Part 9 (2/2)

She glared over her shoulder. His chest was barely inches from hers, and she contemplated elbowing him over the side of the ridge. ”You did!”

”I did not. Becalm yerself,” he added quietly.

She glared. She was practically crackling with fury. She was also being quiet. Angrily quiet. Vehemently Vehemently quiet. quiet.

”I will be calm when you-”

His hand snaked out and closed over her mouth, silencing her.

”Riders.” His gruff voice was a notch above silence.

And like that, Senna's orientation s.h.i.+fted. No longer was she aware of her leaden, weary limbs, nor her desperate situation, nor the fear that had been marking its way up the back of her neck like the tip of a knife. She wasn't even terribly aware of the riders on the highway, some forty feet below. She was aware, only, of him. him.

His fingers gently held over her lips. The touch of his wide wrist against the side of her neck. His thighs just behind hers, pressing heat onto the back of her legs.

She drew a steadying breath and inhaled the scent of him, the river and the wild, stones and pine.

”Fimiam?” she puffed against his hand.

”Can ye not hush for a single second?” he whispered back, but his words were made of breath, his jaw an outline of heat beside her ear. Her back and b.u.t.tocks were warm from him. She could hear the men on the road far below, m.u.f.fled voices and shuffling hooves.

Riders? What of it? What did this man taste like?

She trembled, from fear, surely, but more, from the power of this new, reckless desire. The root of her mother's evil. Reined in for years, bound by books and ledgers, now now being released? While she was on the run from a madman? The onrus.h.i.+ng strength of it shocked her. being released? While she was on the run from a madman? The onrus.h.i.+ng strength of it shocked her.

He must have felt her trembling. The hand covering her mouth slid to her cheek, and his thumb stroked gently by her jaw. His other hand skimmed up her back and rested warmly between her shoulder blades. She s.h.i.+vered, not whatsoever from fear.

”Nothing to fear, la.s.s,” he murmured. ”'Tis but a messenger and his man. They are not seeking us. All we have to do is let them pa.s.s.”

All I have to do is taste you.

Senna jerked at the thought. No, not a thought, an urge, urge, rising out of something so deep inside her it pulsed with each heartbeat. rising out of something so deep inside her it pulsed with each heartbeat.

He put his mouth by her ear. ”Easy, now, Senna.” His thumb stroked her jaw as if he were gentling a wild thing. His sculpted body was hot behind hers. ”Be easy.”

”Stop touching me,” she pleaded in a whisper.

His thumb stopped moving. ”What?”

”Kiss me.”

The rest of him went completely still.

Oh, please, Lord, deliver me from this. But it was too late. His body was too hot. She was too far beyond the Pale. But it was too late. His body was too hot. She was too far beyond the Pale.

”What did ye say?” he asked in a low, masculine rumble.

Her heart started a strange thudding. Their voices were so quiet that the breeze blowing over them nearly drowned them out. Both were held paralyzed by the riders on the highway below. No one was going anywhere. In fact, it might all be over in a matter of minutes. And all she wanted was his touch.

If I am going to die, she suddenly decided, she suddenly decided, it will not be absent the touch of this Irishman. it will not be absent the touch of this Irishman.

She touched his hand and slid it across the mere inch back to her lips. Shutting her eyes, she trailed the tip of her tongue over his warm flesh.

His body rippled slightly, like wind over waves. She felt every muscle in his body s.h.i.+ft, very minutely, very definitely. He brushed his thumb once over her parted lips. Her breath shuddered out.

”Did ye tell me to kiss ye, Senna?”

”I did.” Her whisper trembled.

”Why?”

”Because,” she whispered, ”if I'm going to die, it will not be lacking all the things I am lacking at present.”

A pause. ”Ye're lacking a kiss, then?”

She nodded.

For a moment, everything held suspended. Then he cupped the back of her head and turned her to him. His eyes were unreadable, with no hint of a smile, but something else was there. Something dark and masculine.

Each inhalation she attempted was short, chopped. Each exhalation came out long and slow and hot. It made her head spin. He bent to her.

She felt warm breath on her cheek. Soft, teasing kisses danced across her cheeks, her eyelids. She sighed and he tightened his hold ever so slightly on the back of her head, as if holding her still. He cupped her cheek with his other hand and his lips finally settled over her own, whisper light, coaxing her: Remember you are a woman. Remember you are a woman.

He bent lower and nibbled her lower lip until, as if he'd uttered a pa.s.sword, she parted for him. He slid his tongue between her lips, a single hot swipe. Ribbons of desire uncorded between her thighs.

He pulled back and whispered through her hair, ”Is that what ye were thinking of?”

In the distance, the riders pa.s.sed down the highway. Finian said nothing. She heard nothing. Leaning forward the barest inch, she grazed his full, warm lips with hers. He exhaled lightly. She liked that.

Her tongue slipped out and glided across his lips and another deep, masculine groan rumbled out. Her body quivered. Repositioning herself on her feet, she tasted him until she felt the tip of his questing tongue. Pus.h.i.+ng boldly, she slipped her tongue inside his hot mouth.

A flash of touching, a swipe of tongues, then she withdrew, barely capable of drawing breath. Panting and enflamed, she whispered in his ear, ”Oh.”

Her word came on a hush. Indeed, a squirrel in the tree above would not have heard it. But Finian did. Finian felt her warm, sweet breath against his cheek, drifting into his ear. He s.h.i.+fted, as the hardness between his legs stiffened further.

He was not on a mission of seduction, but there was nothing to be done about this moment. It was happening. And he was suddenly powerless to be the one to end it.

They stood together without touch; there was only the exchange of heat and breath between their bodies. Such closeness was highly erotic.

”The riders have gone,” he said reluctantly, waiting for her to step away.

But she didn't. She stayed, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s barely skimming his chest. One heartbeat, then another. ”Have they?” she whispered.

With deliberate slowness, he splayed his fingers around her ribs, then slid them down, to the curve of her waist.

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