Roderick's Purpose - Ellie St. Clair Page 0,19
a criminal. We’re not on a moving train, and how else am I to keep you from escape?”
“You mean, you don’t want to watch me sleep?” she asked, and he was about to bark back an angry retort when he saw the glimmer of mirth in her eyes, and he realized she was baiting him.
“I’ve watched ye sleep, lass,” he said, stepping close to her, drawing near to her face. “You had more than a nap or two on the train. Do you know your snore sounds like a wounded wild boar and you drool like a babe?”
Her eyes widened and she put her palms on his chest, making to push him away. As they came in contact, however, the laughter suddenly disappeared from her eyes, to be replaced by a look of confusion and something else, something that he didn’t want to acknowledge but saw there all the same. Her desire seemed to flare, sparking his to life, as her fingers curled into him, and her lids dropped down as if to hide what she was feeling from him. It was too late, though, and he caught her fingers in his with the intention of gently removing her hands from him, to keep himself from acting on the strange sensation she caused within him.
When their fingers made contact, however, it was as if she was searing his skin with the burn of her touch. She was a witch, casting a spell over him so that he did not know how to breathe, nor, at this moment, did he want to. No, he wanted it to claim him, to take him over and make him do what he absolutely could not, should not, and would never do.
He kissed her.
The moment their lips touched, it was as if the spark that had been smoldering for days suddenly hit a fuel source, catching fire with an explosion that could not be contained. Roderick pulled Gwen to him, and her body slammed into his, their lips moving over one another in an undeniable love play as they tasted one another, taking and giving all in the same breath. Her hands came up around his neck, her fingers twisting in his hair, drawing him closer, were that even possible. He moved with her, pushing her back until she no longer had anywhere to go as she came flush with the wall behind her.
His hands came to her face, cupping her jaw, his thumbs tracing the silky smoothness of her cheeks while his fingers kneaded the back of her head. He wanted her so badly, his entire being was nearly consumed with it. And, yet, enough rational thought remained, telling him he could not let this go that far. She was his prisoner, for goodness sake, and they were in a jail. All of the thoughts whipped through his head as he continued to explore the velvet of her mouth, her tongue dueling with his. This was exquisite. This was all he could have ever asked for.
He had never in his life kissed a woman who held so much passion inside of her, with so much to give. He could hardly stand it, could hardly contain it, and yet, he didn’t want to.
His hand traced the side of her neck, before continuing over the linen blouse she wore and down her body. She was in skirts now, and he was somewhat disappointed. He had liked the way the breeches had displayed her curves.
When his hand reached her hip, she pushed farther into his obvious desire, and he suddenly jerked away, a modicum of rationality finally washing over him like a bucket of cold water. He tried to take deep breaths, but all that seemed to come out were shuddering, shallow gasps as he did all he could to regain control. When he finally looked up at her, he was pleased to see that, at the very least, she was struggling as much as he, her cheeks flushed a deep, becoming pink, her eyes wide, and her world apparently as toppled as his own as she gave the wall behind her all of her weight.
“My God,” he said, running his hand through his hair, which he figured was well and thoroughly mussed from her fingers, as he remembered her nearly pulling it out of his head. “I…I—”
“You needn’t say anything,” she said, fixing her own hair and running her hands down the front of her shirt. “I know that — that was a mistake. It—”
“No,” he