Highland Barbarian Part 43

Her words, murmured inside his mouth, filled him with such emotion he could only stand and hold her while he gloried in her surrender.

And then his arms were around her, holding her so close that two heartbeats thundered as one.

Chapter Fourteen

Q^^ps^Q JNeeds shuddered through Brice, driving him farther and farther toward the edge of madness. But the woman in his arms needed time, needed patience and care. As much care as she had shown toward him in the past days and weeks while he'd healed. He would see to her needs and bank his own.

The lips on hers were gentle now, the kiss coaxing, seductive. He longed to plunge his hands through the tangles of her hair and take her here, now, on the fur before the hearth. Instead, he forced himself to go slowly.

He sensed her fear, her hesitation. But he was certain enough for both of them.

"Don't be afraid, love," he murmured against her cheek. "Think of it as a journey. A slow, easy journey we will travel together."

His lips skimmed her face, pausing to trace the gentle curve of her brow. How beautiful she was; how perfectly formed. He ran light kisses over her closed lids, then followed her cheek to the corner of her lips. With his tongue he traced the outline of her lips until she moaned and her lips parted for him.

With his tongue he explored the intimate recesses of her mouth, savoring all the sweet, wild flavors that were hers alone. And all the while his hands moved along her back, drawing her closer, then closer still, until she was pressed firmly against him.

She was aware of his arousal; aware, too, of the thundering of his heart. Its unsteady rhythm matched her own.

How long had she dreamed of being held like this, of being taken on a wild flight to the heavens and beyond? As his lips held her enthralled she flew high, then higher still, until she felt herself break free of earth. Now she was soaring, now gliding.

As his fingers reached for the b.u.t.tons of her gown she struggled to settle her feet on steady ground. But then his lips grazed her throat and she was helpless once more, held powerless by the sensations that ripped through her.

Her gown drifted to the floor about her feet and lay forgotten. Now the only barrier between them was a thin ivory chemise. With deft movements he untied the ribbons of her garment and slid it from her shoulders.

For long moments he studied her. The sight of her beauty left him breathless. In the light of the fire her skin was as white as alabaster, her eyes as green and s.h.i.+mmering as a Highland glen. With a sense of reverence he ran his fingertips lightly across the slope of her shoulders. She quivered beneath his gentle touch. With a sigh he brought his lips to her throat. Arching her neck she moved in his arms and thrilled to the sensations that skittered along her spine.

Never, never had she known such feelings.

He brought his lips lower to the soft swell of her breast. As his mouth closed over her nipple she heard a low, guttural moan. Hers? Or his? It no longer mattered. They were caught up in such waves of pa.s.sion they could no longer think, only feel.

Her knees trembled and she feared she could no longer stand. It was as if he was in perfect harmony to all her senses. In one swift movement Brice scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, settling her among the snowy linens. His clothes joined hers on the floor and he lay beside her, gathering her into his arms.

His hands, his lips, moved over her, leaving her body a ma.s.s of nerve endings.

The heat between them rose up in s.h.i.+mmering waves. A weakness seemed to invade her, leaving her limbs heavy, her mind blank. She drifted on clouds of sensation that sapped her strength, stole her will.

She was helpless, caught up in feelings that she had never even known existed. She was once again kidnapped and held hostage. This time to pa.s.sion.

As his hands and mouth worked their magic, she moved in his arms, loving the feel of his work-worn fingertips against her soft flesh.

How agile his mouth. How clever his hands.

She longed to touch him as he was touching her. And yet, in her fear and innocence, she was afraid. Would he think her a wicked, wanton woman?

Tentatively she reached a hand to his cheek. He moved against her palm slowly and she saw his eyes narrow fractionally.

Growing bolder she brought her hand to his chest and allowed her fingers to skim along the mat of hair. His nipples hardened as her fingers grazed them and she lingered, stroking until she heard his sigh of pleasure.

As her fingers moved lower she encountered a series of raised scars on his flat abdomen.

At her arched look he murmured,

"So many old battles. So many old wounds."

Without thinking she pressed her lips to the flat plane of his stomach, tracing her lips across the scars.

"I cannot bear to think of you being wounded."

Instantly she felt his stomach muscles contract violently. She experienced a wild thrill at the realization that it was her touch that had caused such a reaction.

She had the power to make this strong warrior flinch.

One touch of her hand could leave him as weak as she had been just moments ago. Drunk with her new power she grew even bolder, pressing her lips to his throat while her hands roamed his muscular shoulders, his hair-roughened chest, his stomach.

His chuckle of delight turned into a moan of impatience as her hands moved lower, exploring, arousing.

"Witch."

He rolled on top of her and began an exploration of his own, allowing his lips, his fingertips, to move seductively over her until she writhed and moaned and gasped his name. It took all of his willpower to keep from taking her. This was her first time, he cautioned himself. He wanted it to be everything and more.

"I love you, little firebrand," he growled against her lips.

His fingers found her, moist and ready, and before she could realize what was happening, he took her to the first shuddering crest.

"And I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone, anything."

Her breath was coming so fast she could hardly get the words out. But her hands clutched at his shoulders as she felt herself tumbling out of control. Madness. She had slipped over the edge of madness.

"Oh, Brice. I--love--you." The words were breathy, barely coherent.

She arched her body to meet him, needing him with an urgency that matched his.

"Please. I---want you."

Her plea ripped through him, shattering his careful control. He slipped inside her, struggling to be gentle. But the moment they came together, he threw caution to the wind. With a savageness that surprised him she moved with him, matching his rhythm, mirroring his strength, until together they gave in to the madness and soared to the moon.

He was enveloped in the scent of wildflowers, and he recalled that she'd had wildflowers entwined in her hair that first day he'd seen her at the altar of the cathedral. Their fragrance filled him until all he could smell was Meredith lying in a meadow of wildflowers.

Higher they climbed, then higher still, until they reached the velvet heavens. A wild, primitive cry was torn from Brice's lips. And a million stars exploded and shattered into s.h.i.+ny silver fragments.

In that moment she gave him her heart. Her honor. Her innocence.

They lay, still locked together, unwilling to break the fragile, intimate contact. Levering himself on his elbows Brice studied the way she looked, her face damp with sheen, her eyes moist.

"Tears, firebrand? G.o.d in heaven." With his thumbs he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"I've hurt you."