Tempt Me With Kisses (16 page)

She moved suddenly, bucking to disguise the missing resistance. That was not hard to do, for the sensation of his body filling her was as wonderful as she had expected.

She remembered to cry out as if in pain.

He did not pause as if suspicions were aroused with the rest of him. He continued to move, slowly, gently, obviously afraid of hurting her.

There was no fear of that and she would not have the rest of this night tainted by deception. She reached up and brought his lips to hers in a burning, fervent kiss, claiming him as he was claiming her.

He started to move faster and as her hands slid down his cheeks and neck to his broad shoulders, she felt the corded muscles, tight with desire.

She began to move her hips, matching the driving rhythm of his strokes, and not only to reassure him that she felt far more pleasure than pain. She could not have stayed still if her whole fortune depended upon it. His body was too potent, too incredible. Tension, wondrous, unfamiliar tension, blossomed and stretched along her body.

His movements grew faster, sweeping her away on waves of passion. He became all in all, the lover of her dreams and fancies. Perfect. Wonderful.

Her whole body sang. Her heart soared. She had no thoughts beyond the pleasure. And still the tension grew, spreading, seeking. Stronger. Tighter.

Until it snapped and shattered. She cried out, but the marvelous sensations did not diminish. Caradoc thrust harder, deeper, and it was as if although the wave had broken upon the shore, she was yet carried along by it.

Then Caradoc growled, a low, deep sound primitive and powerful, masculine and virile, pure male in all its glory.

Panting, he stilled, and his anxious gaze searched her face a moment before he withdrew and rolled to lay beside her.

She lay motionless as her own hoarse breathing returned to normal. Virgin or not, it was done. They were wed, and the union consummated. She was Caradoc’s wife, and no man could come between them.

His deep, gentle voice seemed to come from the darkness and warmth surrounding her, as if she had just experienced a fabulous dream and lingered in that dreamlike state yet. “I hope I did not hurt you much. I tried not to.”

“No, you did not hurt me too much,” she said.

“Glad I am to hear it.”

She lay still, wondering if he was going to kiss her or hold her, or do anything more. She held her breath as his fingers once more caressed her arm. Then he turned, and in a little while, she heard the slow, even sounds of a man asleep.

She could not yet rest. First, she must feel for the hidden needle and prick her finger and put the blood where a virgin’s blood should be.

Caradoc might not look for it come the morning, but she was sure Ganore would.

Chapter 8

C
aradoc awoke to find Fiona’s arm draped over his naked waist. The neck of her silken shift, a wonderful creation that slid and slithered over her shapely body like a second skin, was still untied and her bare shoulder glowed in the dawn’s light.

Young she looked, and soft and lovely in her sleep, her mouth forming what could almost be a pout, kissable and irresistible. To think that only days ago he faced ruin and despair, utter failure and loneliness. God must have heard his fervent prayers, as he had told Father Rhodri, and sent him salvation from far more than poverty and disgrace.

Fiona stirred, sighed, and snuggled against him, making him feel strong and protective, blissfully contented as he had never been before. He wanted to laugh with the joy of it. Only the fear of waking her and breaking this spell stopped him, for he would have this bliss last as long as possible.

A lock of her hair brushed her cheek, and he caressed it away so that he could see her face. Pretty? No, she wasn’t pretty. She was lovely—lovable. Soft and welcoming, almost a wanton in her desire, arousing him as no woman ever had.

Perhaps they could make love again this morning—except that Dafydd and the others would be waiting for him.

Surely the men could gather the flock again without him, and start the shearing, too, even if more than a few would be the worse for
braggot
. Walking would do them good, and he could join them later, for the shearing would take all day.

Fiona shifted and more of her body pressed against him.

Of course the men would understand why a bridegroom might not be anxious to rush from his bedchamber in the chill early morning mist.

He gently slid his mouth over hers, back and forth until his whole body tingled with the delight of it. The texture of her soft lips teased his senses, reminding him of all the tender places of her body. He left her mouth and tasted the soft skin of her cheeks and chin, then lower to feel the warm pulse of her neck against his lips.

Lowering himself more, he brushed his palm across her breast.

Then she moved, stretching as languorously as a cat in the summer sun. Her eyes fluttered open, and they seemed to sparkle when she looked at him. “Caradoc?”

He raised himself on his elbow to look at her. “Were you expecting to find somebody else in your bridal bed, Fiona?” he teased.

Her lips turned down and a little wrinkle appearing between her shapely brows. “Of course not.”

“I meant no offense,” he said, the warm mood momentarily sullied by his vain attempt at teasing.

Leave the wordplay, boy
, he told himself,
for you are not like Connor and Dafydd
.

She sighed and ran her fingertip around his ear in a way that seemed to set his whole body alight with desire.

“I know very well who made love with me last night,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry and incredibly seductive. “A very handsome fellow he was, with dark, wild hair like a Norseman. He claims to be the lord of an estate, but I think not, for it is clear by the sunlight that it is past dawn, yet he still lingers in bed like a lascivious rogue, even though I heard his men saying at the feast last night that there was much to be done today. They expected this lord to be there.”

He moved back until he was sitting up, his back against the headboard, the sensual spell surrounding them broken for him by her implication. “I know my responsibilities, Fiona. I do not need reminding.”

Shifting upward, she stroked his chest lightly with her fingertips. “I meant no offense either, my lord.”

He sighed and closed his eyes, and wondered why he had been so annoyed a moment ago.

“It’s just that if you stay too long in the bridal chamber to the neglect of your duties,” she explained, “I doubt anybody will blame you. They will blame me. Indeed, can you not hear Father Rhodri denouncing me for a sinful Eve leading you into the pit of irresponsible decadence, and Ganore saying I must have slipped something into your wine?”

His happiness restored, his desire building, he gazed into her brilliant green eyes as he ran his hand over the curve of her shoulder toward her breasts. “As a matter of fact, I can. And you are right. But surely we can linger for a few moments before I am damned into the eternal flames of hell.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, the lashes fanning upon her soft, flushed cheeks. He could gaze at her and caress her all day.

“If it will make you feel better,” he murmured as she began to explore his body with her supple hands, “I shall announce in the hall that I stayed in our bedchamber because I enjoy being alone with you so much.”

“Ganore will say I’ve bewitched you,” she whispered as she pressed gentle kisses where her hands had been.

He groaned softly. “I think she might be right,” he growled, his jaw tense with the pleasure she invoked. “You have bewitched me.”

“Not the way she means.”

“No, in a better way.”

He maneuvered her onto her back.

“What are you doing, my lord?” she asked, her voice both amused and excited, and her eyes bright with anticipation, which enflamed his desire even more.

“I am going to make love with my bride again,” he said in a low husky whisper.

“So soon?”

He hesitated a moment, unsure and uncertain, willing to wait if she deemed it necessary, or even preferable. “Are you too sore? Would you rather not?”

“Since you are where you are,” she said softly, toying with the hairs circling his nipple as a smile lit her face and welcome blossomed in her eyes, “it seems a shame to stop you.”

He laughed, a low rumble of pleasure. “I think you want me as much as I want you, Fiona MacDougal.” His hand cupped her breast and her nipple pebbled beneath his palm. “I can feel that here.” He moved his hand between her legs. “And here, too.”

He looked back at her face. Her eyes were closed, and her delectable mouth was slightly open, her breathing fast. “And you are breathing as if you had run here all the way from Scotland.”

“I might have, had I known what awaited.”

His hand stilled a moment as he let himself simply enjoy the sensation of her palms gliding over him, imitating his motions and demonstrating how effective they could be.

She opened her eyes and regarded him with mocking accusation. “Is this some form of torture you have devised, Caradoc, to get me so stirred, and then stop?”

“Not at all,” he replied as he lowered his head and teased her breasts with his lips and tongue.

“Yes, it is,” she gasped, squirming beneath him. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed, surprising him. She continued to push. “Roll over.”

Despite the tone of her voice and the circumstances, he did not immediately do as she ordered. He did not take kindly to being told to do anything by anyone now that he was overlord.

“Please.”

Not an order, then, but a request—and that was a very different thing. “Far be it from me to refuse a lady,” he said as he complied, his excitement beginning to build again.

“I am a lady now, aren’t I? Funny, I don’t feel like one at the moment. I feel like quite the wanton wench.”

He held his breath to see what she would do next.

She straddled his hips, her eyes agleam with triumph while his whole body reacted to the sensation of her above, and vulnerable. Without fighting it, he ceded control to her as easily as snow drifted down when there was no wind.

“I am going to give you a taste of your torture,” she crooned before she leaned forward and pressed the softest of kisses upon his chest, so light as to be like the brush of a moth’s wing. And so arousing, he thought the growing tension would make him snap like a dry twig if it didn’t end soon.

Her hair stroked him like her fingers and when she continued to move her mouth still lower, he had to press his lips together to keep from groaning so loud, they would hear him in the hall below.

“Oh, sweet heaven, Fiona,” he growled as the desire swept over, through and around him. “I yield. You win. Don’t stop.”

But she did.

He opened his eyes, to see both sure purpose and ardent need on her face. With a smile of blatant exultation, she moved forward and raised herself. Then she guided him to her and with deliberate leisure lowered herself until he was sheathed by her, joined in a union of flesh and desire.

Better was yet to be. She placed her hands beside his head and began to rock.

It was exquisite agony. Wondrous torment. Her tongue swirled around the peaks of his nipples, and soon he had no thoughts beyond Fiona and the sensations she aroused, and no need but that of completion.

In what seemed a scant few moments, the tension snapped and broke.

As the waves of release subsided, he drew her down and kissed her deeply. Somehow, by some miracle, an amazing woman had come to Llanstephan and married him. If he had not stayed here, despite the yearnings of his heart, he would not be holding Fiona in his arms. Never again would he doubt that duty would be rewarded, and God indeed knew best.

She sighed and sat up, then slowly moved away from him.

“Where are you going?” he asked as she threw back the bedcovers and got out of bed.

“To get dressed, of course. It’s nearly time for mass, I’m sure.”

“It cannot be. It is just past the dawn.”

Getting purchase with his heels, he pushed himself back until he was once more against the head of the bed, his head pillowed in his hands. He watched as Fiona walked toward the chest where she kept her gowns. She moved so gracefully, her body straight and yet supple as a willow. She was supple in other marvelous ways, too.

“I assure you it is,” she said. “Look out the window.”

He did as she suggested, and what he saw ruined his lazy, pleasant mood. With a curse, he climbed out of bed and, naked, strode to the window.

“What is it?” she asked as she took a rust-colored gown out of the chest.

“Rain. Not yet, but probably soon.” His gaze scanned the sky. “If it rains, we can’t shear. The shears get caught in the wet fleece.”

After quickly pulling on the gown, she joined him. The sky was dull, dark gray, like heavy smoke. “Maybe it will hold off until you’re done.”

“It might,” he agreed grimly, “but I doubt it. The clouds are too low and dark. We have about ten days or then we’ll have to wash again, and I assure you, my shoulders will not appreciate having to do it a second time.”