. Nor one whose outer beauty made her feel, and want, naughty, forbidden delights.
Rheda was still trying to make sense of what she’d let occur when Rufus moved to exit the stable. Turning with a shrug, he looked back at her. His face was all dark shadows as he blocked the light from the doors. It was a moment before he spoke. “When I’m done, I want you to show me Fraser’s Landing.”
Rheda stiffened. “You said you knew where it was.”
He shook his head. She wished she could see the expression on his face. “I want you to show me exactly where you found the barrel.” He turned to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Only then will I know if you deliberately lied to me.”
This time a shiver that had nothing to do with delicious desire slid down her spine. How could he do that? It was as if the splendor of their intimate moment had never transpired. She was still tingling all over, while the warm yearning in her feminine center continued to throb.