“And I always wanted a pair, but in my house—ha!—my parents would have killed me if I’d ever worn a pair of black leather pants.”
“As well they should, were their daughter to don such trews.” Were he to glimpse her generously rounded bottom cased in snug-fitting black leather trews, he might just forget who he was and that he was getting married anon.
“Please? Just one pair. Aw, come on. What harm could it do?”
He blinked. For the first time since he’d met her, she sounded like a normal woman, but she wasn’t begging for a pretty gown, the contrary wench wanted men’s attire.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” she pressed.
Focused on your lips, he thought irritably, with all my other damned senses.
An image of her clad in black leather trews and nothing else, golden hair spilling in wild disarray over her generous naked breasts, loomed in his mind. “Absolutely not,” he growled, spurring his horse forward and nodding farewell to the tanner. “And turn around. Doona look at me.”
“Oooh. Now I’m not even allowed to look at you?” She snorted and sulked all the way to the goldsmith’s, but he noticed that it didn’t curb her curiosity. Nay, it merely meant she poked that luscious lower lip of hers out further, making him shift uncomfortably in the saddle.
When at last they arrived at the goldsmith’s, he vaulted from the horse, desperate to put distance between them. He was about to knock on the door when she cleared her throat imperiously.
He glanced warily back at her.
“Aren’t you going to get me off this thing?” she said sweetly.
Too sweetly, he realized. She was up to something. She was a vision, clad in one of his mother’s cloaks of pale mauve, her shimmering gold hair spilling over her shoulders, her eyes bright.
“Jump,” he said stiffly.
She narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t had many girlfriends, have you? Get over here and help me. This beast is taller than I am. I could break an ankle. And then you’d be stuck carrying me around for God only knows how long.”
Girlfriends? He puzzled over the word for a moment, breaking it into its base parts and analyzing it. Ah, she meant liaisons. Sighing, he calculated the odds that she might remain quietly mounted and give him some peace, then recalled his purpose in bringing her here. He wanted the villagers to see her, in hopes that someone would recognize her. He was certain she must have stopped in the village before walking to his castle. The sooner someone recognized her, the sooner he could put an end to her presence in his keep.
He was going to have to remove her from the horse, for wee as she was, she would indeed hurt herself jumping, and then there would be hell to pay with Silvan.
You made her jump from the horse? Silvan would exclaim.
I had to. I was afraid if I touched her, I wouldn’t be able to stop touching her. Aye, that would go over well. His da would be wildly amused. He’d tell Dageus and they would laugh uproariously. He’d never live it down. Drustan MacKeltar, afraid to touch a wee wench who scarce reached his ribs. He prayed his future wife provoked similar feelings of desire in him.
“Come.” He reluctantly raised his hands.
She brightened instantly, slid off the horse, and hopped into his arms.
She hit him with enough impact that it caused his breath to leave his lungs in a soft whoosh of air and forced him to wrap his arms around her to keep her from falling.
Her hair was in his face and smelled like the heather-scented soap Nell made in the kitchens. Her breasts were soft, crushed mounds against his chest, and her legs were sort of—nay, no sort of about it—they were wrapped around him.
No wonder Dageus hadn’t resisted. It was a wonder his brother hadn’t tupped the lass right then and there.
The muscles in his arms defied his brain’s command to release her. Perversely, they tightened around her.
“Drustan?” Her voice was soft, her breath sweet, her body womanly and supple against his.
It was futile, he thought darkly. He shifted her abruptly so that her lips were accessible and did what he’d been longing to do since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He kissed her. Punishingly. In his mind he was erasing Dageus’s kiss from her lips, wiping the slate clean, imprinting himself and only himself upon her.
The moment their lips met, a frantic energy sizzled the length and breadth of his body the likes of which he’d never felt in his life.
And she kissed him back wildly. Her wee hands sank into his hair, her nails grazing his scalp. Her legs tightened shamelessly around his waist, capturing the hardness of him snugly against her woman’s heat. Hers was a hotter kiss, and more carnal in nature, than aught he’d ever received.