Chapter 17
It wasn’t the first time a woman had stolen a kiss from Hew. Every time in the past, however, he’d known what to do.
He would immediately take charge, grateful to find a mate whose passion equaled his. He’d pull them into an intimate embrace. Sweep his hands into their hair. Slant his mouth across theirs. And feast on them with the hunger of a starving beast.
This time he felt utterly lost.
Carenza’s kiss was careful, tentative, innocent. He doubted she’d ever kissed a man before.
His heart bellowed at him to seize the day. Slake his thirst for her. Take advantage of this moment.
Yet he hesitated.
This was not every woman from his past.
This was Lady Carenza.
The lady of his dreams.
His One True Love.
The lass he was afraid to lose.
The woman with the power to break his heart beyond repair.
For the first time in his life, he felt fear.
Fear that he would frighten her.
Fear that he would go too far, too fast.
So he withheld a measure of his passion from her. Instead of pouring all his desire into the kiss, he answered her with gentle caution.
He closed his eyes and moved his lips tenderly against hers. He took his time, relishing the sweet softness of her skin. The subtle perfume of her cheek.
He lifted his good hand and rested his fingertips on her jaw, as lightly as if she were made of delicate porcelain. Then he slid his hand tenuously into her hair, tracing the circle of her ear with a single finger.
She gasped and shivered.
Even that small response made his control slip. There was a tightening in his braies, and his veins pulsed with erotic current.
He groaned deep in his throat, fighting to hold back.
But it was too late. Something in his voice called to the primitive female part of her. With a small answering moan, she deepened the kiss. She began to consume him the way the fire had consumed his leine, eating away his will and leaving only carnal flame.
She clutched him closer, eagerly twisting her mouth to satisfy her hunger. Her breath came in fevered panting. With intuitive urgency, she leaned toward him, struggling to get closer.
Hew’s heart pounded. Every bone in his body yearned to answer her craving. Every inch of his flesh ached to solve her womanly dilemma.
Yet he resisted. And it almost worked.
But then she captured his face in her hands. She pulled his head close. Opened his mouth with her own. Dared to let her tongue explore and taste and tempt him.
She tasted warm. Sweet. As delicious as the first cup of wassail at Yule.
And when she boldly pushed herself against him, molding her body to his, when he felt her supple breasts like soft pillows against his chest, he could no longer hold back.
Oblivious to the pain of his burns, he swept both hands into her silken tresses and growled against her lips. Delved his tongue into her mouth with starving need. And pressed against her belly with that part of him that wanted her most.
Carenza’s head was spinning. But it was a delightful giddiness, the way she’d felt as a wee lass, twirling among the sheep in a grassy glen.
He’d said the words baldly. Boldly. He’d called her the woman he loved. Deep in her heart, she’d felt it, known it. But his constant denials and his variable affection had hammered at that belief. They’d almost convinced her he didn’t truly care for her.
Now their embrace felt like a glorious celebration of the truth. The unlocking of a secret chest filled with treasure beyond her wildest dreams.
Her body hummed like summer bees as Hew dipped into the flower of her mouth to collect nectar.
Her veins gushed like a swollen burn in spring. Racing eagerly. Gathering speed. Heading to a destination unknown.
She couldn’t remember how she’d come to be here. But she was certain it had been her idea. Now she felt as if she’d saddled a wild destrier and was clinging to him for dear life.
Still, she didn’t want the breathtaking ride to end.
Hew’s hands were strong yet gentle as he cradled her head.
Beneath her own fingers, his jaw felt manly. Firm and rough with stubble.
He tasted of ale and spice and restless hunger. And when he groaned against her mouth, it sent a sensuous current through her that drew from her an answering moan.
His chest was hard but yielding. She felt protected there. Yet where her breasts brushed against him, her nipples roused with heady longing.
But what filled her with the most thrilling heat and danger and excitement was the part of him that pulsed against her belly with eager need.
What she wanted, she could not have. Deep beneath the roiling waves of this sensual sea, she recognized that tragic truth.
Even now, though she felt far from the earthly plane, as if they floated together in heaven, she knew it could not last. No matter how much she wanted the feeling to go on. And on. And on.
And that was made painfully clear when she heard the distant voice of the laird addressing the clan. “’Tis sundown. Shall we return home?”
They broke from the kiss abruptly. Reluctantly. While lust still smoldered in their eyes.
How could it be sundown already? Surely they’d only begun to kiss. And she still felt full of light and warmth.
But as lovely as their embrace had been, duty descended on her like the dampening shadow of night.
She quickly adjusted her hair, praying it wasn’t too out of sorts.
He quickly adjusted his braies.
“Forgive me, my lady. I should not have…” he said, leaving the rest open-ended, as if he wished to apologize for everything.
“Left me so unrequited?” she asked.
He blinked in surprise.
“I’ll forgive ye this once,” she told him breathlessly. “But I expect our conversation to continue in the comin’ days.”
It was a brazen thing to say, she knew. But Hew made her feel brazen. And fearless. And brilliant. He made her feel like she didn’t have to guard her words. Like she could speak her mind. And her heart.
For once, he was left speechless. Which rather pleased her.
Before she rounded the corner to join her father, she whispered to Hew, “I think ye should perhaps surrender your dreams o’ becomin’ a monk.”
The walk back to Dunlop seemed miles shorter. Her step was so light and her mood so pleasant, she felt like she walked on air.
Indeed, as she carried her lit candle along the path, she had to remind herself that All Souls Day was a somber occasion.
That perhaps she should be reflecting on those who had passed.
Not grinning from ear to ear, obsessing over the man riding at the back of the clan on her palfrey. The Man She Loved.
Hew frowned in self-disgust.
Carenza didn’t love him.
And if he’d only controlled himself as he intended, if he’d only maintained his honor and refused her kiss, she’d realize that.
Now she’d never know it was lust and not love that lured her. It was the hunger of her body, not the hunger of her heart.
She was too young, too innocent to realize that.
But he wasn’t. He should have turned his head. Refused her.
It was what a gentleman of restraint and patience would have done.
Hew, however, had never been able to act like a gentleman.
He’d always let his passions take the reins.
Sung Li, his aunt’s teacher, called him Baozhu, saying he was as volatile as the fireworks from the Orient.
Quick to ignite. Quick to explode. And quick to extinguish.
That volatility was what had earned him so many broken hearts. And this time he’d wanted so badly not to make a mess of things. He’d wanted to go slowly. To be her friend first. Her confidant. Her champion.
Later, when he knew her heart belonged to him, he would show her a measure of physical affection. Then he would kiss her. Take her hand. Hold her in a fond embrace.
But nay, he’d let impatience get the best of him. Again.
Now he feared her interest was only infatuation. After all, desire was new and fresh and exciting for her. Lust was a dish of delicious sweets she’d never sampled before. And she’d naturally imagine herself in love with any man who brought her such sweets.
But she would tire of them eventually. They all did. When there was nothing substantial beneath the honeyed exterior—no affection in the kiss, no cherishing in the caress, no heart in the embrace—what was once sweet would seem empty and ordinary.
He didn’t want that to happen with Carenza. He cared for her too much. If she broke his heart, it would destroy him. Then he might as well join the holy order, for he would be unfit to be any woman’s husband.
It was his own fault. He knew that. Aye, she’d made the first move. But she was untried in the ways of romance. He should have taken responsibility and refused her kiss.
He sighed.
That would have been impossible.
Her kiss had been heavenly. Her lips as plump and succulent as a ripe cherry. Her breath soft and sweet as she gasped against his mouth. And her tongue… Holy Mary, her tongue touching his had set off a lightning bolt of pleasure.
Her fingers brushing his face—at first as lightly as the wings of a butterfly, then with the strength of desperation—had made him shiver with longing.
But it was the brazen crush of her body against his that had sent him past the realm of resistance.
Even as he relished her soft curves and engaging warmth, even as his cock strained at its linen prison, he’d dreamed of what it would be like to wake up with her each morn, to have her in his arms and in his life.
He shifted in the saddle. It would do him no good to revisit the moment. It would only serve to frustrate his already aching loins.
There would be no satisfaction tonight. Or for many nights.
He had to keep temptation at bay. And the only way to do that was to keep her at a distance.
Unfortunately, all his good intentions didn’t even last a day.
Despite refusing the laird’s bedchamber and sleeping in the great hall with the rest of the clan, Hew woke to Lady Carenza’s lovely, smiling face. She crouched beside him the next morn with a bowl of steaming frumenty.