Forbidden Night with the Prince

by Michelle Willingham

  When the baby was curled up in sleep, Ronan drew her away and asked, ‘How are you feeling, Joan?’

  ‘Like a piece of glass you’re afraid might shatter,’ she answered honestly. ‘You haven’t touched me since Ardan was born.’ Although she understood why, she was not about to let his fear come between them.

  ‘You nearly died, Joan,’ he said. ‘And it would have been my fault.’

  She took his hands in hers. ‘You fathered Ardan, true enough. But we cannot live out the rest of our days without loving one another.’

  His face grew sober. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Joan. And we cannot risk another baby.’

  ‘Aileen said it is unlikely that I’ll ever conceive another child,’ she said. ‘I believe her. But even so, I need my husband.’ She reached up to wind her arms around his neck. ‘For so many years of my life, I lived in fear. I believed in a curse, feeling as if I could never be happy. But since I married you, I’ve come to understand that I do have command over my own life.’

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and the moment she did, some of his tension dissipated. He took her mouth deeply, and his kiss awakened her desire, making her crave more.

  ‘I love you, Ronan. And I will not let fear take that from us. We have a perfect son, and if he is the only child we ever have, I will be content with that.’

  He drew her against his body, and she felt the hard ridge of his need. But the expression on his face held pain, as if he were trying to hold himself back. ‘I cannot lose you, Joan.’

  ‘You will never lose me. My heart is yours, now and always.’ Joan unlaced her gown, lifting it away. The shift followed, until she was bared before him. His hungry eyes drank in the sight of her, and he reached out to touch her. She drew his hands to her full breasts, thankful that she had nursed Ardan only an hour earlier. He was gentle with her, caressing her nipples before he lowered his hands to the scar at her womb. It was still reddened, but to her, it was a mark of survival.

  ‘I thank God every day that you lived through Ardan’s birth,’ he said, dropping down to his knees. He kissed the scar, and she rested her hands upon his head.

  ‘I was meant to live,’ she said.

  ‘You were,’ he agreed. ‘And I will love you every day until I draw my last breath.’

  ‘Love me now, Ronan,’ she pleaded. ‘I need you.’

  He stared up at her, and the heat in his eyes was searing. ‘Then lie back upon the bed,’ he commanded, ‘for I have not finished worshipping you.’

  She obeyed, but was surprised when he moved her legs to hang off the end of the bed. When he knelt between her thighs, she suddenly felt embarrassed at knowing what he was about to do.

  Her fingers dug into the fur coverlet when he opened her legs and moved his tongue to her cleft. She could not stop the cry of delight, and moaned as he began to kiss her intimately. Her body was so sensitive that she could already feel herself rising towards release. And when he used his tongue to stroke her hooded flesh, her breath came in ragged gasps.

  His mouth was hot, feasting upon her, while she arched her back in surrender. ‘Ronan, I want you inside me.’

  He ignored her plea and pressed her higher, relentless as he caressed her with his mouth. She was so driven with need, she could not stop herself as a wave of pleasure crashed within, causing her to tremble.

  Only then did he draw back, looking pleased with himself.

  ‘Take off your clothes,’ she demanded.

  ‘I think you should rest now,’ he said.

  But she would not be deterred. Instead, she sat up on the bed. ‘It was not a request,’ she said. ‘Let me see you.’

  He seemed slightly taken aback, but when he saw that she would not relent, he stripped away his garments until he stood before her. There were familiar scars, and the one he had received only last year during the battle at Clonagh. But every part of his body was strong and fierce, and Joan knew that he was holding back his needs. His erection was heavy, and she reached out to touch him.

  The moment she did, he inhaled, resting his hand upon hers. ‘Careful, Joan.’

  She smiled wickedly and stood from the bed. ‘Lie down and let me pleasure you.’

  For a moment, he didn’t move, but when she closed her fist around his length, he obeyed. Just as she had, he lay back on the bed. She moved between his thighs and lowered her mouth to his thick shaft.

  The moment she kissed the rounded tip, he let out a shudder of air. Joan loved being in command of him, and she slid her tongue down his length, cupping him in her palm as she stroked him.

  Ronan was trying not to move, but as she suckled, he couldn’t stop the husky growl. ‘If you don’t stop, I’m going to spill myself within your lovely mouth.’

  She replaced her mouth with her hand, and he shut his eyes while she fisted him up and down. Seeing his intense arousal only made her crave him more. She was so wet, needing him deep inside.

  Joan knelt upon the bed and took his shaft, guiding it inside her. Ronan’s eyes flew open, and he sat up, taking her waist. ‘What are you doing, Joan?’

  She rose up on her knees and sank against him. ‘I’m riding you.’ A smile played at her lips, and she said, ‘Lie back, and let me enjoy myself.’

  She rose up and lowered herself again, but this time, he clasped her hips, meeting her thrust. ‘We shouldn’t do this,’ he admitted, even as he caressed her breast. The sensitive tip was like a bolt of lightning between her legs, and she quickened her pace.

  ‘I don’t care. Nothing in life worth having comes without a risk. And I would risk everything for you.’

  She continued to ride, watching his green eyes as he grasped her hips and penetrated her. ‘I lived my life in fear for too many years. I won’t let myself fall into that trap again. Each day is a precious gift, one that I treasure.’

  Abruptly, Ronan stood and lifted her with him, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist. His strength was shocking, and he raised her up and down, the position causing such delicious friction, she held him tight as he claimed her.

  Another climax seized her body, and she cried out with the force of it. Ronan continued to thrust within her, until at last he groaned and spilled his seed deep within. He carried her back to the bed, still deeply sheathed within her body.

  Her heart was pounding, but she loved the way they fit together. ‘I’ve missed being with you, Ronan.’

  He cradled her body to his. ‘As have I, a stór.’ He held her close, but his hand came to rest upon her scar. ‘You are everything to me.’

  ‘I love you. And we will live each day to its fullest, without fear.’ She kissed him softly. ‘There is no curse. Unless I am cursed to love you...and that is one I will heartily embrace for the rest of my days.’

  ‘Being loved by you is never a curse,’ he answered. ‘Only a blessing.’

  She rested her hand upon his heart. ‘A blessing indeed.’

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story, you won’t want to miss the other stories in Michelle Willingham’s Warriors of the Night series

  Forbidden Night with the Warrior

  Forbidden Night with the Highlander

  To find out more about some of the characters who appear in this story, check out Michelle Willingham’s The MacEgan Brothers series, including

  The Warrior’s Touch

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Saying I Do to the Scoundrel by Liz Tyner.

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  Saying I Do to the Scoundrel

  by Liz Tyner

  Chapter One

  The knocking on his door pounded like hooves against Brandt’s head, bringing him from ravaged dreams into the summer-baked room. He didn’t care where the hands on the clock might be—the hour was too early for him to awaken. He needed another bottle of brandy to cleanse his mouth. He called out to his valet, ‘Enter.

  ‘Enter,’ he commanded again when he heard no footsteps.

  The door swung open.

  ‘Heathen.’ The word screeched into his ears as if attached to flying glass. A woman wearing a bonnet the size of a parasol stood beneath the transom. For a moment, he thought he dreamed of a butterfly, the dress fluttered so and bead trim sparkled. A pale face, with dark eyes rimmed in lashes any siren could be envious of, stared at him.

  The drunken haze confused him. This was a boarding house—not his home. For a moment, he had forgotten.

  Memories returned, anger flooding his body.

  He rolled on to his side, and propped himself on his elbow, re-orienting himself, and feeling a breeze waft over his body. Completely over his body.

  Everything came back to him. Or enough of it did. He’d shed his clothing when he’d returned from the tavern. He felt beside him for a covering. Nothing touched his fingers but a mattress so thin he could feel the ropes beneath.

  ‘Why did you call for the door to open?’ The woman at the door had her hand over her eyes—and her cheeks were flushed. The one behind her seemed to be taking measurements.

  ‘I was dreaming of—’ He could not tell her he dreamed of Mary. Of a world of servants and health and sobriety. ‘I dreamt of a swarm of annoying bees and I called for the door to be open so they might fly out,’ he said. ‘Instead one rushed in.’

  How had he wronged the woman at the door? He couldn’t recall her face, and she didn’t look at all the kind he consorted with. She had the look of an outraged wife on her face, but she wasn’t his outraged wife.

  He took a breath to calm himself and wished the night hadn’t been so warm he’d shed his clothing, his covers and the last threads of his dignity.

  The female at the threshold looked as if she’d been snatched from Sunday services and plopped in the middle of a brothel.

  But no devil had forced her to open his door.

  He reached to the side of his bed, ignored his small clothes and went straight for his trousers.

  With his body turned away, he pulled his clothing over his legs.

  ‘Perhaps you could introduce yourself.’ He spoke calmly to the daft one even as the second woman tiptoed to examine him. He was at a blasted soirée and he had not accepted the invitation. ‘You are under the impression we are acquainted. And I am under the impression we are not.’

  She sputtered.

  ‘And to what do I owe the pleasure?’ he asked, finishing the last button and turning. He would have preferred to have on his small clothes, but then he would have preferred to have drunk a lot more and fallen asleep at the tavern.

  The drink had finally destroyed him, but not in the way he had expected.

  ‘Cover yourself,’ the young woman commanded. ‘You heathen.’

  ‘You can take your hand from your eyes,’ he said. ‘I’ve got my trousers buttoned.’

  Eyes, which reminded him of sunlight shining through sparkling glass, took a quick look at him. ‘A shirt?’

  ‘Oh, let’s save that until after we’ve been properly introduced.’

  ‘We will never be properly introduced.’

  She wouldn’t be in a tavern, or on the darkened streets. And she shouldn’t be in his room. He paid little care to the society folks with their haughty stares. They didn’t interest him at all. Never had—even when he’d lived the other life.

  ‘Your shirt.’ She waved a finger, pointing at a direction beyond his back, and her eyes appeared to be fixed on his torn window curtain.

  He looked around. The peg where he usually put his shirt stood empty. He picked up his waistcoat and slipped an arm into it, then the other. ‘Since you’ve seen me from top to bottom, this will have to do, Love.’ He fastened one button as a kindness.

  ‘Save your words for the lightskirts,’ Miss Butterfly Bonnet said.

  Calling her love had snapped her out of her embarrassment.

  ‘So you are not of that business,’ he muttered. ‘Pity.’

  Her eyes turned to slits. ‘Until I opened the door, I was quite innocent. Now I’m tainted for ever by what I’ve seen.’

  He sat on the bed. ‘Think how it is for me. To wake up with a shrieking shrew at the door I can’t for the life of me remember how I’ve wronged.’

  ‘Oh, I envy you,’ she bit out the words. ‘Would that my life was so pleasant.’

  They stared at each other.

  ‘You might tell me the nature of your visit.’ He examined his mind for a reason for this woman to search him out. ‘I truly don’t know you or know why you’re here.’ He yawned. ‘Come in.’ He waved an arm to indicate the two wooden chairs by the uneven table.

  The older woman, peering into the room, gave the girl a push. ‘Quick before someone recognises you.’ Then the older woman pulled the door shut.

  The young one’s eyes widened, but she covered her surprise with a tightening of her jaw and squared shoulders.

  She took a tiny step inside his room, but she stayed within an arm’s reach of the door.

  ‘Sit.’ He straightened his shoulders and adopted the look of a coddled peer. ‘I will ring the butler for tea.’ He let his eyes look thoughtful. ‘Oh, goodness, I fear it is his half-day off. We will have to make do with brandy.’

  He noticed the overturned glass on the table and looked around for a bottle. He reached down to the edge of the bed and found one still standing with about three swallows left in it—for a small person.

  He picked it up, held the bottle in her direction and raised his eyebrows.

  Her chin moved, but she didn’t open her mouth.

  ‘Speak your business quickly,’ he commanded. ‘Your bonnet is giving me a headache.’

  He relaxed his arm, still holding the bottle. None of this would have happened if his wife had lived. The thought of her stabbed at his chest, and he wished he didn’t breathe in the blackness with every breath.

  Just the touch of Mary’s finger at his cheek had given him more pleasure than he could ever find in a bottle.

  He finished the liquid, then flipped the bottle into the corner, enjoying the clunk.

  The lady with the overgrown bonnet watched him and her face condemned him. Her nose wrinkled and the corners of her lips turned down.

  ‘Makes two of us.’ His eyes swept over her.

  Her gaze narrowed as she tried to guess his meaning. He enlightened her. ‘I’m not pleased with the si
ght of you, either, Love.’

  The words were true. But, not completely. Something about her stirred his memories. Reminding him of a time when a woman’s beauty could touch him.

  She wore a matronly fichu tucked into the bodice. Surely she had a body somewhere underneath, but he couldn’t be certain. He wagered she double-knotted her corset and wouldn’t walk past a mirror unless she had her laces done to her neck.

  ‘I had heard...’ She paused, seemingly entranced by the torn curtain. ‘I had heard,’ she repeated, rushing the words, ‘you might be a man of a somewhat, perhaps only slightly, disreputable nature.’ When she said disreputable nature, she looked at the floor, then at his eyes. Her hand clasped into a fist. ‘That might have been an error. Your nature is less—’

  ‘If gambling and drinking and spending my time in a tavern constitutes, then I suppose my nature could be under question,’ he interrupted. Who was this little dash of condemnation, he wondered, to be appearing on his doorstep, discussing his life?

  ‘You, miss—’ he speared her with his glance ‘—seem to be a woman who frequents places where no decent woman would be found and you appear to be looking for a man of impure habits.’ He paused, narrowing his eyes. ‘Which makes you...’

  She stared at him. ‘Determined.’

  He couldn’t believe it. She stepped a bit closer, her hand tight at her side. ‘If a bear prowled about me and the only trap I had near was rusty, covered in the stench of ale and might not be able to snap closed fast enough to catch a turtle, I’d use it. If only to sling the weapon at the bear’s head.’

  He sniffed his arm. ‘Ale would be better than the smell of me.’

  She tensed her body, near snarling the words into the room. ‘Are all men beasts? I had not expected a man such as yourself to have had a father, but I am surprised you have never had a mother either as no one has taught you manners.’

  ‘Ah, milady,’ he said with a sweeping bow. He gave her his darkest glare. ‘I must retire and you know where you can put your manners. Or lack thereof. Leave your calling card with the butler.’

  * * *

  Katherine tried to take her mind from the sight she had just seen on the bed. The man had been unclothed.