It was Connor's turn to shiver. The tremors rocked through his body, starting on the inside and working their way out. He would have liked to blame the shiver on the cold night air, but knew damn well it would be a lie. Had the flesh on the side of his neck ever been so sensitive? Not that he could recall.
It wasn't until he felt her fumbling at the waist of his kilt that Connor slipped his hand from beneath her. His palm slipped over the generous curve of her hip, brushing her own hands aside.
"Nay, firebrand," he murmured against the side of her head. "Not yet."
He captured her wrists and dragged them up over her head. The brittle end of a twig scraped the back of his knuckles as he pinned those wrists in one fist. It was a double-edged form of torture, Connor realized too late. The gesture made her breasts push up into his chest more fully, until he couldn't help but be excruciatingly aware of every voluptuous inch of their firmness.
His free hand shifted to where his mind had locked, and locked hard. He'd been in the process of inhaling; his breath caught in the throat she continued to nibble as his open hand settled over one plentiful breast.
Her nipple had begun to soften. He felt it grow instantly rigid beneath his palm. As much as the weight of him atop her would allow, she arched up into the touch. A sound that was one part moan, one part whimper, skimmed past her lips.
Anchoring his weight on the elbows flanking her ribs, Connor levered himself up a fraction. Not far, yet enough to allow him to gaze down into dark green eyes that were glassy and heavy-lidded. The color in her cheeks was high, awash with a telltale peachy flush. Her lips were parted, the rosy skin there damp and still a wee bit swollen from his kiss.
"Tell me, lass," Connor said, his voice low and controlled, revealing nothing of the anticipation that raced through him as he wondered what her reaction to his words would be, "is the idea of becoming my bride, of spending the rest of yer nights entwined with me thus, truly so unappealing to ye?"
A frown flickered over Gabrielle's brow. Good heavens, why would he ask such a thing? Could he not tell from her lusty response that she found his touch anything but unappealing? She shook her head. "Nay, m' lord, not unappealing," she murmured, and again arched so that her breast pushed fully into his hand, as though to prove the sincerity of her words. "Not unappealing at all."
"Yet still ye resist the idea of wedding me?"
"I'll admit I'm not as opposed to the idea as I once was." Gabrielle blushed and glanced quickly away when he grinned down at her.
Connor's hand shifted. Through the thin cloth of her tunic, he circled her passion-hard nipple with the edge of his thumbnail. "Then ye've no objection to me doing this... tonight and all the nights after?"
Gabrielle lifted her chin, luxuriating in the sizzling bolt of sensation that shot through her. "Nay," she whispered hoarsely. Her voice, she noticed as though from a distance, sounded oddly low and rough. "No objection at all."
"Or this?" he asked as his hand strayed downward. Gathering the folds of her shirt in his fist, he dragged it upward. The cloth bunched around her middle, just beneath her breasts. His hand snuck beneath. "Still no objection, lass?"
The tip of his index finger dipped into her navel, circled, then slowly, slowly, began a breathtaking ascent. His bare hand cupped her aching flesh as a sort of pleasure-pain sizzled through her.
"None," Gabrielle rasped breathlessly.
"And now?" he asked as he caught her nipple between his index finger and thumb and gently rolled it back and forth.
She clenched her teeth together hard, completely without words. She knew she wouldn't have been able to utter a syllable even if she could think of anything to say. Lucid thought was beyond her right now. It simply wasn't possible to think of anything beyond Connor Douglas's rough caress, beyond the hard warmth of his body pressing her down upon the ground.
He scoured her nipple with his battle-calloused palm.
Her back came up off the forest floor. A moan, breathless and husky and fervent beyond reason, rushed past her lips. She turned her head, trying to bury the sound in her throat, but already it was too late. Worse, she was beyond caring. While the knowledge that her response was wanton in the extreme played in a small corner of her mind, the knowledge that she wouldn't stop him for the world so long as he continued to make her feel so magnificent was stronger still.
Oh, nay. She wasn't so fickle or so short of memory that she'd forgotten last night. It was a memory that would follow her to the grave!
The fact of the matter remained that it was their lovemaking that had decided her fate. What good would resisting Connor now do, aside prove that she could? And even then, to what end? What could she possibly hope to gain but leave them both filled with frustrated desire and sharp longing? The damage, after all, was done. It had been done last night and, truth to tell, Gabrielle doubted if, even given the impossible chance, she would change it now if she could.
Body and soul.
The words echoed through her mind.
Last night Connor Douglas had claimed her as his own, body and soul, and she'd given herself, all of herself, to him freely.
The balladeers may have labeled this man a devil, but he made love like an angel. One kiss, one touch, and her senses soared until she could think of naught but the here and now, of forgetting who he was, who she was, and of only laying in his arms...
Ah, yes, forever.
How could she think of aught else when he held her this way, caressing her just so, his touch lingering, teasing, promising still more intimacy. He'd learned her body well, as though he'd mapped her curves and valleys and now knew them equally, if not better, than he knew the craggy landscape beyond the night-inkened forest. His hands were sure and skillful; he knew the exact spots to stroke, the exact pressure to apply, for her ultimate pleasure. Effortlessly, he aroused within her a deluge of white-hot tumultuous sensations... sensations that until last night, were beyond anything she'd imagined, unlike anything she'd dared to dream existed.
His hand left her. A slice of disappointment stabbed through her. Cool night air washed over her passion-fevered skin. The chill lasted but a second; Connor's fingers were soon replaced by the delicious, moist heat of his mouth.
Gabrielle sucked in a ragged gasp. Her body shuddered violently. Her lashes flickered down. Fingers convulsing reflexively, she gripped his sinewy upper arms, clinging to him blindly. Her back arched as she strained up, up, up into the intimacy that made her body melt and her thoughts scatter.
Or was it the feel of his open mouth covering her nipple—the sizzlingly erotic pressure he applied as he suckled the sensitive bead of flesh into his mouth, circled it with his tongue, teased it with his teeth—that made her senses spin?
...ye've no objection to me doing this... tonight and all the nights after?
The words tumbled through her desire-fogged mind. She'd meant every word she'd said; she truly had no objection. What Gabrielle hadn't said, what she indeed had trouble acknowledging even to herself, was that she could not in her wildest dreams imagine another man touching her the way Connor Douglas did. She didn't even want to imagine it.
The last time she'd felt desire build inside her like this she hadn't known the emotion, had been so stunned by the force of it she'd been frightened. She knew what it was now, knew the throbbing ache deep inside her was nothing to be afraid of, that Connor would know exactly how to ease it, and when he did, she'd experience sensations equal to none.
Gabrielle wanted to feel those sensations again. She wanted to feel them again now, with an intensity that knocked the very breath from her.
Her hands slipped up his thickly muscled arms, over the broad width of his shoulders. He tensed beneath her touch as she stroked a sizzling path down his back. Her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists as he tugged at the coarse material of her tunic.
Gabrielle aided him to pull the garment up over her head by shifting her weight from one arm to the other. She tossed it aside, her hands once ag
ain hungrily caressing his back and waist before the cloth could flutter to the ground.
He lowered himself atop her.
Gabrielle pulled in a shaky breath and released it in a long, slow, gratifying sigh. Ah, yes, this was what she'd wanted, this was exactly the feeling she'd been searching for. His bare flesh against hers was shockingly wonderful. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pushed up against him, wriggled, luxuriated in the unique feel of his hot, naked skin rubbing against hers.
The throbbing between her legs magnified, piercing her to the core, then quickly whirlwinding throughout the rest of her body. Need built, focused. Tunneled down to an all-consuming, driving ache that begged satisfactionqw.
She whimpered softly when his mouth left her breast. He shifted attention, sipping at the full undercurve, dipping lower.
Lower.
Lower still.
His teeth nibbled the soft skin of her stomach. Hot and wet, his tongue circled the nook of her navel. Her fingers curled inward, the nails raking the tender flesh on his back as his mouth slipped lower still.
Gabrielle stilled, and her breath wedged painfully in her throat when she felt first his chin, then lips, graze the triangular nest of thick, silky black curls between her legs. The muscles in her arms and legs pulled taut with anticipation as he eased her thighs open.
His attention traveled slowly up the soft, lush, naked length of her body.
Her attention started downward.
Their gazes met and held for one throbbing heartbeat.
"Wh-what are you doin—?"
His head dipped, and suddenly Gabrielle had no breath with which to finish the question.
The first stroke of his tongue was intimate and quick; the contact surged through her like a bolt of lightning. Her hands were on his shoulders; they lifted, her fingers curling around handfuls of his thick black hair. She'd thought the feel of his breath arousing as it wafted over her naked belly, yet the sensation was nothing compared to the feel of where his breath caressed her now.
She moaned, low and deep. Her hips came up off the ground.
Seizing the advantage, Connor slipped his hands beneath her, his palms cupping her bottom, his strong fingers kneading her pliant softness as he levered her up.
The strokes of his tongue became longer, fast, bolder.
"Dear God," Gabrielle rasped, her lower body moving in time to the rhythm his devouring mouth set.
It was happening too fast. Gabrielle longed somehow to slow down the frenzied pace of their lovemaking, to prolong and to enjoy to its sweet fullness each fiery sensation. Yet the exquisite things Connor was doing to her with his mouth and hands prevented that. His darting tongue was persistent, driving her insane, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.
Like a fragilely built dam threatened by a tumultuous flood, weakened and ready to explode, the now familiar feelings quickened in Gabrielle's loins, hot and insistent, demanding a natural, breathless culmination. She tried to resist, tried to hold back, tried to make the moment last, but it was no use. She might as well try to make her heart stop pounding, she'd have equally as much luck. In mere seconds, the tidal wave was upon her.
"Connor!" Gabrielle cried out as the pleasure overtook her, spasmodic surges of release washing all through her body, tightening her muscles in pulsating tides that carried her under and away on the deep, blissful undertow of raw sensation.
Connor gritted his teeth. With effort he trapped a rough groan in his throat. Her knees were bent, and the inside of her thighs cupped his ears, blotting out the sounds of the night blotting out everything except the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.
The oh so sweet smell of her, the potently unique taste of her, the moist feminine heat of her surrounded him, engulfed him, threatened to drown him. His resilience was tested in a nerve-shattering way it had never been tested before. His scalp burned from the way she tightly fisted his hair, holding his mouth to her as though afraid he would divert his attention elsewhere. The sensation served to heighten his desire. It was all he could do not to surrender to the urge to cover her body with his, to thrust himself inside her, possess her.
And then, over the din of his heartbeat echoing in his ears, he heard her call out his name and his mouth and tongue felt her body convulse with the first spasms of release... and he knew he could not hold back a second longer.
Lowering her writhing hips to the ground, he eased his body on top of hers. The tip of his hard, throbbing shaft did not have to search long before finding its mark.
As one, their hips pushed forward simultaneously. A shudder rippled through Connor when he felt himself gloved by her gloriously tight, wet heat.
He stilled instantly, suddenly afraid to move. He wanted the moment to last for an eternity, yet if he moved now, it would be to plunge into that abyss of fulfillment. Dear God, nay, not yet!
Again, one palm slipped under her bottom, only this time it was to hold her to him as his other hand cradled the small of her back. He shifted, rolled, until it was he whose back was cradled against the leaf-strewn forest floor.
Her legs straddled his hips. Her full, ripe breasts were plastered to his chest; he was aware of every voluptuous curve of her. How could he not be? His fingers trembled as one of his hands slipped downward, the other up. Cradling the sides of her hips, he used his thumbs to lever her up until she sat atop him.
As he watched, her lips parted in an unspoken "Oh!" Her lashes flickered upward, her green eyes narrow and dazed with passion as her gaze met and held his.
Slowly, slowly, he guided her hips forward and back, lifted her gently, then pulled her down on top of him with a wee bit more force. She was an apt pupil; she learned the rhythm well and quickly put it to use by increasing the speed and variance to a dizzying pitch.
Connor swallowed hard. Had he really thought this position would delay his own release? More the fool he; he should have known better. Not only did it increase his own pleasure, but rekindled hers as well. Gabrielle had soon set a pace that had him gritting his teeth against the flood of sensations that rushed through him.
A fine sweat beaded on his brow and upper lip. More moistened the thatch of hair pelting his chest. His hips rose when hers came down, and he buried himself inside her as deeply as he could go.
Again.
And again.
And again.
One of them groaned, the sound deep and feral. Connor thought the sound came from himself, but truth to tell he had no time to analyze its whereabouts.
His skin tingled as her hands swept over his chest, down his arms. Her fingers opened, entwining with his as she moved frantically atop him.
The fringe of her long inky hair tickled his upper thighs as she tossed her head back, exposing the creamy expanse of her neck. Her breathing came hard and fast, the ragged give and take matched by his own as he again felt the ripples deep inside her that signaled another, stronger release.
She moaned something, the words slurred and her English accent so thick as to make them momentarily unintelligible.
He was lost. His fingers gripped her hips, pulling her down on top of him, guiding her hips in breath-snatching circles as he arched up into her, finally allowing himself to surrender to his own hot surge of completion.
The contractions went on and on, longer than he could remember them ever lasting before. They drained him dry, leaving him weak and depleted, as though he'd spilled not only his seed into her, but his very lifeforce.
Weakly, Gabrielle collapsed atop him.
And then Connor found himself again doing something he'd never done with a woman before.
He wrapped his arms about her and, cradling her close, their bodies still intimately joined, he eased them onto their sides, facing each other. Her right leg draped his naked hip, her hand rode the slight indentation of his waist. At another time, he might have found the gesture one of entrapment. Now, he did not.
Her head nestled perfectly in the crook that nature
had carved between his neck and shoulder. Dark, fragrant curls teased his neck, their texture and scent a cool, soothing balm to his passion-burnt nerves. Breathing a sigh of raw contentment, he let his eyes flicker shut.
Connor knew the exact moment she fell asleep. It was the instant when her choppy breathing leveled out, when the muscles beneath his palms loosened. Although their lovemaking had left him equally depleted and drowsy, it took much longer for him to surrender to the heavy tug of sleep.
Instead, his mind played over and over the words Gabrielle had murmured at the moment of her release. Without passion driving him hard, blotting out everything else, he could now remember and understand exactly what it was she'd said.
She'd whispered huskily, "Connor, I love you..."
The words both shocked Connor to the core, and pleased him immensely. A strong surge of... something sparked in his blood, a need to shelter and protect that, oddly enough, did not stem from physical desire, but from something infinitely stronger and more enduring.
By her own uncoerced admission, Gabrielle Carelton had lost her heart to him.
And, sweet Jesus, but that changed everything!
Chapter 14
"He was looking at ye again, lass," Ella said as she sidled her mare up close to Gabrielle's. "Should I ask what transpired between ye last night when ye both left camp? Or do I already ken the answer?"
Gabrielle's attention had been focused on the craggy ground that passed beneath her mare's hooves. At Ella's words, her gaze lifted, shifting forward, past the swaying backs of the two prisoners tied securely into the saddles of the pair of mounts positioned in front of her and Ella and behind Connor. The bits of both captives' horses had been tethered to Connor's saddle with a thick length of roughly hewn rope.
Connor's back was straight and proud, his attention focused determinedly forward. The ends of his hair brushed the broad shelf of his shoulder with each jostling stride of his horse. If he'd glanced back at her, as Ella seemed to think he had, there was no sign.
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