The Hunter

by Monica McCarty

  The heat of his body enveloped her. Cruelly. Teasingly. Taunting her with memories of things that would not be.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She gave a sharp laugh that came out as more of a broken sob. It was rather late for that. “Then what do you want, Ewen?” She looked up into his eyes, a flash of reckless anger restoring some of her boldness. “Oh, wait. I know what you want.” She leaned her body into his, her nerve-endings sizzling at the contact. But desire wasn’t love. “How could I have confused this for anything else?”

  He made a harsh groan, twisting her arm around to cinch her in even tighter against him, although she didn’t think he was aware of what he’d done. “Stop it, Janet. That isn’t true.”

  His face was a dark, tortured mask. His mouth a hard line, his eyes chips of steel, his jaw clenched.

  Her heart seized. She hated him for making her want him so much. For every one of the hard muscles pressed against her that made her body heat, even now. For being so handsome it made her heart ache to look at him. For making her lose sight of her plan and believe even for a moment in faerie tales. And most of all for not loving her back.

  “What isn’t true?” she taunted. “That you don’t want me?” She pressed her hips against him. “I’d say your body disagrees.” Her eyes bored into his. She was shaking with anger, frustration, and hurt. She wanted to lash out. She wanted to hurt him just as badly as he’d hurt her. “But you know what, Ewen? That is no longer enough for me. I no longer want you. So let me go!”

  Panic rose hard and hot inside him. She meant it. Ewen could see it in her eyes. She didn’t want him anymore. He’d pushed her away one too many times. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He’d thought so. But as they stood there pinned together, sparks of anger and desire clashing between them in a fierce battle of wills, he knew he couldn’t let her go. If he let her walk away now, it would be too late. He would lose her. She would never come back. It would be over.

  He could fight desire—he might have even been able to win—but he couldn’t fight the fear wrought by thoughts of a future without her. She’d battered down his defenses until he just couldn’t fight it anymore.

  To hell with it. His mouth covered hers in a hot, possessive kiss meant to leave her no doubt of his intentions. He was going to make her belong to him, in the only way he could. For the first time, Ewen didn’t hold anything back, giving his desire free rein.

  He proved her a liar with his lips and tongue, entreating—nay, demanding—with each deft stroke, until she was returning his kiss with as much heat and passion as burned inside him. She did want him.

  The plaid she was clutching—his plaid—fell into a pool at their feet as her arms circled around his neck. Her tiny body stretched out against his and he sank into her, breathing her in in hot, heavy draws.

  It was incredible. Her warmth. Her softness. The heady scent of her hair. He delved deeper, fitting her body into his, digging his hand through the silky golden strands to cup her head, and sinking his tongue deeper and deeper into the sweet, warm cavern of her mouth.

  He couldn’t get enough. His mouth was ravenous for her taste, his hands eager to roam every inch of her, and his body aching for more pressure.

  She moaned and shuddered, her tiny fingers clutching—digging—into his shoulders, visceral proof of how much she wanted him.

  A bolt of heat struck hard in his groin, filling him. Making him swell. Throb. Bead.

  He wasn’t going to last.

  Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her over to the pallet. He broke the kiss only long enough to set her down and tear off his shirt before coming down beside her.

  Her eyes widened, traveling over the spans of bare skin. Nay, “traveling” wasn’t quite right. “Feasting on” was perhaps more accurate. He was not unaccustomed to women admiring the effects of warfare on his body, but with her it was different. With her, it mattered.

  “My God, you’re beautiful,” she blurted.

  He smiled. “Warriors aren’t beautiful, lass. I thought you were good with words?”

  She blushed, even though she knew he was teasing her. “Very well, ‘perfect’ then.” Her eyes went to the cut he’d suffered in the battle with the English the previous morning. “The wound does not hurt?” He shook his head. As he’d told her, it was no more than a scratch. “What is this?” she asked, outlining the mark that bound the Highland Guard on his other arm with her finger.

  Ah hell. “Nothing.”

  She ignored him. “It’s the Lion Rampant with some kind of band and inscription.” She squinted in the candlelight. “Or inveniam viam. ‘I shall find a way,’ she translated. “Fitting for a tracker. It sounds like the inscription for a sword.”

  “It is,” he said. He had the same mark on his sword. The Lion Rampant tattoo, encircled with the torque-like band of a spiderweb, was the mark used to identify each member of the Highland Guard. But many of the warriors had personalized it with weaponry or mottos. Ewen had done both. He had two pikes crossed behind the lion and the inscription on his sword below.

  His arm flexed under her fingertips, and thankfully she moved on. She reached out and spread her hands over his chest and arms. “You look as if you are made of steel.” She lifted her gaze to his shyly. “You know, I never liked muscles before, but I think they’ve rather grown on me.” Her palm spread over the bulge of muscle on his upper arm and squeezed. “Aye,” she said, her voice growing a little huskier, “I am quite appreciative.”

  Another blast of heat rushed over him. He swore and kissed her again before her words could drive him any crazier.

  He had every intention to take it slow. To savor every minute of what might be the only time—

  He stopped. Don’t think about it.

  Instead he concentrated on how good she felt, tucked in under him. He held her cradled against his side, half-propped over her, so as not to crush her with his weight. It also left his hand free to explore, and he made damned sure to leave no part of her untouched. He cupped her breast through the thin fabric of the chemise, brushing his thumb over the taut peak, before sliding his hand back over her waist and hips, and then her bottom, lifting her against him until her leg wrapped around his hip.

  Their groans and moans blurred together when he started to rock gently against her. Slowly he increased the pace, mimicking the rhythm with his tongue, as the slow, gentle circles became a fast, hard grind. He let her get used to his size. Let her feel every inch of his length as he moved his body over hers.

  But the playacting separated by a few layers of linen and wool wasn’t enough for either of them. The frantic race of her heartbeat and quickening breath, between increasingly urgent gasps and moans, matched his own.

  Tension pounded through his body. He was so damned hot. Fevered. His body an inferno of need. Sweat gathered on his brow as he fought the instincts pressing inside him. Every one of his muscles was flexed hard, shaking with the effort to find restraint. To find control. To make it last.

  But it wasn’t going to last. Not this time. It felt too good, and he wanted her too intensely. From the first moment he’d seen her in the forest, half-naked and fierce as a Valkyrie, he’d been waiting for this moment. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that even to himself, but the truth had finally caught up to him. Or maybe it was fate that had caught up to him.

  He knew it was too hurried. Too rushed. But he had to be inside her. Now.

  With one hand, he unfastened the ties of his breeches and slid them over his hips. The cool blast of air over turgid skin made him groan with relief.

  Finesse was beyond him. His hand felt big and clumsy as he reached for the hem of her chemise, easing it just enough to give him access. He forced himself to tease it out. To let his hand rest on her thigh a moment before he touched her. But she wouldn’t let him. She started to squirm, to moan, to lift her hips to meet him.

  So he gave her what they both wanted, sweeping his fingers over her dampness, before sliding
into the tight feminine heat. He groaned. So wet. So damned hot.

  A sharp squeeze of desire fisted at the base of his spine. He wanted to be inside her so desperately, it took everything he had not to lever his body over hers and thrust up hard inside. The knowledge of how good it would feel crashed over him in a hot wave, nearly dragging him under.

  But he had to make her ready for him. She was an innocent, damn it, and he was going to make this good for her, even if it killed him.

  And it bloody well might.

  Lifting his head, he broke the kiss to watch her face as he pleasured her.

  He felt something squeeze hard in his chest. She was so beautiful. Locked in the throes of passion, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, her golden hair splayed out behind her head in wild disarray, her eyes half-lidded and her kiss-swollen lips gently parted, she looked like some kind of sensual goddess. Knowing that he was doing this to her humbled him. It was his kiss that had swollen her lips, his week’s worth of stubble that had reddened the sensitive skin around her chin, and his touch that was making her wild.

  But not quite wild enough.

  Janet felt as if she were caught up in a whirlwind. A hot, frantic, devastating whirlwind. She’d gone from utter despair to ecstasy in a matter of minutes.

  Whatever had been holding him back was gone. When he’d kissed her, she knew he’d made his decision: he’d chosen her. Her chest swelled with happiness. She hadn’t been wrong to give him her heart.

  Swept up in the heat of his embrace, she gave herself over to the passion. She gave herself over to him. Surrender had never felt so good. The feeling of his fingers inside her—stroking her, bringing her to the very peak of pleasure …

  Oh God, she couldn’t stand it! She moaned, writhed, felt the overwhelming urge to press her hips against his hand. An echo of the memory of what he’d done to her taunted, as the sensation flickered just out of her reach.

  “Not yet, mo chroí,” he whispered in her ear with a wicked chuckle. “I want to taste you first.”

  Janet didn’t want to try to tell him what to do, but she rather preferred this right now to kissing.

  She gave a little mewl of protest when he slowed his stroke, and tried not to get irritated when he chuckled. “I promise you’ll like this, lass.”

  She felt her first flicker of premonition when he scooted down, not up. My God, his face was right between her …

  A sudden flood of embarrassment cooled some of the heat. Instinct brought her legs together hard. “No! Don’t! You can’t.”

  He looked up at her, a wicked gleam in his steel-blue eyes. One thick chunk of dark hair slung over his brow, giving him a distinctly roguish edge. He buried his mouth right at the apex of her closed legs, the warmth of his breath making her gasp. He smiled. “I assure you, I can.” He nuzzled her again, gently nudging her legs apart. “You’re going to like this, love. Just let me have one little taste.”

  Oh God! She shuddered—and not with mortification—when he nuzzled her again, this time giving her a flick of his tongue that sent ripple after ripple of sensation right to her toes. Her legs relaxed even more, opening a little wider as embarrassment quickly gave way to the wicked cravings of her body.

  When he kissed her there, pressing his warm, firm lips to the most intimate part of her, she cried out in shock and pleasure so acute it set every nerve-ending on edge. Or rather, turned every nerve-ending inside out. She was a ball of raw, inside-out nerve-endings. Hot, sensitive, and poised for his touch.

  He teased her with gentle flicks of his tongue and soft kisses until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She started to lift her hips against him, wanting more pressure.

  “Do you like it, love?”

  Like it? Good heavens, she’d never imagined liking anything quite so much. She hoped he wasn’t expecting her to speak; all she could manage was a breathy gasp.

  She forgot to be embarrassed and didn’t offer a single protest when he settled himself firmly between her legs, looped her legs over his shoulder, and cupped her bottom to lift her more fully to his wicked, wonderful mouth.

  The first loving stroke of his tongue sent every one of those inside-out nerve-endings to tingling. But it was the pressure of his mouth and the grate of his stubbled jaw against the tender skin between her thighs that made her lose all shame.

  She started to shake. Started to arch her back and lift her hips harder and harder against his lips and tongue. She told him not to stop. She begged him to make it stop. Faster. Deeper. Harder.

  Oh God, yes … yes! A rush of heat surged from between her legs to the warm suction of his mouth. He held her there, drinking her in, as she catapulted into a different realm, as her body came apart in wave after wave of hot, undulating pleasure.

  Through the mindless haze, she heard him swear. “I can’t wait any longer … have to be inside you … sorry.”

  His voice sounded almost strangled.

  Why was he apologizing?

  It didn’t take her long to find out.

  Twenty-one

  Ewen had reached the end of his restraint. Whatever control he thought he had vanished in the wake of her release. He’d wanted to drive her crazy and make her ready for him; he just hadn’t anticipated what it would do to him.

  It was the most erotic experience of his life. He’d never tasted a woman so fully before. Never had his mouth on her as she broke apart. Never felt so connected as the spasms of pleasure reverberated through her body. She gave herself so freely and completely.

  He couldn’t wait another minute.

  Mumbling some kind of apology, he levered his body over hers. The muscles in his arms and shoulders flexed hard in anticipation as he fought to hold himself steady. To go slow.

  Her eyes lifted to his. He felt a click. It was as if something shifted in his chest and locked into place.

  Her eyes flickered down and widened. He followed the line of her gaze and saw what she did: a very intimidating-sized erection. He wanted to give her some kind of reassurance, to tell her it was going to be okay, but truth be told, even if he could manage to grunt a few words right now, he wasn’t sure how much this was going to hurt. Even soft and wet from her release, she was still small and tight, and he was big and hard. Very big and very hard.

  Just thinking about it made him pulse. He fought the urge to throw his head back and surge inside.

  But it was a battle he lost. His cock was too hard, her slick, warm entrance too inviting, and whatever control he’d had fled the moment he rubbed his sensitive head against her silky dampness. Holding her gaze, he started to press inside, inch by inch, but the intimacy was too intense, the emotions too powerful. It was too much. The gentle nudge became a quick plunge as he possessed her fully, binding her to him in a way that could not be undone.

  He let out a groan of pure, primitive satisfaction, overwhelmed by a sensation of relief and something else. The only way to describe it was utter rightness. As if he was where he belonged. As if he’d found his destiny.

  Her soft cry of pain broke through some of his haze. But it was too late. Too late for recriminations. Too late to change his mind. Too late to take it back—he’d gone too far, he couldn’t pull back now even if he wanted to. She was his.

  At least for the moment.

  He clenched his teeth, holding himself stone still, wanting to give her time to adjust to the feel of him. But it felt too good. She was tight and hot, gripping him like a damned glove, and every instinct in his body screamed to move.

  He stole a glance down at her, surprised to see her eyes not squeezed shut, but looking at him with the emotion that she’d forced him to acknowledge.

  Love. His chest squeezed. A wave of tenderness crashed over him. He leaned down and gave her a soft kiss. “I’m sorry.”

  She smiled. “For what?”

  For so many things. “I hurt you.”

  “It isn’t so bad … now.”

  As if to prove her words, she moved, sending a hot swell of pleasure s
urging to the tip of him. He groaned, unable to resist the primitive instinct to respond with a movement of his own. A tight, quick nudge.

  She winced.

  He cursed. “Damn it. I’m sorry. I’m trying not to move, but you just feel so good, it’s killing me.”

  Given how much pain he was in at the moment, the smile that spread across her face wasn’t exactly appreciated. “I do? I am?”

  He gave her a sharp glare, his teeth clenched tightly. “You don’t need to be so pleased about it.”

  Her smile became even broader.

  He leaned down to kiss her again, the movement making him sink deeper.

  She gasped, but this time not with pain. Their eyes met. “Oh! That felt …”

  He knew how it felt. It felt incredible. He moved again, drawing out just a little bit and sinking back in. Her eyes widened. “Oh …” Again. “Oh!”

  When she circled her arms around his neck to hold on tighter, it was all the invitation he needed. Holding her gaze, he thrust again—and again. Watching for any sign of pain. But it wasn’t pain that brought a soft pink blush to her cheeks.

  When her hips rose to meet him, he couldn’t hold back. His strokes lengthened. Deepened. Went faster and harder, her gasping moans urging him on.

  The pleasure was intense. Overwhelming. Like nothing he’d ever imagined. She was … everything. And more.

  So tight. So hot. Sweat poured off him, the frantic thrusts taking their toll. Pressure built at the base of his spine, stronger and more powerful than anything he’d ever felt before. Her body gripped him, milked him, pulled him over the edge.

  And he took her with him. Holding her hips, he thrust in hard and deep, grinding out her pleasure in slow, hard circles as his own roared in his ears.

  He came with a white-hot intensity that shook him to his core. For a moment, the pleasure was so acute his mind went black. Again and again the spasms wracked him. Gripping. Squeezing. Wringing him dry.

  “I love you so much.” Her words echoed over and over again in his head, in his heart.