Dangerous

by Hawthorne, Julia

  Her touch had set his blood afire, and he fought to contain it. When her gaze met his, he knew his fascination with her must be easy to see, but for the first time, he didn’t look away.

  He saw the same desire glowing in her eyes.

  Remembering himself, he grasped the arms of the chair and pushed to his feet. “I don’t belong here.”

  “But you do,” she countered, blocking his retreat. “I had no choice but to summon you. You barely spoke to me at dinner, and I had something important to tell you.”

  Eric silently chastised himself. In an attempt to maintain his distance, he’d insulted her. “Please accept my apologies. What did you wish to say?”

  In response, her dark robe slid to the floor.

  The white silken gown she wore beneath it molded to her body, and he couldn’t look away. Heavenly curves beckoned to him, unleashing an insane pounding in his loins.

  He clamped his hands to his sides, lest they crush her to him for the ravenous kiss he ached to give her. “Where did you get this?”

  “Our new Italian merchant. He trades for silk from the East, and his wife sews it into pretty fashions to sell for ridiculous sums of money. She smuggled it in among my horrid new gowns. I must confess, I prefer this. ’Tis much softer.”

  With a playful smile, she took his hand and guided it to the smooth silk over her left breast. Her heart fluttered wildly, and he felt the warmth of her skin through the delicate fabric. To his dismay, she leaned closer, pressing her breasts against his chest in an unmistakable gesture.

  Before he could muster a protest, she kissed him. Her mouth opened, her tongue seeking his. He granted her wish, groaning as he gathered her into his arms.

  “Stay with me, Eric,” she whispered against his lips. “Be with me.”

  The scent of roses curled around him, withering his resolve. He framed her face with his hands, struck by the softness of her skin under his callused palms. “You know I can’t.”

  “Au contraire, I know you can’t leave.” She rolled against the rigid length of him in a wicked motion he stilled with his hands at her waist.

  “You also know what will happen if I stay.”

  She goaded him with the look of a pagan temptress. “Truly, I can’t imagine. Perhaps you’d be good enough to enlighten me.”

  “I’d do a great deal more than that.”

  His warning served only to spike the wanton look simmering in her eyes, and her fingers went to the laces closing her elegant gown.

  “All my life,” she said as she untied them, “I’ve done what was expected of me. Just once, I want to know how it feels to please myself.”

  The silk cascaded into a shimmering pile on the rug. She stepped from the white ring as though she were a nymph emerging from a pool in the forest, and the firelight cast a golden sheen over her skin as she gazed up at him.

  “Tell me, Eric Jordanne. Do you wish to enlighten me?”

  Folding her hand in his, he lifted it to his lips. Countless times had he done so, but this gesture was different. It sent a tendril of heat spiraling through her, igniting the deepest part of her, and she reached her other hand to his jaw.

  She traced the faint scar on his cheek, glanced back to his eyes. They blazed with longing such as she had never seen. She followed the outline of his lips with her fingertip, and he kissed it as it passed. Completely at odds with the demand burning in his eyes, the tenderness touched her deeply.

  Sensing the vibrations of his body, Elisabeth knew his blood sang in concert with her own, yet he didn’t move. Didn’t reach out to take what he so clearly wanted. Instead, he watched her as if a wild storm were tethered within him, waiting for her to set it free.

  Though she stood naked before him, his regard didn’t waver from her face. Awed by his restraint, she brought his mouth to hers, and he granted her the most delicate kiss imaginable. Barely a touch, soft as a whisper. Another followed, and another. The feathery sensation aroused her more than commanding kisses could possibly have done.

  When he finally claimed her mouth, she gladly surrendered. His lips moved over her cheek, down the curve of her neck to the madness beating in her throat. Slowly, torturously, he wandered back to her mouth, his arms wrapped possessively about her.

  He lifted her easily and laid her back on the bed. Her pulse raced wildly as she watched him remove his clothes. He pulled off his tunic and then his boots, drawing the dagger from its hidden sheath to lay it on the table beside her bed. It glinted dangerously, reviving awful memories of the night he rescued her.

  Eric reached over and rested a book of Greek plays atop the knife. With his knuckle, he turned her face away from the dagger and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Don’t think of it. ’Tis just a piece of steel.”

  His mouth settled persuasively over hers, driving away thoughts of anything but him. She watched in fascination as he unlaced his trews and dropped them on the floor.

  Even as he blanketed her body with his own, he nuzzled her throat in a tender motion. “If you’d have me stop, tell me now.”

  She replied with a hungry kiss, felt herself being swept away by the sensuous current flowing between them. Dipping his head to her breasts, he kissed the hollow between them. Then he turned to one, mouthing the inner curve as she tensed with anticipation.

  He took her breast, circled the taut tip with his tongue. As he continued his assault, Elisabeth dropped her head back, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She wasn’t aware of his hand at her hip until she felt his coercive stroke inside her thigh. Acquiescing to his touch, her legs fell open, and he cupped the mound of curls in his palm.

  With the practiced motion of a man well versed in the pleasure of women, he propelled her toward her peak, then released her, again and again until she knew she’d go mad if he did it just once more.

  Seeking a hold, she sank her fingers into the rumpled sheets. “Eric!”

  His powerful body slung between her thighs, his mouth came to hers. “Tell me, Lise,” he murmured between inciteful kisses. “What do you want?”

  “You, Eric. I want you.”

  In one long stroke he entered, sinking to the depths of her. The sudden connection to him was so strong, it stole her breath. At her gasp, he stilled.

  “I’ve hurt you.”

  “No, I swear it.” She reached to his hips, seeking to pull him even deeper. “Please, make love to me.”

  He took her plea into his mouth, each thrust rocking them in the most ancient rhythm. Swelling hard within her, he pressed on, driving them both far over the edge into oblivion.

  Still sheathed inside her, he rolled to his back and gazed up at her. With a lazy grin, he cradled her cheek in his hand. “Tell me you’re not a dream.”

  “I’m not a dream.” She kissed him, flashing a triumphant smile. “And I heard you call me ‘Lise.’”

  At his groan, she laughed and set out to prove to him just how real she was.

  ***

  ’Twas nearly dawn.

  Eric held a sleeping Elisabeth in his arms, but he’d been loathe to fall asleep himself and wake to find he’d imagined it all. Instead he watched as the waning fire lit her cheeks, infusing her features with a rosy glow. So trusting was she, curled against him, her head pillowed on his chest. She’d drifted off some time ago, after warming his heart with her lovely smile and a contented woman’s sigh.

  Soft waves of auburn hair spilled over his arm to the tangled linen sheets. The even rhythm of her breathing told him she slept peacefully, the accompanying beat of her heart antiphony to his own. Far from matching his height, yet her body meshed with his. Every hollow of his form found its completing swell in hers.

  So exquisitely perfect. So undeniably wrong.

  In the faint morning light, Eric stared at the elegant canopy covering the bed. It was an unmistakable reminder of who she was. Of who he was.

  He couldn’t allow a dalliance with him to destroy her future. Painful as it would be, he knew that he must leave Caileann a
nd find another place to make his life. Without her.

  As if she sensed his thoughts, she cuddled closer, her body caressing his as her lips parted into an inviting bow. Duty and lust swept through him like a storm, battling to determine which he would follow.

  Truly, he had no choice.

  Meaning to ease away from her, Eric moved his hands to her waist. When his fingers brushed the scar on his hip, he glanced to it. Then he looked again to be certain his eyes hadn’t deceived him.

  The crescent on his left hip aligned exactly with the one on Elisabeth’s right.

  Because of their vastly different heights, the marks would only pair if they lay as they were now. Or as they made love. Could there be a reason for it, or had whimsical chance marked them so?

  Eric’s mind reached for logic, though his instincts told him otherwise. Elisabeth stirred, greeting him with a dainty yawn.

  “Good morning, Eric.”

  “And to you. I trust you slept well.”

  “Mmm.” She reached behind her to pull the coverlet over them. Murmuring sleepily, she nuzzled his throat, kissed the underside of his jaw. Each touch aroused him more than the last, and Eric fought for control of his traitorous body.

  “I need to go, milady.”

  Lifting her head, she gave him a playful smile. “Milady? Last night, it was—”

  “I well know what I said,” he retorted impatiently. Did this headstrong woman never listen to reason? “Now I’m saying I must leave.”

  To his chagrin, she pushed to her knees and straddled him. With a wicked smile, she grasped his hands and pinned them to the pillows on either side of his head. “I think you should stay.”

  As she stroked along the hardening length of him, a ragged groan escaped his throat. “Stop.”

  He gritted the command through clenched jaws and forced himself from the enticing warmth of her bed. Sitting at the edge, he contemplated his clothes piled on the floor. Then he made the most foolish choice of his life.

  He looked back.

  Lying amidst the rumpled bedcovers, she regarded him with the expression of a woman accustomed to having her wishes granted. Though she didn’t speak, somehow she called to him.

  ’Twas a summons he hadn’t the strength to refuse.

  Chapter Eight

  It was a chilly day in early December, and Elisabeth could see that Christian was enjoying himself immensely before the fire in the hall. Holding her yarn while she wound it into balls seated him precisely where he most liked to be. With a clear view of the prettiest new servants.

  “That one,” he prompted, nodding to a maid with dark hair and sparkling brown eyes.

  “Charlotte. She claims The Bruce is her father.”

  “Canna prove it, though.”

  “Of course not, but she claims it, just the same.”

  He was quiet a while, then said, “You seem tired. What troubles you?”

  “Nothing. Is there another woman who interests you?”

  He nudged her slippered foot with his boot. “This one here. I miss her singing.”

  “’Tis unbecoming for a widow to do such frivolous things.”

  “Now I understand. My sprite is too serious to sing for me.”

  She couldn’t resist the old endearment, and a smile tugged at her lips. “Which song would you like to hear?”

  “Something Scottish. I grow weary of troubadours who know only English tunes.”

  When she finished, she expected a smile from her brother. Instead, he regarded her pensively.

  “Surely, ’twas not that bad,” she teased, coiling more yarn.

  “You love him.”

  “Who?”

  “You know bleeding well who. Eric.”

  Her mouth firmed, but she didn’t look up. “Would you like another song?”

  “I’d like for ye to answer my question.”

  “You’re making a wreck of this yarn.”

  Ignoring her complaint, he leaned forward and tipped her chin up with his finger. She glanced nervously about the hall.

  “No one’s listening, Lise. Now, tell me. Do ye love him?”

  The answer came on a sudden gust of wind. When she looked toward the doors, she felt her expression brighten at the sight of Eric entering the hall.

  “Come sit by the fire, Eric,” Christian invited, grinning as she dropped her yarn on the floor. “’Tis much drier here, and the view is a pleasant one.”

  “That it is, but I’ve much to do. I came in only for some dry boots.”

  “Take a pair of mine,” Christian offered, his eyes still on Elisabeth. “They’ll be tight but dry.”

  “Merci beaucoup. I’ll return them cleaned and oiled.”

  “A shame you’ll not receive them that way.”

  Chuckling, Eric bowed to them and hastened up the winding stairs. Once he was gone, Christian leaned toward her. “I’ve learned much about Eric since he’s been here. He doesn’t consider himself worthy of a woman such as you.”

  “He’s wrong.”

  “You know as well as I that any husband of yours must be a nobleman the king can trust to govern your holdings. They’re far too valuable to risk losing control of them now.”

  “I’ve done my duty and more,” she insisted. “If I marry again, ’twill be for love.”

  “Any man would love you.”

  “I want Eric.”

  “But ye canna have him!”

  Elisabeth stood and summoned the maid who’d caught his eye earlier. “Charlotte, would you come here a moment, please?” When the pretty girl joined them, Elisabeth went on. “Explain women to my brother, won’t you? It seems he has a great deal to learn.”

  With that, she patted his shoulder and left him to his lessons.

  ***

  “Sit.”

  Eric had accepted Christian’s invitation to his rooms, expecting a game of chess or some other form of amusement. He and the young lord had become friends of a sort, and he was unaccustomed to being ordered about as if he were a stable hand. Glaring back at him, Eric made to go, but Christian deftly blocked his retreat and pushed him into a chair.

  “I told ye to sit, and sit ye will.” Crossing his arms with a scowl, Christian paced before him, head swiveling so Eric never left his disapproving gaze. “What have ye done?”

  “You make no sense, Christian.”

  “Elisabeth should be seriously considering arrangements for her future. Instead, she has her head in the clouds, convinced she’s in love with you. Now, I’ll ask you once more.” Christian rested a boot on the seat between Eric’s thighs, his threat plain. “What have ye done?”

  Eric maintained a stubborn silence, and Christian strode to open the door of his chamber, clearly satisfied that he’d divined the solution to what troubled his sister. “You’ll go talk to her and untangle this mess.”

  “I can’t.”

  Those hazel eyes held no trace of their usual humor. Though not as imposing as Eric, when Christian drew himself up to a rigid stance, there was no mistaking which of them was the noble and which the peasant. “What did you say?”

  “I can’t untangle things. ’Tis far too late for that.”

  The youngest brother stared up at the beamed ceiling with a morose expression. The look he fixed on Eric was no lighter. “Are you in love with my sister?”

  Propriety demanded that he deny it, but his heart answered for him. “I am.”

  Christian breathed a curse and fell into a chair near the door, his look grim. “I bear the highest regard for you, but ye must know you’ve no hope of a union with Elisabeth.”

  “I do know it. She, however—”

  “Feisty, is she not?”

  “That she is.”

  Christian crossed his hands behind his head, eyes twinkling. “And you worried that Lydia would be a handful.”

  “Judging by your laziness this morning, she was.”

  “She begged me to invite you in here last night. It seems she fancies you, as well, and thought
to choose her favorite.”

  “Don’t be fooled. Her only thought was to entice you.”

  “Entice me, she did.” His friend chuckled quietly. “Not you, though, I see.”

  When Eric made no reply, Christian frowned. “I’ll not betray you, but Elisabeth will eventually be expected to marry. Are you prepared to let her go?”

  “I’ll stand aside when it’s time.”

  Chin in hand, Christian regarded him with a grave expression. “And then?”

  Eric rose and strode from the room, his heavy footsteps echoing along the corridor as he sought to escape from a question he had no answer for.

  ***

  “No,” Elisabeth pleaded, locking her arms about his waist. “Don’t go.”

  Still nestled inside her, Eric laughed quietly as he rolled to his back. “Do you ever wonder when I sleep?”

  “You slept last night.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I watched you. You look quite boyish while you’re sleeping.”

  He grinned. “I’ve not been a boy for a very long time.”

  “That I can believe.” A wicked thought tripped through her mind, and she smiled. “Who was she?”

  “I’d not discuss such things with a lady.”

  With that, he lifted her from his chest and pulled the bedcovers over her.

  She thrust the covers away. “I’m not cold.”

  “My intent isn’t to warm you.” He covered her and sat on the edge of her bed as he retrieved his tunic from the floor. “It’s to prevent me from climbing back in there with you.”

  She hung over his shoulder, teasing his skin with a shower of curls. “If I guess who she was, will you tell me if I’m right?”

  “No.” He shook her off to don his shirt but gave in to a smile. “You’re in fine spirits this morn.”

  “A night with you always leaves me in fine spirits.”

  Chuckling, he stood and pulled on his trews. “Strange. A night with you always leaves me exhausted.”

  Grasping the hem of his shirt, she tugged him back toward her bed. “If you stay, I promise to let you sleep.”