by Tarah Scott
When the sheriff finally knocked on Riana’s door she would be miles away, riding in the opposite direction to the one Siusan and Glen travelled. Even if they captured Riana, she would return to face charges of murder only to find the victim alive and well, with no ill after effects of the cantarella she’d used in place of the arsenic the duchess had given her.
Air wafted across Riana’s arms. Gooseflesh zipped up her arms. The knight must have lifted the curtain on the left side of the bed. A moment of silence passed before the bed shifted as he lowered himself onto the mattress beside her. He tugged the covers upwards and she tried to quiet the rampant beat of her heart when the cool linen settled back into place. Warmth radiated from him and her stomach clenched in anticipation of the weight of his large body pressing down on her. Instead, a feather-light caress wound circles down her left arm.
She shivered. He shifted and warm breath bathed her ear, then teeth gently bit down on her ear lobe. Moist lips trailed from cheek to mouth. He shifted and something brushed across her breasts. She jumped before realising he had braced an arm on the other side of her. He paused and lifted his mouth from hers. When she didn't move, he seemed satisfied and again covered her mouth with his. His tongue flicked against her lips and she opened for him.
He swept his tongue inside and Riana was surprised at the sweet taste of his breath. Too many of the men the duchess sent to her tasted of the foul world from which they came. But this man tasted of brandy and cinnamon. He must have partaken of Cook’s famous cinnamon buns. His tongue thrust in quick bursts and she wondered what that tongue would feel like on the sensitive nub between her legs. Riana jerked from the thought. How could she feel desire for a man such as Sir Dunbar…and only minutes after picturing Stuart’s face?
The knight broke the kiss and his mouth began a slow, moist slide down her jaw, neck, to the swell of her breast. When he closed his mouth around a nipple through the thin linen of the sheet, pleasure streaked through her. She gasped.
He lifted up. “I would prefer to see your beautiful eyes.”
A masculine voice, deep, rich—and not Sir Dunbar’s—caused her eyes to snap open. She gaped at the face before her. Instead of the brown eyes she had expected, emerald green eyes stared down at her.
Sir Bryant Cullen.
Her heart leapt into a furious rhythm. What was he doing here? Had the duchess changed her mind? Was it Sir Bryant she now wished murdered? No, that didn’t make sense. Yet he was here. Her mind whirled with questions. What was she supposed to do with the man? She’d seen him in the great hall, his massive body dwarfing even Sir Dunbar’s. He stood over two metres tall, and outweighed the older knight by at least three stone. Her pulse skittered at the memory of when he turned in her direction and their eyes met. She was accustomed to lust, but Sir Bryant’s expression had been one of curiosity—male curiosity, to be sure, but not the lewd lust she usually saw. That same look glinted in his eyes now.
His brows rose. “First you keep your eyes firmly shut, then you stare. Which is it to be, Lady?”
She startled at the word Lady spoken as if he truly meant the respect, as if she wasn't lying in his bed naked, a stranger to him.
A corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “So it is to be a stare, then?”
His deep voice, rich with amusement, befuddled her. She opened her mouth to reply, but her voice failed her.
“Surely you can speak?” he said.
She nodded, then realised the absurdity of the response and stilled.
He propped himself up on an elbow. “Forgive me, Lady, but to what do I owe the honour of this…visit?”
Her mind froze. How should she answer? Fear rammed through her. What would the duchess do now that her plans had gone awry? Had she left her seat behind the painting? When Sir Bryant had entered, Riana had closed her eyes and so been unaware he was the wrong man. The duchess might already be back in the great hall, looking for the older knight.
Calm yourself, she mentally ordered. Anger or no anger, Her Grace would not so readily give up her anticipated night of debauchery, particularly if she had company with her behind the picture.
“Not that I’m a man to complain.” Sir Bryant brushed her cheek with a finger. “What man would not be pleased to find you in his bed?”
Something in his tone snagged her attention. Of course, he knew who—what—she was. Every man who entered Arundel knew.
“There is no need for you to sacrifice yourself to me,” he said.
Riana blinked. Was he refusing her? Mayhap he despised whores. Ridiculous. What man didn’t take a whore when the need arose? But a tavern wench was different than a Lady who allowed her body to be a tool. He shifted and she realised he was rising. Panic bubbled over. She seized his arm. He paused and looked at her. She shook her head.
His gaze sharpened. “Do not—”
She tugged the sheet from her breasts. He dropped his gaze, and her nipples puckered. He shifted his eyes back to her face and she stilled. There was no mistaking the desire that darkened his eyes, but why the anger that was just as obvious? Her heart beat faster. Whatever his mood, she must make him want her. Her plans were in a shambles. How long did Glen and Siusan have? Not all night as she’d planned, but at least the time she kept the knight in her bed. Riana cupped the back of his neck and drew him to her mouth. He stopped a hair’s breadth from her lips, eyes locked with hers. His eyes narrowed.
Did he not like women? No. The way he had sucked her breast told her he had no need for another man’s cock in his arse. What had changed? She lifted her face and brushed her lips against his. His full mouth covered hers without hesitation. Relief flooded her, and she arched so that her nipples tickled his muscled chest. The tips hardened and Riana undulated them in a circle against his smooth flesh.
She slid a hand beneath the sheet and relief intensified when her fingers made contact with his engorged cock. He jerked back, eyes blazing, and she couldn’t halt the recoil that pressed her into the mattress. What was wrong? No man whose cock grew to such a length didn’t want the woman lying beneath him.
“I have displeased you?” she whispered.
“I have never taken a woman who didn’t come to me of her own free will,” he replied.
Riana stared. No man turned away a naked woman in his bed. No man gave a damn whether the woman was there willingly or not.
But a little voice inside asked, Wouldn’t Stuart have cared?
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About the Author
Tarah Scott
Award winning author Tarah Scott cut her teeth on books such as The Bobbsey Twins (yes, she is dating herself!) Nancy Drew, Aesop’s Fables, The Arabian Knights, and Grimms Fairy Tales. Authors such as Georgette Heyer, Zane Grey, and Mark Twain filled her teenage years. Her favourite book is a Tale of Two Cities, with Gone With the Wind as a close second. Favourite modern authors are Stephen King, Anne Rice, Amanda Quick, and Johanna Lindsey.
Born in New Mexico, Tarah grew up in the Southwest. Fifteen years ago, she relocated to Westchester County, New York, where she and her daughter reside in a lakeside community. When not working, writing, or reading—who are we kidding? She’s always working, writing, or reading. Oh! There is her daughter. They do manage to spend a lot of time together.
Email: [email protected]
KyAnn Waters
KyAnn Waters lives in Utah with her husband, two children, and two dogs. She spends her days writing and her evenings with her family. She enjoys sporting events on the television, thrillers on the big screen, and hot scenes between the pages of her books.
Email: [email protected]
Also by Tarah Scott
A Knight of Passion
Hawk and the Cougar
Also by KyAnn Waters
Bent For His Will
Tarah and KyAnn loves to hear from readers. You can find their contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
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