Chapter Twelve #2
He rose to his knees and pulled her up and off the bed with him.
He tugged the straps of her night rail down over her shoulders, forcing her arms down so that the garment skimmed along her body and pooled at her feet.
His heart hammered. At last, she willingly stood before him, soft curves his to touch, her charms his to take.
He forced back the need to crush her beneath him and pound into her heat with all the force in his body and drew her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder.
He held her quietly until the pounding in his ears dulled to a low roar, then bent and brushed his lips across hers.
When Marcus lifted his head, he held her gaze as he rotated his hips against her.
Uncertainty played across her face. She dropped her lashes at the second, more ardent grinding of his arousal against her mound.
He stepped back and she looked up in surprise.
He raked his gaze over her, then brought his attention back to her face. A furious blush crept up her cheeks.
He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped the garment on the floor.
His left boot followed, then the right, leaving him standing in nothing but his kilt.
Marcus studied her as he removed his belt and let it, along with the kilt, fall to the floor.
The belt buckle clinked on the stone, but Elise's eyes remained fixed on his face.
He took the few steps to her and, grasping her wrist, gently brought her hand to his shaft.
Her gaze jerked down to where he firmly held her.
He wrapped her fingers around him and nearly came to his knees at the cool feel of her fingers against his pounding heat.
“Do I frighten you, lass?” he asked.
Her head snapped up. “No.”
Marcus gave a hoarse laugh. Bloody hell, mayhap she wasn't afraid, but he was. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. Placing her on the mattress, he lay down beside her. He ignored the hammering in his head and ran a shaky finger along her arm.
“I'll be gentle,” he said.
She frowned. “I won't break.”
“Nae, love,” he agreed. “But compared to me, you are naught but a feather.”
Elise sat upright. “I am no porcelain doll to be kept on a shelf.”
Marcus opened his mouth to deny the implication but stopped. “Is that how your husband treated you?”
A long silence drew out.
“You cannot compare me to him,” Marcus finally said. “I'm no fool.”
She blinked, then rolled to her side and started toward the edge of the bed.
“Nae.” Marcus grabbed her.
“You can leave now.” She twisted as he yanked her back.
“Nae.” He rolled on top of her. “Hush,” he commanded when she opened her mouth.
He kissed her. She pressed herself into the mattress, but he lengthened the kiss. She wriggled as though to sidle out from beneath him, rocking their bodies together. Pleasure shot through him. Marcus ended the kiss, breathing hard.
“Elise,” he whispered hoarsely, “you are not discouraging me.”
She ceased.
Marcus slipped a knee between her legs. “I am a fool,” he said. “I wanted you the moment I laid eyes on you. You know that.”
He reached between them and drew apart the folds that protected her sex.
He feared, at first, she would resist in earnest and he would be forced to spend yet another night without her, but an instant later, she wrapped her arms about his neck.
Marcus touched her in heated strokes. He breathed deep of her scent filling his nostrils, stroking, petting until, at last, she cried out and buried her head in his shoulder.
He trailed a long, moist kiss from her ear to a breast, taking the hardened nipple in his mouth.
“Marcus,” she groaned.
He continued to tease her while settling himself between her legs. He probed for entrance into her body, aware of the sudden rise and fall of her breast, the subtle tension in her. His body tensed in response, hungry for the resistance. The tip of his shaft slipped into the moist opening.
“You're ready for me,” he rasped, and in one swift motion, thrust.
Her nails pierced the flesh of his shoulders. She stiffened. Marcus stilled, waves of pleasure radiating from his groin. He took a shaky breath and focused on her face. His mind instantly cleared at sight of the drawn brow and hard lines around her mouth.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed. “I hurt you.”
“No,” she denied so quickly he wouldn't have believed the pope had he said she spoke the truth.
“You may be no porcelain doll,” he muttered, “but you aren't to be misused.”
“You don't understand—”
“I understand well enough.” He began to lift himself off her.
Elise held fast to his shoulders. “You do not, but it doesn't matter. If you will just continue, it will pass.”
He frowned. “If you think I could misuse you—”
“Good Lord.” She rolled her eyes.
“What in God's name has possessed you this evening?” he demanded, feeling frustration grow and himself soften.
“You, I thought.”
Marcus blinked. He stared at her face for a moment, then dropped his gaze to her breasts.
The nipples no longer stood erect. He lowered himself so that his chest brushed the soft peaks.
They instantly stiffened. He hardened. He shifted slightly, gasping as the tight passage closed in around him in a hold he hadn't recalled since—Marcus froze, jerking his attention back to Elise's taut face—since he'd bedded Jenna on their wedding night.
She'd been the only virgin he'd ever had, but the memory remained vivid.
However, there had been no maidenhead with Elise.
She had been married, had a child. She was no virgin.
“Elise,” he said in a low voice, “how long since your husband bedded you?”
Her stricken look and the sudden moisture in her eyes told him all he needed to know.
“Love,” he said, lowering his mouth to kiss her.
She turned her head aside. “Please.”
Marcus kissed her neck instead. Not the kiss of passion he would have given her a moment ago, but a gentle, reassuring kiss.
“The man was a fool,” he muttered, and moved inside her, slowly this time.
Her hold remained firm, but she shook her head slightly, refusing to look at him.
Marcus lifted his weight from her, withdrawing slowly, then entering again with a quick but shallow thrust. He didn't mistake her tiny intake of breath, then the rise of her body to meet his next thrust. He pulled away, while running his tongue along the edge of her ear.
When he thrust again, Elise wrapped her arms around his neck.
He kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, then coaxed her to him, kissing her full on the mouth.
She wound a leg around his calf and he thrust hard and deep before realizing the action.
He stilled. She opened her eyes. He saw no fear, only the question, Why have you stopped?
He was a fool. Marcus moved again and again and again, until her arms tightened around his back and her walls closed around his shaft as she cried out in her pleasure.
When the blinding light of climax shot through his body, he poured himself into her and knew he would never let her go.
* * *
Elise sat at Marcus's desk in the library and stared at the wanted notice in the Sunday Times dated the weekend he had been in London.
American-born Elisabeth Kingston wanted for murder is believed to have perished at sea off the coast of Scotland. A ten-thousand-pound reward is offered for information leading to the whereabouts of her body. Anyone with information contact Drew Cummins, Attorney at Law…
She closed her eyes, willing her pounding heart to slow. If this paper had been meant for Michael, why had it sat folded on Marcus's desk the last four days? The man who had demanded the Campbells deliver Shamus's killer to him wouldn't overlook a wife murdering her husband.
Marcus's anger at discovering that the woman he wanted to marry was a wanted criminal like Shamus's murderer would be even greater. She had eluded Price these past months. After what happened between her and Marcus last night, could she hide from him?
* * *
Marcus strode across the courtyard toward the gate.
The drizzling rain, which had fallen since dawn, now turned into the large drops promised by the dark, low clouds.
He would be surprised if Elise had ventured into the village on such a dreary summer day.
In fact, he had expected her to be shut up in his library.
He felt again the acute disappointment at not being able to make love to her before a low fire as he'd planned.
A moment later, he stood on the battlements, scanning the path leading into the village but saw no one approaching.
He shifted his gaze to the dark shadows concealing the secret passage, then turned and surveyed the courtyard.
The rain hadn't interfered with the daily goings on.
People traveled to and from the castle and among the cottages beyond the bailey.