The Hawk: A Highland Guard Novel

by Monica McCarty

  He knew what she was trying to do with her little game, but it wasn’t going to force him to change his mind. This didn’t mean anything, damn it. And he was going to prove it. If she wanted pleasure, that was exactly what she was going to get. More pleasure than she could stand.

  She might have started this game, but they were going to finish it on his terms.

  He dug his fingers through her sodden hair and dragged her face to his, covering her mouth in a long, deep kiss. Relief surged through his body in a hot, heavy rush.

  He devoured her with his mouth as she stroked him. Tongues twisting deeper and deeper in the frantic need to consume. Yet it did nothing to take the edge off the hunger still pounding inside him.

  He shouldn’t be doing this. Not when he felt like this. Angry and teeming with a strange, frantic emotion he didn’t understand. He didn’t feel like himself. Something wild and uncontrollable was building inside him. He felt the pressure in his chest. A heaviness expanding with nowhere to go.

  He sensed the danger, but didn’t heed its warning.

  It’s only pleasure. Lust, nothing more.

  Yet every wicked stroke of her hand increased his frenzy, his body already primed to the breaking point by her teasing touch.

  One last time.

  He sure as hell was going to make it count. He pulled her hand off him before it was over too soon and drew her against him, easing her down on the stone under him.

  His hands covered her body. Her breasts, her bottom. Squeezing, clutching, pressing her closer to him, desperately trying to ease the hunger and the dangerous emotions coiling inside him.

  She melted into his hands, arching and pressing her body to his. If there had ever been any restraint in her responses, it was gone. She met each stroke of his tongue, each touch, with a wild abandon he couldn’t have imagined.

  But like oil to a flame, it only fueled the fire raging inside him.

  He was kissing her. Touching her. Molding her body to his. Hip to hip. Chest to chest. The hard bead of her nipples raked his chest as she moved against him.

  But it wasn’t close enough.

  He wanted to feel her warm skin sliding against his. He wanted to see her naked—completely naked—for the first time. No chemise, no tunic, no braies to come between them.

  Clothes. He needed them off. He wrenched his mouth away and tore off his shirt. Her eyes widened, taking in every inch of his naked chest and arms. She shouldn’t look at him like that. The raw hunger in her gaze was only making him hotter.

  His braies came next, and then, before she could object, he shimmied her chemise over her head.

  Jesus. He sucked in his breath, feeling as if he’d just been poleaxed.

  She was beautiful. Not skinny, but lithe and delicate. His eyes gorged on every slender inch of creamy skin. Small, pert breasts. Slim waist and gently curved hips. And her legs … her legs were perfect. Long and trim, with smoothly shaped muscle.

  Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. It would be a long time before he would be able to get this image out of his mind.

  Unable to wait a moment longer to be separated from her, he dragged her against him, kissing her, as their naked bodies met for the first time. His body flamed at the contact, at the sizzle of skin meeting skin.

  He cupped her breast, her bottom. She was so damned soft he couldn’t stop touching her. All subtlety gone, he slid his hand between her legs. Kissing her as he slid his finger inside the soft molten heat. He groaned. Desire plunged through him in a hot, heavy wave, dragging him down. So hot. So wet. She moaned and writhed against him. Pressing her hips to his hand and crushing her breasts harder against his chest.

  He slipped in another finger, opening her wider. But the stroke of his fingers wasn’t enough. He wanted to be inside her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  She moaned again, this time more insistently, and pressed her mound to his arousal, seeking more friction. The sensation of her dampness sliding over his throbbing cock nearly made him lose his mind.

  So close.

  Don’t. He gritted his teeth against the urge to plunge inside her.

  But God, he wanted to.

  One last time. He couldn’t quiet the drum of the words in his ears, driving him on.

  “Please, Hawk—”

  “Erik,” he demanded. He wanted—needed—to hear her say his name. Their eyes met. He felt that sharp tugging in his chest. “Erik,” he said again.

  “Erik,” she repeated softly. The smile that turned her mouth and filled her eyes made the pressure that had been building inside him shatter. “Please, I want this.”

  His head was spinning, her innocent entreaty wreaking havoc with his mind. He knew how good it would be. How tight she would be around him. How her body would grip him.

  He couldn’t think of anything but being inside her. It was the only thing that mattered. It was the only thing that was going to feel right. The only thing that was going to stop the hammering in his chest and put an end to the maddening hunger.

  He put his hands on either side of her shoulders, bracing himself over her, and positioned himself between her legs. Their eyes met and held. Neither one of them said a word. They didn’t need to. He gave her one last chance. She read the question in his eyes and nodded.

  He didn’t hesitate. His body was no longer listening to reason, but acting on its own, careening forward with only one purpose in mind: to make her his.

  Mine. The instinct was primal and irresistible.

  His body shook with anticipation as he slowly pushed inside.

  Ellie knew she should tell him to stop. Despite the haze of passion that had gripped them both, she knew he would.

  But she didn’t want him to.

  She loved him—Erik. He’d told her his name.

  She loved his brash cockiness. His incorrigible grin. The innate sense of honor and nobility that he hid behind a roguish facade. She loved his warmth, his kindness, and his thoughtfulness. She loved the sense of freedom she had when she was with him. The adventure. The excitement. But also sitting next to him on a hillside watching the waves crash against the rocks.

  Joining with him seemed the perfect—the only—expression of that love.

  She knew this meant something. He cared for her. He had to. When he held himself over her, the look in his eyes had taken her breath away. Fierce. Possessive. Intense. It was a primal claim that could not be denied.

  She belonged to him, and he to her. Fate had brought them to this place: it was meant to be. He was her destiny.

  She gripped his shoulders, feeling the silky head of his erection nudge at the sensitive folds between her legs. A fresh wave of dampness rushed through her at the incredible sensation.

  She wasn’t quite sure how well this was going to work. He was much too big. But somehow she had to trust that her body would adjust to accommodate him.

  Piercing blue eyes held her from behind a face more fierce than she’d ever seen it. Jaw clenched, muscles hard and taut under her fingertips, he seemed to be fighting against an invisible foe.

  He pushed, opening her with the tip of his erection.

  She gasped at the sensation. And then again when he pushed in a little deeper.

  It felt strange and wonderful. The heat. The connection. Her body stretched tight. Him filling her.

  She felt her body soften, opening around him, dampness guiding him inside.

  Maybe this would work after all.

  When she thought he’d gone as far as he could go, he held her gaze and gave one final push. “I’m sorry,” he grit out from between clenched teeth.

  She felt a sharp pinch and cried out. Her body tensed at the unexpected twinge of pain. But he soothed her with his mouth, kissing her until her muscles relaxed and passion once again held her in its erotic embrace.

  The hot, frantic feeling took over again. The feeling that she needed to move and feel him against her.

  Her fingers tightened around the hard bulg
e of the muscles of his arms and shoulders, dragging him down on top of her, needing the contact. She moaned when her taut, aching nipples met the hot, bronzed skin of his powerfully sculpted chest. The solid weight of him on top of her felt incredible.

  His tongue slid deeper into her mouth as she started to rub against him, craving the friction that would ease the restless yearnings clamoring inside her. The fierce pounding of his heart against hers drove her on.

  He started to thrust. Slowly at first. With little circles of his hips and then, when her hips rose up to meet him, with longer strokes until the force of the churning thrusts seemed to claim her entire body.

  She felt the familiar pressure building. But it was different. More intense. More meaningful. The joining of their bodies into one had heightened every sensation.

  He was feeling it too. His mouth moved from hers, as if the effort to control himself had robbed him of all but the ability to breathe. But he was drawn so tight, she didn’t think he was even doing that.

  He was pumping faster now. Deeper. Harder. Grinding with every wicked stroke, forcing her toward the edge.

  She gasped with every thrust, arching to meet the frantic pace.

  Sensation coiled inside her. Tightening. Concentrating. Gathering in a hot, shimmering ball, and then …

  She cried out as her body started to clench and release, as passion exploded inside her, as the sharp, hot spasms of pleasure tightened around him.

  He drove into her one more time and cried out, his entire body stiffening as the force of his own release hit. He rocked against her, the hot rush of his seed mixing with the ebbing tide of her own pleasure in a warm, cascading fall.

  She wanted to hold on to this moment forever.

  Awash in the euphoria of the most amazing moment of her life, she was surprised when he suddenly rolled off her. Without the weight of him on top of her, without the fullness of him inside her, she suddenly felt cold. A prickle of unease wormed its way into her consciousness.

  She expected him to take her into his arms and cradle her against his body the way he usually did, but instead he was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling, his magnificently honed chest rising and falling with the heaviness of his breathing.

  She stole a surreptitious glance at him from under her lashes. His body was incredible. He looked even more powerful without his clothes.

  Why wasn’t he saying anything? Though only a few seconds had passed, the silence seemed interminable.

  Say something.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Her stomach dropped. Not that.

  His face was like stone. He wouldn’t even look at her. “That should never have happened.”

  The regret in his voice was like a knife in the chest. If she’d secretly hoped for some declaration, it had just become brutally clear that she was going to be very disappointed.

  Her heart twisted. She was a fool. She’d gambled with her innocence and lost. All she’d succeeded in proving was that he lusted for her. Lust was not love. Maybe it was she who didn’t know the difference.

  He was a man who loved a challenge—who thrived under competition—and now the challenge was gone.

  My God, what had she done?

  What the hell had he done?

  The truth hit Erik square in the chest: he’d lost his head, broken his vow, and taken her virginity.

  He’d never intended it to go that far. He’d been an arrogant fool, thinking he could play with fire and not get burned.

  What was he going to do?

  He couldn’t marry her. She was a nursemaid, for Christ’s sake. He had a responsibility to his clan as chieftain to marry someone who would increase the clan’s power and prestige. Besides, he was too young to tie himself down to one woman. He didn’t want to disappoint all those lasses.

  It didn’t matter that he hadn’t thought of another lass since meeting Ellie. He was confident he would.

  Though Edward Bruce’s reaction to Ellie had angered him, it wasn’t unexpected. Erik had always gravitated to beautiful, sensual women. Ellie was pretty enough, and he liked her—even if she was a wee bit uptight and bossy—but she wasn’t his usual type. His fierce attraction to her didn’t make any sense.

  Realizing she hadn’t said anything, he glanced over at her. The look on her face cut him to the quick. Her chin trembled, her skin was pale, and her eyes were filled not with disappointment, but with disillusionment.

  Ah, hell. He was acting like an arse. He’d been so consumed by his own guilt that he hadn’t thought about how difficult this must be for her.

  For a man who was known for always saying the right thing, his words had come out all wrong at the time it mattered most. Instead of apologizing, he should have pulled her into his arms and reassured her—told her how amazing it had been and how beautiful she was. Just like he always did.

  But he’d never been so overwhelmed by swiving someone. He’d never been rattled by unfamiliar emotions.

  He reached for her, but she turned, grasping for her chemise. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she said matter-of-factly. “I knew what I was doing. I wanted this.” She pulled her chemise over her head and then managed a smile. “Thank you, it was quite nice.”

  Nice? Erik frowned, taken aback. It wasn’t nice. Admittedly, she was new to this and all, but it had been pretty damn spectacular.

  She handed him his clothes. “We should get back. I’m sure you have a lot to do before we leave.”

  He couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t he the one who was supposed to have the urge to run?

  He grabbed her arm. “It can wait. We need to talk about this.” He raked his fingers through his hair. He’d never been in this situation before and didn’t know what to say. “I took your innocence.”

  She pulled away as if his words had burned her. “Please, you don’t need to say anything. I don’t want anything from you. Pleasure, nothing more, remember? What just happened doesn’t change anything. My innocence was mine to give, and I did so freely.”

  Erik couldn’t believe it. She was letting him off the hook.

  He knew he should be relieved. But he wasn’t feeling relieved at all. What he felt was damn annoyed.

  He yanked his tunic over his head and jerked on his braies. She should at least have some expectation that he would marry her. Did she think he was completely without honor? She couldn’t believe he was the kind of man who would take a lass’s innocence without thought. She’d said she hadn’t believed the pirate talk—she’d thought him noble.

  And what did she mean by “nice”? She might be inexperienced, but he wasn’t. He’d never felt anything like that in his life. It had been bloody well perfect.

  She was clearly impatient to leave and had already slid back into the water. He jumped in after her and took her hand in his—with quite a bit of possessive anger—leading her back through the watery tunnel of rock.

  Was she just going to give up without a fight? Return to her position as nursemaid and bottle up all that passion beneath a prim facade?

  The bottom fell out of his stomach, and he nearly inhaled a mouthful of water. What if she didn’t bottle it up? What if he’d introduced her to passion only to have her share it with someone else?

  Over his dead body.

  He broke through the surface of the water, stood, and turned to her, scowling. If she thought this conversation was over, she was bloody well wrong. “Ellie, we’re going to talk about this.”

  She tossed her head the way she’d done on the birlinn, and he saw red. “I don’t want—”

  She stopped. Her gaze caught on something behind him. Her eyes widened with fear. “Erik, watch out!”

  He turned a second too late.

  Four men. English. Spear. Hurling toward him. No time …

  He lurched to the left, but the spear caught him in the side, dragging him backward into the black abyss.

  Ellie’s scream was the last thing he heard before the water closed over him.

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sp; Eighteen

  “No!” The scream tore from somewhere deep inside her. A dark, primal place of unimaginable, bloodcurdling terror.

  So focused on her own despair and disappointment, Ellie noticed the four soldiers on the beach only an instant before she saw the spear hurtling through the air on a direct collision course with Erik’s back. It seemed to be happening so slowly, yet she felt frozen in time, unable to move to stop it. It was the worst moment of her life, watching helplessly as the man she loved was about to die.

  She reached for him, but it was too late. He grunted as the spear found its mark and propelled him into the water. She dove in after him and thought she felt his hand, but someone plucked her out of the water, circling his arms around her from behind.

  She fought like a madwoman, lashing out blindly in her panic, her only thought to reach him. Her captor grunted when her head connected with his jaw—one of the only parts of him not protected by mail.

  Someone was screaming. A shrill, wailing sound that pierced her ears.

  A voice broke through the din. “It’s all right, my lady, you are safe.”

  It was her: she was the one screaming.

  “Let me go!” She struggled against the soldier’s hold, staring at the place where Erik had disappeared and seeing a horrible, dark-red cloud rising through the water. Blood. Panic gripped her chest, her throat. “I need to find him,” she sobbed. “He’s hurt.”

  He’d been wearing only a linen tunic, leaving nothing but skin and muscle to protect him from the piercing blow of the spear. But he was strong. The strongest man she knew.

  “He’s dead,” the man said coldly. “Or will be soon. We need to take you back to the galley.”

  “No!” She wrenched out of his arms.

  The spear. Erik flying backwards. The blood. She didn’t care what she’d seen. He wasn’t dead and she wasn’t going to leave him like this.

  She dove into the water, reaching around blindly in the darkness. But the soldier caught her again, bringing her up to the surface gasping. He dragged her kicking and screaming up to the water’s edge. He was taking no chances this time and had her in a firm vise grip around her chest, pinning her arms to her side.