Chapter 33

Morgan could not have been more startled. He had braced himself for a slap of outrage. At worst, she might deliver a punch to his jaw.

He figured he deserved as much. And he’d given her permission. He was well aware he should have found a way to judiciously separate from the lass before she awakened.

But he hadn’t. And the reason was simple. He liked the way she felt in his arms.

Her hair was fragrant. Her body was supple. Her breast sat perfectly in his hand. And her hips were inviting as hell.

That she didn’t clout him for his intimate transgression was astonishing.

And what she did do was so unexpected that he froze in stunned wonder. At first.

Then, of course, his masculine instincts took over.

He answered her kiss, drawing her velvety lips against his and pressing tentatively forward.

She sighed into his mouth, a sigh full of wonder and pleasure. Like a bellows, her breath instantly inflamed his desire.

Weaving his fingers through her curls, he pulled her closer, kissing her with desperate haste.

She responded with a sort of breathless enthusiasm he’d never before experienced. Her fingers raked through his hair to seize him by the back of the neck. With her other hand, she clenched the front of his leine in her demanding fist. Gasping and ravenous, she kissed him again and again.

Her kiss was like ale splashed on the flames of his passion, driving the blaze high and out of control. The beast in his trews roared like a wild inferno. Morgan’s brain deserted him, and his body acted on instinct alone.

He slid his palm over her lovely bottom and hauled her hips against him. He groaned as his cock, squeezed between the two of them, throbbed in anticipation.

She answered his groan with a sensuous purr, born deep in her throat, driving him to even greater heights of desire.

Without thought of the consequences, he turned with her then, rising above her, trapping her between his legs and pressing her down into the mattress. He rained kisses all over her beautiful, enraptured face and then returned to her mouth, delving with his tongue to slurp up every drop of her lust.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she arched up against him, urging him to continue.

He let one hand delve beneath the neck of her kirtle to find the peach-soft flesh of her breast.

She rasped in a quick breath of welcome shock as he plucked her nipple to a firm point.

It had been so long since he’d touched a woman, he feared he was proceeding too quickly. His head swam with yearning. His heart drummed at a feverish pace. Already the pressure was building in his loins.

He felt like a runaway cart, careening with reckless haste down a steep mountain. He wasn’t sure he could stop. He sure as hell didn’t want to.

Jenefer had never been touched like this before.

But she’d never been afraid of the unknown.

Kissing him was more exciting than she’d imagined. His lips were succulent and inviting, like the most delicious sweetmeats, and she couldn’t get enough of them.

Despite his willful strength, his touch was surprisingly gentle. It made her skin tingle and warmed her blood. Where his fingers grazed her, she felt awakened and alive.

His ragged breath—upon her face, along her throat, beside her ear—made her shiver in delight. Her head swirled in a lovely fog of lust as she writhed beneath him.

His trespass beneath her kirtle to caress her breast stole her breath and her senses. But when she responded to his touch against her will, she knew an instant of panic.

She was as helpless as an overturned beetle, flat on her back. Why had she let him render her so vulnerable? Especially when he commanded her body with such precision?

In alarm, she fought back. Hooking one leg around him, she heaved upward with all her might and at last managed to roll him onto his back beneath her.

But rather than exerting her will and proving her domination, she’d only fed his lust. He was just as content to have her conquer him.

She thrust her tongue deep into his mouth in victory. She clasped his thighs between her knees, holding him captive. She ran her palm boldly over his trews, relishing the blade-hard proof of his craving.

Not once did he object to her subjugation.

Not once did he fight for his freedom.

Though by virtue of his superior strength and size, he might have thrown her over again, not once did he try to master her.

Instead, he sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth when she squeezed the hardening in his trews, arching up against her in need. His face was a study in torment, and his fists contained a powerful fury that longed to be unleashed.

His surrender was intoxicating, almost as intoxicating as her own desire. Her heart raced at the signs of his raw yearning—his deeply creased brow, his tightly closed eyes, his flaring nostrils. Her nipples tensed, and the ache between her legs increased from a painful throbbing to an excruciating need that demanded relief.

Overcome with longing and uncertain what to do next, she lowered her mouth to his again, gorging on his fervor with unabashed greed. For one incredible moment, drunk on desire, lost in lust, Jenefer believed she could happily remain here for the rest of her life.

When the door burst open, Morgan had no time to think. He only did what came naturally to him—the chivalrous thing. At the first creak, he rolled Jenefer back beneath him, protecting her with his body and hiding her from view.

Unfortunately, Jenefer didn’t see it that way. She blustered in outrage and tried to thrust him off of her. She probably would have spat a few choice curses as well, except Bethac spoke first.

“Oh!” the maidservant exclaimed from the doorway. “Beggin’ your… M’laird, I… I didn’t know ye still had compa-… I’ll come back late-…”

“Wait!” Jenefer cried.

Morgan lowered his brows. What was the lass doing? He meant to shield her, to protect her honor. After all, Bethac couldn’t report what she couldn’t see. As far as she knew, Morgan’s consort could well be a serving lass. Why would Jenefer betray her presence?

To his consternation, Jenefer called out, “We weren’t swiving. I want that to be clear. I won’t have you bandying about that you saw the laird swiving me, because we weren’t. Not yet at least.”

Morgan tried not to laugh. She sounded mildly irritated. They may not have been swiving. But they’d been close to it. And what difference did it make anyway?

“Oh, Miss,” Bethac said with great dignity, “I would ne’er say such a thing, not me.”

“Because if you do, I’ll put frogs in your bed, I swear.”

“My lips are sealed,” Bethac promised.

Then, to his utter amazement, Jenefer confided, “And I don’t want you to think poorly of Morgan. ’Twasn’t his idea. ’Twas mine. You were right. Your laird is not the kind of man to ravish a captive against her will.”

“Aye, Miss.”

Though Jenefer didn’t meet his eyes, Morgan’s heart melted as he gazed down at the blushing lass.

She’d stood up for him.

That was a rare and touching thing. And in that amazing moment, he realized what he felt for her was more than mere lust or admiration. It was something far more perilous. Genuine respect and affection.

“One more thing,” she said.

“Aye, Miss?”

“Did you bring breakfast?”