The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,17

that Wulf Geirsson was a raider with highly questionable motives, there was a commanding strength about him that any woman would notice.

Any woman would respond to.

As those sea-blue eyes of his loomed nearer, she thought she should pull away to break that enigmatic spell. But her traitorous body did not heed the warning.

When his mouth descended on hers, all thought of retreat vanished.

4

SHE KISSED LIKE AN INNOCENT.

Wulf had not spent much time on the more subtle aspects of lovemaking this past year, his needs fierce but quickly sated by women of both Dane and Saxon blood. Even so, there had been enough kissing to recall that experienced women quickly joined the sensual mating of tongues, their movements sleek and knowing, designed to remind a man what lush rewards could be obtained by a deeper union. But Gwendolyn’s advances bore an awkward sweetness, her stillness in his arms suggesting unawakened sensuality more than frozen protest.

He would think about that later. Right now, he absorbed every sweet sigh from her lips as she tilted her chin to allow him better access. Hungrily, he accepted the invitation without ever touching her, unwilling to startle her away now that she offered him such a delectable gift. She’d been so panicked before, when he assessed her injury, that he counted her soft acceptance now as a major victory. A sign he’d been right to choose her for this foray into indulgence.

She tasted like honeyed mead and dark, sensual promise. He stroked her tongue with his and then eased back to capture her lower lip between his. He charged and retreated in this way for long moments, until a soft mew of pleasure hummed from her and she opened to him for a full, deep kiss.

Arousal stirred so fast it made him dizzy. The hard, heavy weight of his want pulled him closer, his heart slamming against his chest with primal desire. He’d taken her for this reason—to test the boldness of the woman on the parapets, to see if she’d fulfill the invitation he’d glimpsed in her brazen eyes. He could find out now. Tonight.

There was no doubt about her willingness. The way she allowed him to lead her, tilting her head where he wanted, her tongue following his while her breasts brushed his chest. He could feel the tight points of her nipples through the thin fabric of her gown.

Why hold back? Whatever reservations she’d had, she’d obviously gotten over them. His muscles hurt from the effort to go slow with her. By now, his head was on fire with images of coupling, her breasts bare, her skirts lifted, his braies open as he sank into her fully.

With the heat of that vision firing him on, he reached for her, his hands molding to the indent of her waist. And even though he’d carried her in his arms before, this was the first time he’d allowed himself to dwell on how she felt. He’d purposely not thought about the womanly shape of her hips before, unwilling to torment himself like that before he could do anything to ease the desire. Now, he pressed her to him and felt the soft give of high, full breasts beneath his chest.

He reached for the shoulder of her gown, searching for a way into the garb so he could feel her skin. But she twisted aside, eluding that touch even though he still held her.

“Release me.” She whispered the request so softly he almost didn’t hear it until she told him again, louder. “Release me.”

He had every intention of following the request. He’d spoken truthfully when he told her he’d not taken a woman against her will. But making his hands follow the command of his brain took time.

“In a moment.” He dragged in harsh breaths, trying to ignore the scent of honeyed mead and female desire. “First tell me, why do you deny us both something we want?”

“Now.” She wriggled against him with a roll of her hips that would have brought a lesser man to his knees. “Let me go now.”

“Woman, you do not help your cause,” he gritted between clenched teeth. Still, he managed to relax his grip if only to save himself from the torment of her undulating form.

She scrambled to her feet in the dim lodging. She tried to hurry away from him, but the hem of her skirts caught on the hilt of his sword and she had to wait until he freed her.

With any other woman, he would have enjoyed the