The Arrow: A Highland Guard Novel (The Highland Guard) (26 page)

“Your maidenhead belongs to your husband.”

Gregor was the best archer in Scotland; it was no surprise that his arrow struck with cruel precision.

Cate had thought he’d put the ridiculous idea of her betrothal behind him. How could he kiss her like that and still mean to marry her to another man?

He must be the most stubborn, thickheaded man in Christendom! And perhaps blind as well, not to see what was right in front of him. He cared about her—loved her even, though she knew he would run to the nearest battlefield if she told him as much. He showed his feelings in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, and yes, in the way he kissed her. A man could not kiss a woman with that kind of tenderness and passion and not be at least a little in love with her. She didn’t care how good he was at lovemaking, or how many women he’d had in his bed.

Admittedly, she wasn’t exactly an expert on the subject, but she’d be willing to stake her life on it—and her virtue as well.

Cate wasn’t going to let him pull away. Not this time. She was out of patience. She wouldn’t let him marry her off to another man.

Sitting up a little, she reached out and put her palm flat on his chest. Emboldened by the hard slam of his heartbeat
that seemed to jump up and meet it, she looked him squarely in the eye. “No.”

He appeared too momentarily stunned to reply. Knowing it wouldn’t last, she took a deep breath and did the one thing she instinctively knew would put a decisive end to further argument. She let her hand slide down over the warm, hard ridges of stomach muscle to the tie at the waist of his braies.

He sucked in his breath, his eyes dark and predatory, watching her every movement like a hawk daring a mouse to come into his range.

She dared. With a deep breath for courage, she lowered her hand, curving it around the thick column of his manhood.

Oh … 
my
. She might have gulped, but the swallow stuck in her throat.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tense—an impressive feat for a man who seemed to be built of little else. The low hissing sound that came from between his clenched teeth nearly made her pull away, but she didn’t. Instead, she felt a strange flush of what could only be called power—
feminine
power. The feel of him in her hand, so strong and thick, and surprisingly hard, knowing she’d made him that way, gave her courage.

“No,” she repeated. “I want you, and I know you want me, too. I don’t want you to stop—I want you to finish what you started on the practice yard. I want you to be the one to show me passion. I want you to make love to me.” She looked into his eyes, which seemed to be glowing brighter than the fire. “Make love to me, Gregor … please.”

If someone had asked her for the perfect response to her plea, she would never have thought the sharp curse that came from his mouth would have been it. But somehow the word fit, and not just because it rather crudely summed up what she was asking him to do. Somehow it seemed to
encompass the intensity of emotion that he was keeping bottled up and she was forcing free. Somehow it seemed to capture the harshness of his desire, and the base depth of his need for her. And somehow that one wicked word seemed to strip away the last vestiges of pretense and civility, revealing the raw, primitive hunger that he would no longer deny. With that one word, she heard his helplessness, his surrender, and knew that no matter how exceptional a warrior he might be, this was one fight she was going to win.

His mouth was pulled into almost a grimace, the arms holding her had turned as rigid as steel, and every muscle in his body seemed as tight as one of those bowstrings for which he’d become famous. Yet he was so impossibly gorgeous in the candlelight, it make her chest squeeze.

“You don’t fight fair, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t know if I can give you what you want.” She held her breath when he paused. “But God knows I’m going to try.”

Cate sighed with relief. She didn’t know what promise he was making, except to know that he’d just made one. He didn’t give her time to ask, for no sooner had he finished than his mouth was covering hers in a kiss that left no doubt of his intentions.

He did not intend to woo or entice, he intended to have her, and the knowledge bloomed inside her until warmth and happiness filled every part of her body.

Drawing her hard against him, he claimed her mouth with bold, demanding strokes of his tongue that sent shudders of white-hot need rippling through her body, crashing over her in hard waves. She was drowning in sensation, being dragged under in a riptide of heat and desire. He was kissing her like he could never get enough of her. Kissing her like it meant something. Nay, like it meant
everything
. She returned the kiss with increasing fervency, until it
seemed they had dissolved into one another, their mouths, their tongues, their bodies becoming one.

Passion consumed them both—the same as before, yet different. It was just as incredible and just as powerful, but this time there was nothing holding back. It came on her hot and heavy, demanding and unyielding.

It was the same soft mouth, the same spicy taste, the same deft tongue kissing her, but this kiss came with a no-holds-barred intensity that was both utterly dominating and oddly freeing at the same time. He made her feel safe. Protected.
Loved
.

He was on her, in her, surrounding her. His heat enveloped, the granite solidness of his body pressed, his kiss possessed, but never did he take. Rather he gave himself in a way that she suspected he’d never given himself to a woman before. And she took him in with everything she had, opening herself up to him, his kiss, his touch, and the powerful sensations he was stirring inside her.

Instinctively, her fingers curled tighter around his manhood. The husky, deep groan of his pleasure seemed to shudder through her as well. Holding her hand to him with his, he forced her to grip him harder, and then thrust up into the circle of her hand. Once. Twice. The bottom of her stomach seemed to melt between her legs as he thrust again, the raw, ragged sound of his pleasure echoing in her ears.

With a curse that told her he’d had all the pleasure he could stand, he drew her hand away and lowered her back onto the bed.

He came over her, pressing her more deeply into the mattress, his powerful body hard and unyielding on top of her. A warrior’s body with the thick, solid muscle that she’d come to crave. Desperately. Frantically. Her hands clutched his shoulders, gripped the rocky muscles of his arms and slid over the hard slabs of muscle at his back forged by years of using a bow, but still it wasn’t enough.
She had to be closer, which seemed an impossible quest as their bodies were already fused together.

The same hardness she’d been holding in her hands was between her legs now, and she lifted her hips against him, needing him closer to the part of her that fluttered wildly with need.

The kiss spun out of control, growing hotter … deeper … wetter. The determined, demanding strokes becoming less precise and more wild. His hands moved over her body, hot and possessive, claiming her with every touch and caress.

He cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over the tip until it was taut with need. She wanted to cry out when he broke the kiss—perhaps she even did—but the disappointment lasted only long enough for him to lower his head.

Oh God, his mouth!
His hot, wet, wonderful mouth was on her breast. Pleasure shot through her in a bolt of pure molten fire when his lips covered the throbbing nipple. Even through the thin layer of linen of her chemise, the heat and dampness assailed her. Unconsciously, she arched into the gentle pull of his mouth, begging for more, a silent request he was only too eager to answer.

Somehow he’d managed to loosen the ties of her chemise. Barely was she aware of cool air on her fevered skin—her fevered
bare
skin—however, before he took her in his mouth, sucking and circling her with his tongue, until she cried out with pleasure so acute, her body seemed to shake with it.

“God, you are beautiful,” he murmured, his warm breath making her damp skin prickle. “So responsive.” He flicked her with his tongue, then tugged the turgid flesh gently between his teeth, until she moaned. “Do you like that?”

She might have glared at him, knowing he was teasing her. Of course she liked it. She
loved
it, and didn’t want him to stop.

But as their eyes met, she suddenly became aware of her naked flesh between them and flushed. It seemed such a small amount of naked flesh compared to what he was no doubt used to.

She must have given away her thoughts; his face darkened. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Cate. You are exquisite.” He covered her with his hand, and the look of rapture that came over his face as he groaned gave her no room to doubt him. “Perfect. So round and firm.” He squeezed gently. “With just enough to fill my hand. And nipples as rosy red and tight as pearls.” He smoothed the hard tip with his thumb. “I could look at you forever.”

Forever
. Her heart squeezed with longing. It was just a turn of phrase, she told herself, but why when she looked into his eyes did it seem to mean something?

Gregor meant every word. When he looked at her like this—her dark hair spread out on the pillow behind her, her skin flushed, her eyes heavy, her mouth bruised from his kiss, the taut, round curve of creamy flesh bared to his gaze—it wasn’t just lust that came over him, although that was undeniably part of it. It was something far bigger and more powerful, a surge of emotion he’d never experienced before. It squeezed his heart, tightened his throat, and filled his chest with a heavy warmth. It was a feeling of utter rightness and happiness, which, given what he was doing, was ironic.

But he wasn’t going to think of that. He knew
exactly
what he was doing, and what it meant. He wasn’t going to second-guess his decision now. Although admittedly, it hadn’t been much of decision. It wasn’t the first time a woman had tried to change his mind by putting her hands on him. But it was the first time it had worked.

Christ, when Cate had slid her hand down his bare stomach, coming to rest inches from the throbbing head of his erection, he would have given her anything she wanted
to make her go lower. The knowledge that her hand was so close to his cock had made him so hot he thought he was going to explode. He nearly did, when she finally put her hand where he wanted it.

It had been one of the most sensual, erotic moments of his life, and looking into her eyes, so wide, guileless, and full of her unabashed love for him, nothing had ever felt more right.

She belonged to him, and he would have her—whatever the cost, it would be worth it.

Just looking at her was worth it. She was so damned lovely it took his breath away. He wanted to get down on his knees and worship every inch of her—preferably with his mouth and tongue. And he would. Next time. But right now, just the sight of one small breast that fit snugly in the palm of his hand and the turgid pink nipple was too much for him to take.

Where the hell was all that experience he was famous for?

She was a virgin. And not that he didn’t appreciate that fact—he did—but making it good for her wasn’t going to be easy, especially when just kissing her turned him into some kind of clumsy, ham-fisted squire who had only one thought on his mind.

It was a good thought, though. A
really
good thought.

Slow down, damn it. Pull it together
.

Taking her nipple in his mouth again, he plied it between his teeth, tugging gently, and sucking until she’d forgotten all about modesty and was writhing shamelessly—wantonly, God help him—underneath him. Just the way he liked it. Her body crying out for the pleasure he was about to give her.

She was so primed, so responsive, he knew he could make her shatter just by sucking and teasing her breasts, but he wanted to feel that first shudder of pleasure. He wanted to see her face as she broke apart under him.

Slipping his hand under the edge of her chemise, he slid the back of his finger up her thigh, edging closer to the sweet cleft of her womanhood.

She didn’t seem to notice until his hand had slipped between her legs, and then she stiffened for a moment. But only a moment. The second his finger brushed the silken folds, she shuddered and moaned.

Wet. So warm and wet. He gritted his teeth against the violent surge of his own need pressing hard at the base of his spine.

Swearing silently, he knew that whatever control he’d managed to find was quickly slipping away.

He concentrated on her face, watching the shock, and then the pleasure unfurl like a pink rose on her cheeks as he brushed over her. Gently at first, letting her get used to the sensations taking hold of her body.

He gave her breast one last long suck and then released it as his finger slipped inside. Mimicking what he was doing between her legs, he flicked his tongue out over her nipple, circled and stroked. Teasing her with soft breaths of warm air against the damp skin until her back was arching and her hips were lifting in silent plea for release.

She was so damned beautiful, his need for her so intense, he couldn’t tease it out any longer. Keeping his eyes on her face, he sucked her breast hard and caressed that sensitive spot with his thumb as he pressed the heel of his hand against her and gave her that friction she needed.

She gasped. Stilled. And broke apart with the sweetest cry he’d ever heard. Her face went soft and dreamy with euphoria as her body shuddered and contracted. He felt the heat, the rush of dampness, and every spasm of the pleasure that claimed her.

It was almost perfect. Next time it would be, because next time he would be inside her. In about two seconds, as that was about as long as he could wait.