Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,60
nothing more.”
Fury nearly blinded her. “You think because I am a game to you, that no one can want me? For your information,” she flung out, “Kilgore has already come to heel, Your Grace.” Her rancor sharpened her voice like a dagger.
His brows furrowed together. “What?”
It was sinful to enjoy this moment so much, but she knew—she positively knew—that the hurt would set in later. For now, though, she refused to hurt. She wanted to be the one to wound him, make him think that she could bring a man to his knees, even one such as Kilgore—even if it wasn’t true.
“Yes,” she said, trying to sound bored. “He was on the verge of offering this morning, but…but he was interrupted. So you need not waste your breath warning me.” She did not bother to tell him that she knew he’d been lying to her in the garden yesterday because he was playing a game with her once more. What was the point? “I suppose only you think I’m not desirable enough to offer for.”
“Damn it, Guin!” His voice lashed her and caused her to jerk. “He is lying to ye to get ye to lower yer guard and give him yer innocence! He wants to use ye, not wed ye.”
“You blackguard! Not every man is like you! Just you watch how I can tempt a man to—”
His mouth covered hers as his hands encircled her waist and yanked her off her horse and onto his. Outrage filled her even as yearning did. She shoved at his chest with one hand while threading her fingers into his thick hair to pull him closer with the other. She was all contradiction and roiling emotion. His tongue parted her mouth on a guttural groan, and she opened with a whimper, roiling in a sea of anger, need, hurt, and lost hope. Her blood rushed and roared through her veins like an awakened river as he locked an arm against her spine while sliding his other hand up between them, over her quivering stomach and around to the back of her head.
His lips left her mouth to burn a fiery path down the slope of her neck, and she threw her head back to give him better access while arching her body, her chest, into his. All she could think in the moment was how much she had loved him, how much hope she had once had, how he had given it to her, taken it away, then dangled it once more. She wanted him to desire her as unreasonably as she did him. His uneven breathing bathed her neck, then her chest, as his lips pressed warm kisses to the top of her exposed skin. Her breasts grew immediately heavy and tight, her belly knotted, and an ache grew deep within her at her center.
“Guin,” he moaned, his fingers rubbing over the material of her hard nub.
She sucked in a deep breath, shocked at the piercing ache it caused between her legs. His whole palm was there then, skimming and gently squeezing, fingers circling and teasing while his lips tantalized her from her neck to her mouth only to plunge his tongue back inside and join them as one again.
A throat cleared behind them, and the present crashed in, stilling them both.
Voices erupted from behind her. Heat singed her cheeks as she straightened, but it was hopeless. She was ruined. She had spent five years protecting women from such a fate, and she’d run to her own destruction with her eyes wide open, thanks to her blasted pride and heart. She shoved away from him, and he caught her by the wrist, giving her a subtle shake of his head.
“My ladies and lords,” he said, raising his voice above the rapidly increasing din. “I am pleased to announce that Lady Guinevere has agreed to become my wife.”
Her gaze collided with his as shock rendered her speechless.
“How could you?” Guinevere’s mother wailed the next day for what had to be the millionth time.
Her father, definitely the more reasonable of her parents, lowered his paper and gave Guinevere a sympathetic look before focusing his attention on his wife. “My dear,” he said, his tone the perfect combination of soothing and stern, “cease your fretting. No one will remember in a month how it came to pass that Guinevere was wed.”
“If she is wed, Fairfax!” Her mother shrilled her father’s name.
“He will come,” her father replied, sounding certain.