by Meara Platt
“Such as early morning?” She sighed when he failed to respond to her obvious proposition. “I suppose that means ‘no.’ Very well, if I’m not to experience passionate pleasure, I may as well fall back to sleep. But I want you to know that I am quite well rested and don’t need to fall back to—”
He rolled her under him in one swift motion. “Nicola, stop talking. Lord, you’re a brat.” Then his mouth descended on hers with unexpected ardor, his lips warm and gentle as they pressed against her own. She felt the exquisite weight of his muscled body atop her, although he was careful to prop himself on his elbows so as not to bring his full heft down on her.
Not that she would have minded.
She loved his size and brawn. Their intimacy felt divine. “John, make me yours forever. I want to be your wife in every sense.”
He kissed her again, this time plundering her mouth with a possessive hunger, and at the same time, his hands worked to strip her out of her robe. She wore nothing now, hid nothing from his view.
He eased back and lifted his head to look at her. “Nicola, you’re beautiful.” His voice was raw and his smile devastatingly tender.
He kissed her again, the press of his mouth upon hers now feeling more urgent. She was feeling a similar urgency and ran her hands along his golden skin, slid them over his taut, muscled body.
Her heart began to race, not only out of desire—blessed saints, she felt so much love for this man—but also out of uncertainty. What was she supposed to do?
He seemed to understand her concern. “Just close your eyes and feel. Don’t hold back.”
His big, rough hands then began to stroke along her body, starting little fires wherever he touched. He cupped her breast and ran his thumb across its tip, evoking a gasp from her at the sudden, pleasurable sensation.
“So beautiful,” he whispered and closed his mouth over her breast. She gasped again. In truth, she was having trouble catching her breath as he began to suckle and swirl his tongue in languid strokes across the tip of it, soon followed by intensifying flicks.
“John!” Mother in heaven, she felt everything. How could she possibly hold back when every pulse in her body was throbbing and her blood was on fire?
In no time, he’d ignited her desire so that her skin was molten and about to burst into flames.
She clutched his shoulders.
She arched her back, desperate to quell the scorching heat within her. But the touch of his lips upon her body intensified her wanton needs. The sensual roughness of his day’s growth of beard caused her skin to tingle wherever he touched.
Then he moved lower.
“Open for me, Nicola,” he said with a huskiness to his voice that shot more tingles through her body.
She did not know what he meant by the request until he gently nudged her legs apart and set his shoulders under them. Then his mouth came down upon her most intimate spot. She was shocked by the feel of his tongue on her, but the urge to protest died in her throat. A delicious heat began to build inside of her. How was it possible when she was already on fire? The blood coursing through her veins was a hot, thick pool of desire.
She was lost to him and he knew it.
He meant to claim her, to mark her as his, for he was no longer the protector, but the hunter capturing his prey. He captured her with the hot touch of his mouth and the gentle stroke of his fingers. She clutched the headboard, afraid she might float into the clouds if she did not hold fast to something solid.
His tongue swirled on her… thrust inside her. “John. Oh… my, heavens.” She could feel the tug and strain of his muscles against her calves. This had to be sinful. It felt too deliciously wicked to be anything other than a forbidden pleasure.
Why had she never read about this in her scandalous books?
Obviously, she was reading the wrong books.
Heat built within her. Her heart pounded with a roar so that she heard nothing but its frantic beat. She felt nothing but the mounting pressure between her legs. Just as she thought she might explode, he moved off her to remove his breeches. She felt cool air against her most intimate part and then felt the hard length of him as he positioned himself over her. “Nicola…”
“Yes, I want you.” Was that desperate, aching voice hers?
She held out her arms to him and felt the damp warmth of his skin as he enveloped her in his embrace. His sinewed heat and the strength of him surrounded her. She felt a moment’s pain when he entered her, his thrusts cautious at first. He must have wanted her body to grow used to his before he allowed himself to lose control.
Would he lose control? She hardly dared believe that she held such power over him. He was guarded in everything he did. But she saw his iron control slipping, saw the wild heat in his hunter eyes, the feral strain of his body as he fully embedded himself inside her and began their wild mating dance.
The discomfort she’d felt now melted away.
She closed her eyes as exquisite sensations washed over her. The feel of his chest rubbing against hers. The iron bands of his arms wrapped around her body. The gentleness and strength of his hands guiding her movements to match his.
She gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging in and afraid to let go, for he was carrying her along on a magical journey and she did not want it to end. Mother in heaven, the sensations he evoked! The slick heat of him inside of her. The rugged, masculine scent of him. Sandalwood and saddle leather. The salty taste of his skin.
The arousing touch of his rough, calloused fingers along her skin. He was making her feel him. Making her know him. Know his scent. Know the taste of his mouth on hers. Know his touch upon her skin.
An overwhelming pressure built inside her. She tried to hold down this unfamiliar feeling, but it was to no avail. She was caught in its powerful grip and carried on a scorching wave crest of desire. More waves followed, endless waves that swelled and crested, lifting her to shuddering and explosive heights. “I’m lost to you, John. I love you.”
Had John heard her whispered revelation? Her voice sounded muffled, for her heart was pounding as loud as the roar of a lion and echoing between her own ears.
“John. John,” she whispered, kissing his face.
She loved this man with all her being.
Her heart was his.
With a deep, grunting thrust, he experienced his own release. His liquid essence spilled inside of her. His eyes were smoldering embers. His big shoulders were taut and his muscles straining. He was a magnificent creature, wild and powerful, and wanting her.
She clutched his shoulders as he gave a final, shuddering thrust and collapsed atop her, his skin warm and damp from the exquisite heat of his pleasure.
He did not have to tell her that he loved her.
She knew it without words, for he’d spilled his seed inside of her.
He was no untried youth who could not contain himself. He knew what the consequences of their mating might bring. A child. His child.
He could have held back. He could have withdrawn, but he hadn’t. “I love you,” she whispered again, knowing he would never repeat the words to her. But by his actions, she knew that he had given himself to her.
As their passion began to cool, their ragged breaths and gasps and moans of pleasure dying down, John carefully pulled out of her and then sank onto his back. After a long moment, he grinned at her, then reached out and drew her back into his arms. “How do you feel?”
She smiled at him. “Quite starry-eyed, if you must know. I never considered… I had no idea… I floated to the stars.”
“So did I.”
“Don’t tease me, John.”
He growled softly, a raw, predatory growl that shot tingles through her body. He rolled her atop him and kissed her on the nose. “I’m serious. You are an enchantress.”
She playfully swatted his shoulder and laughed. “Now I know you’re teasing me.”
“Cross my heart, it’s the truth.” He kissed her once more, this time on the lips. “C
ome on, brat. Time to get up.”
She scampered off him and out of bed, but paused to look back at him as he rose, splendid and naked, on the other side of the bed. He was the enchanting one, his body as magnificent as any Greek warrior god depicted in marble. “What is it, Nicola?”
She drew her robe on to cover herself, but she wasn’t embarrassed so much as cold now that the fire had died, leaving only a few embers glowing in the hearth. “We’re truly married.”
He grunted. “Yes, for better or for worse.”
She frowned lightly. “It will always be for the better. We have each other now. You are no longer alone, John. Although I will respect your privacy whenever you feel the need for it.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Nicola, I know you too well. You will trample all over my privacy. I shall never have a moment’s peace.” He came around to her side of the bed and drew her into his arms. “But it isn’t a bad thing. You grow on a man.”
“Like mold on tree bark?”
He sighed. “Your description, not mine. There is nothing moldy about you. Wash up and get dressed. It’s almost sunrise.”
They used the last ewer of fresh water to wash themselves, then John helped her to dress and then dressed himself. “There are tarts left over from last night. Have one before we go.”
He reached over and grabbed one for himself, devouring it in two bites. He checked his pouch once again to assure himself the book and rolled-up deciphering parchment was still there, then buckled it and tossed it over his shoulder. “We’ll stop at an inn along the way and fill our bellies with something hot and nourishing. Hopefully, Somersby’s men will be nowhere about.”
She quickly finished braiding her hair and then grabbed her shawl. “I’m ready.”
John opened the door, holding her back while he checked to see if anyone was stirring. “All clear.”
He took her hand in his while they hurried outside to fetch Valor. John saddled him and led him out of the stable before assisting her up and climbing on behind her. She nestled against his chest and let the warmth of his arms encircle her, feeling a moment of contentment.
Did John feel the same?
She doubted it.
He was once again tense and alert, his hunter-predator instincts in full control as he spurred Valor to a canter. Within moments, they lost sight of the stable and were swallowed up in the gray mist that clung to the crags and valleys.
When the sun rose a short while later and burned away the mist, she noticed that they were riding eastward toward the North Sea. “We’re going to Aberdeen,” John said, following the direction of her gaze and easily reading her thoughts. “We’ll secure a ship to sail us to London, or Edinburgh, if that’s all there is to be had.”
“Edinburgh,” she murmured, suddenly worried that he might decide to leave her there after all. He’d planned to do so at first. But she would abide by his choice, whether it meant that he would take her with him or leave her behind. The book was proof of Somersby’s treason and too important to ignore. If John felt it was best to travel to London alone, then she would accept his decision.
“Nicola, my intention is to keep you with me all the way to London.”
He was quite good at reading her thoughts, she had to admit. She had yet to understand him at all. “I won’t resent you if you can’t. The safety of England is more important.”
He firmed his hold around her waist and drew her toward him. “You’re my wife now, in every sense of the word. Nothing is more important than you.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “John, that is nonsense. You don’t even love me.”
“Your life is worth more to me than a damn book.”
“It isn’t just any book.” She eased against him, quite liking this sudden, oafish protectiveness about him. She was bound to him now under the eyes of the Good Lord—even if it was only the Scottish Good Lord—and he meant to keep her by his side forever. He’d told her so and he was a man of his word.
She had gotten what she wanted, but did John know yet what he wanted? She swallowed back a lump of sorrow. Once he figured it out, would his life include her? She did not wish to become a castaway wife. “Very well. I have no intention of arguing the point. I just wanted you to know that I’ll abide by your wishes, whatever those might be.”
He laughed. “Good to know. But I can hardly believe my own ears. Nicola Emory turned into a biddable, obedient wife? Is it possible?”
She playfully poked him in the ribs. “Yes, you dolt. It is possible. But only when your suggestions make sense. If your plan is idiotic, I’ll be the first one to tell you so.”
“Ah, I’m vastly relieved. Marriage hasn’t changed you.” His playful manner faded and he turned serious. “Don’t ever change, Nicola. Stay the fighter that you are. Use your wits. Don’t let anyone intimidate you. Promise me.”
She turned in the saddle to face him. “What’s this about, John? Is that bad dream you had last night still troubling you?”
“No. Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
She sighed and turned to face outward so that her back was once again pressed against his solid chest. “You know I will find out the truth eventually. If you won’t tell me, then I will find someone who will. But this is my promise to you. I promise to remain as stubbornly determined and headstrong as ever. I promise to give you not a moment’s peace until there are no secrets between us. There, does that make you feel better?”
“Lord, you’re a brat.”
“Which is what you seem to like about me. Oh, and another thing. What have you done with your spectacles? You haven’t worn them since the night of Somersby’s party.”
“They’re tucked away in the pouch. I have no need of them now.”
“I knew your eyesight was always perfect. You merely used them to appear scholarly and dull. Well, you don’t know much about women if you think that ploy worked. In truth, few men understand us. Those spectacles made you look divinely attractive. Utterly desirable.”
“Shows what little you know. Those spectacles kept the marriage-minded females at a distance. Everyone avoided me, except you.”
“They avoided you because you frightened the wits out of them, and it had nothing to do with your spectacles. Some people smile when their thoughts are at rest. Others pout. Others look thoughtful. You look like a killer wolf about to rip the heart and guts out of anyone who gets in your way. Your spectacles actually softened you. But you have that killer look now.” She tensed in the saddle. “What’s wrong? Are we being followed?”
“Yes, brat. We’ve been followed ever since we left the inn.”
She gasped. “Do you know by whom?”
“No, but I think it’s time we found out.”
CHAPTER 13
JOHN SPURRED VALOR to a gallop as they reached the main road to Aberdeen. It was a well-worn path used by many travelers headed eastward toward the coast. The king’s men routinely patrolled the area. Although the hour was still early, he hoped they might come across a garrison and seek temporary shelter with them.
He was troubled by the possibility they were still being followed. How many men did Somersby have at his disposal? How could he have every road covered and his men constantly on their trail?
Nicola had her head buried against his chest and was clinging to his waist as he spurred Valor to greater speed. The horse was rested and had yet to be taken on his morning run, so he was ready to let loose and fly over this flat terrain. But John dared not give him his full head, for Nicola was perched precariously and holding on for dear life.
He could have left their followers in the dust had he not been worried about Nicola. She knew it too. He could feel her frustration, but did not want her doing anything noble. She was well and truly his wife now, and he would not leave her behind.
Although the road was heavily traveled, it was not a straight path. It curved and wound its way eastward and there were several convenient places to hide, several sharp bends of the road. Wh
en the road curved along a particularly woodsy section, he reined Valor in and led him down a steep, densely wooded embankment. Once out of sight of the roadway, he jumped down and tethered Valor to a jutting branch. He then helped Nicola to dismount and turned to grab his rifle.
She placed a hand on his arm. “Give me a weapon, too.”
He frowned at her, for he wanted Nicola to stay behind and remain safely out of sight, but there was a stubborn set to her jaw. Even though she’d just told him that she would obey, he wasn’t certain that she would. What if she followed him? “Here, take my pistol. But don’t you dare use it unless those men see you and begin firing. We’re just scouting right now. The point is not to be seen and not to engage them.”
She nodded.
He took her hand and led her up a small hill.
Within moments, a single rider came into view. “I’ll be damned,” John muttered and told Nicola to lower her weapon. “It’s all right. I know her.”
“Her? She’s a lady? Riding alone?”
“Selena Baldridge is a marchioness, but she’s no lady,” John said, emitting an amused chuckle. “She must have seen me at the inn and wondered what I was doing there. She won’t harm you.” He stepped onto the road to acknowledge his presence. Lady Selena dismounted with the grace and agility of a swan, then put her arms around his neck and blatantly kissed him on the mouth. It was a hungry, I-want-you-in-my-bed kiss.
Nicola did not think her heart could sink any lower.
John not only knew her. He obviously knew her in the biblical sense of the word.
Perhaps Selena was not going to harm them, but this woman was not harmless. In truth, Nicola had never seen such predatory instincts in a member of her own sex before, and her sex could be quite predatory when it came to catching a husband. Even the wicked countess she’d thought had enthralled her brother appeared tame compared to this woman.
Was Selena hungry for any man? Or just John?
She quietly studied the beautiful redhead with aquamarine eyes. She was exquisite, truth be told. Her hands were all over John and he did not appear to mind. “Selena’s a trained agent of the Crown,” he said, introducing them. “Nicola is my wife. Lady Bainbridge.”
