“I. . .” Flushed with embarrassment, Kirsten didn’t know what to say. She was startlingly aware of how her body had come alive, responding to Richard’s look . . . his approach. “I have to go!”
“No!” He stepped forward and then checked himself when she stopped.
“Kirsten,” he said, his eyes glowing, “come here.”
Chapter Five
“You look well, mynheer.” Kirsten wasn’t surprised that her voice quivered; every nerve ending in her body hummed and trilled with life.
Richard laughed, the husky resonance vibrating in the distance between them. “I thought you weren’t coming.” He looked amused. “If I’d known . . .”
“I suspect you would have gone to greater lengths to shock me.”
“Is that what I’ve done?” He gestured toward his naked body. “Shocked you?”
Kirsten’s face flamed. “No. I’m a farm girl. I’ve seen too much of life.”
“Oh?” A gleam came to Richard’s gaze. He came toward her then with a look of intent.
“Stay back!” She panicked. She should have gone home! Hadn’t she sensed a strange, new tension in the air this night? Why hadn’t she listened to her own instincts? Why was her heart racing? Even as she acknowledged the danger of being near him, Kirsten felt a shiver of excitement shudder along her spine.
In several long strides, Richard was near enough for her to feel the cool dampness radiating from his wet skin.
“How are you feeling?” she asked. Oh, God! she thought. Don’t let me make a fool of myself!
“Right now?” He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Right now I’m feeling fine . . . mighty fine.”
“Richard—” She raised a hand to fend him off when he reached for her, gasping when she encountered the moist sleekness of his bare chest. Her fingers withdrew as if burnt, but his large hand caught hold of her wrist, placing her palm back on the damp skin.
“Say my name again,” he prompted, pushing back the sleeves of her dressing gown with his hands.
“Richard,” she repeated.
He smiled, enjoying the way she pronounced his name with the ch sounding like a k. Ric-kard. He studied her, marveling that she was here before him now, as if conjured from his dreams. She looked the picture of innocence and earthiness, seductive and alluring in her flowing robe. Her hair was loose, and the silver blond strands that fell to her shoulders caught fire beneath the glow of the lantern. Her skin looked dewy, her lips moist. Her blue eyes shimmered and grew round.
Richard couldn’t stop himself from sliding one hand beneath her platinum tresses, from caressing the damp flesh at her neck. Her mouth opened, and the sight of her pink tongue between her open teeth made him moan softly.
She was so lovely! It took a great deal of his self-control to go slowly with her . . . carefully. He wanted to devour those pink lips, to bury himself in her silken body. She seemed to embody all that was innocent, good, and alive. A night in her arms would be heaven, banishing for a time his private hell.
He slipped an arm around her, impelling her against him with the hand at her nape, then lowered his head with lips parted, eager to capture her sweet mouth. She was so young. Too young, an inner voice cautioned. Ah, but she was all woman!
Richard felt her stiffen as the soft swells of her breasts pressed against his own hardness. He touched his mouth lightly to her lips. To his delight, Kirsten responded, melting against him, whimpering, her arms lifting to embrace him. He drank from her lips, sipping deeply of the honey inside. The taste of her was sweet. He’d been longing to kiss her again since that first day’s brief, unsatisfying encounter. The reality of this experience far exceeded his expectations.
With his strong arms around her, Kirsten was unafraid to return Richard’s kiss. Her robe was moist from his skin, the wet linen merely a thin film between male and female. She gasped as his mouth trailed hotly from her lips down her neck, nuzzling beneath the dressing-gown collar. Her hands fluttered against his back, and she arched her neck, encouraging him to explore her throat.
Richard’s head lifted, and she felt his fingers on the buttons of her robe.
“Kirsten,” he whispered. “I want to look at you.”
She hesitated for only a second. “Yes . . .”
He made quick work of the precious buttons, parting the fabric and pushing the garment off her shoulders. As the robe fell to the ground, Kirsten experienced, for the first time, the excitement of having a man’s admiring glance on her naked body. The knowledge that Richard found her pleasing to look at made her feel heady.
“Oh, Kirsten . . .” He cupped one of her breasts, worrying the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “My angel . . . you’re lovely . . . so beautiful . . .”
She was jolted by sensation as his lips encircled a tiny nub. She gasped, feeling all gushy inside, then sighed with pleasure when Richard’s tongue laved her nipple before his mouth slid over to enjoy its twin.
“Richard . . .”
His head lifted from her breast. “Sh-h-h . . .”
He brought his finger up to stroke her bottom lip before he dipped inside to brush the digit across her teeth. Richard’s eyes glowed with desire as he paid homage to the interior of her mouth.
Their eyes met as he trailed his hand along her jaw down her throat to recapture her breast, and his gaze held hers captive. Kirsten moaned, enjoying the magic of his touch.
Soon, a strange ache invaded her lower body. When Richard nudged her legs apart with his thigh, she accommodated him. The brush of his knees at the apex of her desire made her cry out and clutch at his shoulders. She felt she was drowning in a tide of sensuality.
The two clung in passionate entreaty, searching for that moment of sweet freedom. Lips met, opened; tongues thrust in desperation; teeth nipped lovingly.
As he lowered Kirsten to the ground, the wound in Richard’s thigh throbbed, but he ignored the pain. The ache in his loins was far greater, and he sought relief from it with the woman in his arms.
Her eyes appeared round and trusting as he lowered himself on top of her. She felt so soft, her curves conforming to his maleness perfectly. He kissed the line of her throat, pleased when she opened her legs as if requesting that he further the intimacy. With a deep moan, Richard probed her feminine petals with the tip of his desire, until Kirsten cried out with denial and pushed him away.
“Kirsten?” The haze of ecstasy was receding from his brain. He cursed beneath his breath as he braced himself above her, wincing when the wound in his arm gave him pain.
Richard focused on the woman beneath him and was taken aback by the film of tears in her blue eyes. “Kirsten?”
She blinked, and he groaned with frustration. Carefully, he eased away from her and rose to his feet.
“Are you all right?” He extended a hand, aware of the hard pulsating core of him that still felt desire. He knew he’d been playing with the forbidden, but for God to have chosen to remind him in this way! He gritted his teeth as she accepted his hand, avoiding her glance as he helped her upright.
“I think I’m cut,” she said.
He looked at her then, surprised. “Cut?” he echoed.
She gave him a weak smile. “The ground . . .”
Richard muttered a harsh oath. “Let me see.” His breath hissed from his lips when he saw the small puncture wound below her right shoulder blade. He felt guilty, as if he were no better than a rutting animal. Good God, anyone could have happened by!
He found the culprit after a thorough check of the ground—a small iron nail protruding from a piece of wooden floorboard. He glanced at her with concern, pleased when she smiled in reassurance, secretly glad that her cry to stop had had nothing to do with the fear of making love.
“We’d best see it cleaned,” he said, referring to her wound. “Come to the stream, and I’ll wash it for you.” He took her gently by the shoulder, though he wanted nothing more than to drag her back into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” she sai
d as she allowed him to seat her on a rock near the water’s edge.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he replied gruffly. Reality had hit him hard, sobering his passion-clouded brain. He had no right to touch her. How could he have forgotten the situation he was in—this blasted war? He couldn’t afford to become involved with anyone.
Startled by the sudden change in Richard’s behavior, Kirsten gaped at him. He’d been so loving. . . so warm, but then . . . Had she somehow offended him? She knew nothing of a man’s desire.
Kirsten watched wistfully while he retrieved her robe and thrust it in her direction with the words. “Cover yourself!”
Hurt, she blinked and turned away, clutching the dressing gown to her bare breasts.
Richard placed his hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “It’s not what you think. Please try to understand.”
“Understand what?” she replied, stung.
He sighed, closing his eyes. “It’s too complicated to explain, little one, so I won’t try.” There was something in his eyes that tugged at her heart strings.
“Richard . . .”
He cleared his throat. “Show me your back and hold still, Kirsten, while I wash your cut.” He dabbed at her cut with the moistened hem of the shirt she’d procured for him.
The wound throbbed, and Kirsten flinched. Richard apologized huskily for hurting her. He rinsed the shirt and bathed her entire back.
“All done,” he pronounced. Then, he surprised her by placing a kiss between her shoulder blades.
“Thank you.” She blushed as she turned to face him.
Richard watched, intrigued by the movement of her lashes which flickered against her cheeks. His gaze went to her lips, and he felt a jolt of renewed desire.
“You’d best get home,” he said.
“Yes, I suppose I should,” she said. But she seemed reluctant to leave.
The imprint of her skin still tingled on his lips as she donned her gown and fumbled to redo the buttons.
“Here . . . let me help you.” His tone was whisper-soft.
She glanced up, swallowing, and nodded. He hurried to fasten the robe, conscious of the urge to take her. His desire for her was still strong.
“Good night,” she said when he had finished.
He bowed his head. “Good night,” he echoed.
Once she had disappeared from sight, Richard picked up his breeches and began to dress. Sleep, he thought, would be a long time coming.
Once out of Richard’s sight, Kirsten ran, heedless of her bare feet, her only thought to escape Richard and her tumultuous feelings for him. She was confused. The passion tightening her womb had been new and frightening to her.
It had felt so good being in his arms, knowing the magic caress of his lips. But it was wrong, she thought.
He was a stranger, after all . . . or was he?
She paused for a brief rest, gasping for breath. She was at the edge of the field not far from the mill. Here, out from under Richard’s gaze, she allowed the tears that she’d held in check to fall freely. I care for him . . . what am I going to do?
Kirsten was mortified. What must he be thinking? She had offered herself like a wanton tavern wench, curling against him, purring like a kitten being stroked. The urge to return and demand an explanation for his behavior was great. The cut on her back hurt little compared to the strange ache inside her heart.
Straightening, Kirsten looked back down the path to the ruin. She shuddered pleasurably, remembering. On her breasts, Richard’s hands had been large but, oh, so gentle! Her fingers rose to encircle a nipple, and her breath caught with the memory of his caress. That secret place between her legs grew damp, and her eyes closed as she imagined the feel of his intimate touch.
What she wanted of him, Kirsten didn’t know. She was aware, though, that her body cried out for something only Richard could give her.
She was headed back toward the mill when a low feral growl froze her in her tracks. The hairs at the back of her neck rose as the rumble came again from behind her, loud and near. She turned slowly and saw two eyes beaming at her from the shelter of the woodland. There was a flash of white teeth as the animal snarled at her.
Kirsten feared she was in trouble.
Would the creature attack? Or would it tire of the game and run away? She waited, terrified, wishing she were back at the mill. Oh, Richard! she thought. If she were lying beneath him, she wouldn’t now be in danger from this wild animal.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the beast moved forward into the moonlight. It was the Vandervelts’ old farm dog, ordinarily a harmless canine.
“Koolsla!” she called to him, extending a friendly hand. Named after the cabbage dish he’d been found eating as a young pup, he was a mangy-looking mutt with big eyes. She beckoned him again, but the dog’s back bristled menacingly.
“Koolsla! Go home, boy. Go home! It’s Kirsten. Remember me? I won’t hurt you.”
The canine inched closer and growled, baring his teeth.
“Don’t move, love,” A familiar voice whispered. “The poor thing’s hurt. There’s no reasoning with a wounded animal.”
“Richard!” she breathed and started to turn.
“I said, ‘Don’t move!’”
She froze, feeling the force of his anger hit her in thick, taut waves.
When Richard spoke again, his tone had softened. “Now, I want you to listen and obey me. No-no, love, don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you.”
Kirsten sensed when he moved; she saw him from the corner of her eye.
“I’m going to attract his attention.”
“No!” She swung to him and then back to the animal, freezing when the dog began barking wildly.
“For God’s sake, stay still or you’ll get us both killed!”
“I’m sor—”
“Sh-h!”
Tears welled in her eyes. Richard was in danger because of her!
“Koolsla!” He tossed a rock toward the animal, and to Kirsten’s surprise, the dog bolted in the opposite direction.
“Is it safe?” she whispered.
“For now.” Richard moved up behind her and placed his hands on her trembling shoulders. She gasped as she was spun around. “God, woman,” he rasped, “you scared the hell out of me! Don’t you know enough not to tangle with a hurt and overexcited animal?”
An injured creature like you? she wondered. She should have known better, but she’d been careless, preoccupied with the memory of his kiss, his touch. She stifled the urge to clutch him tightly and beg him to love her.
A sudden fierce trembling seized her; and with a mild oath, Richard pulled her into his arms. She must have cried out, because he held her away. He could’ve been killed! Kirsten thought with horror.
“Oh, God, don’t cry, sweetheart.” He drew her against him. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, but I was frightened.”
“And I—I—wasn’t?” His tenderness was her undoing. She sobbed harder into his chest, and he cupped the back of her head with his hand, stroking her hair.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “It’s over, and you’re safe.”
Her body shook as she cried. What was the matter with her? She was not one given to crying, and certainly never one to carry on so!
Finally Richard released her and raised her chin with a finger. His gaze caressed her face before he kissed her deeply.
Moaning, she responded passionately, fusing herself into his length.
Suddenly Richard stiffened. “No!” He thrust her away, his expression tortured. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fighting myself, not you! We cannot get involved. There’s this bloody war!”
She gaped at him, stunned. Then the pain eased with understanding. Richard wanted her, but was afraid! Afraid the pain would be unbearable if they became lovers only to have the war tear them apart.
She backed away from him, nodding in quiet agreement, but determined to love him at all costs.
He reached for her, his expression torn. “Kirsten, please try to understand—”
“I do understand.” Her lips quivered as she tried to smile. “I have to get home.” She hesitated. “Are you all right?”
To her relief, he nodded. In the horror of her encounter with the dog, she’d forgotten his injured thigh. He’d come a long way from the ruin; he must be in pain.
She eyed him with concern. “Your leg . . .”
“It’s all right. I’ve been exercising it some each night.”
She knew a sudden stab of alarm. “You’re getting ready to leave?”
“Not yet.” But the look in his eyes said, “Soon.”
She bit her lip. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
He inclined his head.
“Good night, Richard,” she said softly. “And thank you. I don’t know what I would have done—”
“I’m only returning the favor,” he replied, his voice sounding harsh. Then, he turned and walked away, taking the evening’s magic with him.
Chapter Six
A summer shower fell on the Dutch village of Hoppertown, bringing the inhabitants relief from the heat. Kirsten stood at her bedchamber window, watching the rain as it saturated the earth, listening to it beating against the gambrel roof.
The yard below was awash with color, the June blooms in her mother’s flower beds a riot of glorious hues. She found no comfort in the beauty outside; her thoughts were with Richard.
What am I to do? I’ve become obsessed with a man who’ll be leaving soon, a stranger I’ll never see again. Despite reason, she couldn’t ignore her feelings for him. I’ll never forget him . . . never.
Love? Was that having your stomach full of butterflies? An ache she couldn’t name? She could understand his position. He had a war to fight; she’d just be a distraction in the bloody scheme of things. But, how could they deny what was so evident, this powerful attraction?
Richard said they couldn’t become involved. Kirsten knew he was fooling himself. The glow in his russet eyes when he looked at her, the way his body hardened whenever she touched him, spoke the truth. It was too late—they were already physically and emotionally bound to each other.
Rapture's Betrayal Page 5
