Bold (The Handfasting) - By Becca St. John Page 0,6

let this man, this huge stranger, overpower her senses.

Attraction beyond reason.

"I promised your brother," he stood even closer. Her breath caught in her throat, “to give you this," he leaned in, kissed her, a butterfly’s touch to her cheek and she whimpered. Not because it was from Ian. Ian had never sent lightning bolts through her with a mere kiss. No one had.

She fought to tame her reaction, but the bewildering whirl of confusion proved too wild to cage.

The Bold whispered, "and I want to give you this," his lips touched hers, a light airy, brush along her mouth. She pushed him away.

“Just a kiss, Maggie girl.”

Innocent, perhaps, but she was not stupid. His idea of a kiss would never be a mere ‘just.’

“When do you leave?”

“In the morning.” A simple answer, but his eyes shifted away. So there was more to his leaving than that.

She pressed for clarification. “You will be gone then?” If he was to go, could she allow herself this liberty? One kiss, knowing she would never have to face him again? May never face this enticement again?

“In the morning I will be gone.” Still, his eyes did not meet hers but followed the arc of his finger as it traced the side her cheek. The light touch ricocheted through her body.

She shivered and nodded despite a twinge of uncertainty. Surely there was no room for falsehood in such a straight reply.

“Just a kiss.” She pushed.

“Aye, just a kiss.” He murmured as he lowered his head.

She had been right. There was no ‘just’ about it, no feathery caress of lips but a journey begun with the press of lips, the taste of her mouth. He tickled the seal of her lips before moving on along her jaw to nibble his way to her ear.

A kiss turned to whispered words, sweet and soothing of a language she did not know. It rippled, danced clear to her toes. Dormant senses blossomed.

The carnal trail shifted down her neck

Maggie clutched his shoulders. He pulled her close, surrounded her, captured her.

A mere kiss.

To him perhaps.

Reason reared, for one valiant fight. She fought herself, fought him, pushed against that broad chest. Only half a battle as half still clung to the kiss. He lifted his head, eased his hold.

Her father and brothers had warned about men, her mother issued cautions against unwedded desire. Everyone spoke of young Alicia, who disappeared one day, drawn by desire to an evil stranger she spoke of but no one ever saw.

The Bold would leave in the morning.

She would not be so foolish as to leave with him.

What harm to steal this moment, this one time, to allow desire free reign in a stairwell where it could not go further, with a man she would never have to see again?

"Meet me in this." The whisper brushed her lips.

Always impetuous, she charged heedless in to frays more dangerous than this.

"You will not best me at this, Bold." She pulled his head down to hers.

The Bold seized her opening, lifted her against him. She refused to hang, toes dangling above the floor. Hands gripping his hair, her mouth as hungry as his, she lifted her legs, wrapped them tight around his waist, reveled in his shocked stillness.

He pulled away long enough to chuckle, or was it a groan? She didn't know, didn't care, too focused on his mouth as it suckled a line from the tender skin behind her ear, down her neck. Thrilled, as he pressed her against the wall, against the core of her. Shocked tremors ricocheted through her.

It was not enough.

Wild, untamed, raised among a people who spoke of earthy pleasures, Instinct led her game. No demure lass but a woman with a new found appetite for the battle of desire, to be desired. To take.

He stilled, pushed her legs down, set her to the ground, eased away. She grabbed his arms, to pull his attention back.

"Shhh."

Laughter, orders, whispers sounded in the hall. The clan moved back to the duties of life. Everyone but Maggie. She drew in a deep breath, tried to settle aroused uncertainties.

He pulled her deeper into the shadows under the winding tower stairs and leaned his head against hers. "Maggie mine," a hoarse croak, “with the heat in you, it's a wonder you don't have a dozen children by now."

"You miserable swine.” She batted at his hold. Voices in the hall reminded, she lowered her voice, "You shouldn't be teaching me such things."

"Did I teach you Maggie? I wonder if you're not