The Recruit Read online

  Her first reaction was one of concern. Was he hurting her? But although the scene was in profile, from the half-lidded eyes and fierce sounds of pleasure the woman was making no effort to contain, she was enjoying it. Enjoying it rather a lot.

  Mary knew she should go, but her feet seemed incapable of movement. She was transfixed by the look of rapture on the woman’s face. She didn’t recognize her, but she was young, probably about nineteen or twenty, and very pretty. Her long blond hair was loose and tumbling around her shoulders in soft waves. She was well curved, with wide hips, full breasts, and softly rounded limbs. Although technically the woman was clothed, her gown was loose to the point of falling off at her bodice and the hem was tossed up around her waist, leaving little of her body that was not exposed.

  “Oh, yes!” the woman cried. “God, it feels so good. You’re so big.” She was arching her back, rocking her hips against him eagerly.

  The man’s movements, by contrast, were almost lazy. He reached forward to fondle one of her sizable breasts, and the woman’s moans and cries took on a frantic edge.

  Mary couldn’t look away from his hands. Darkly tanned against the pale softness of the woman’s skin, they were big, well formed, and as strong-looking as the rest of him. He was a lean, perfectly honed weapon of war. Atholl had been a muscular man, but this man defied comparison.

  A blacksmith could have forged the broad shield of his chest, and not an ounce of fat marred the steely slabs and ridges of muscle that narrowed to a V at his slim waist and hips. Tight ropes of muscle lined his stomach like a ladder carved into the sheer granite face of a cliffside. Even the curved flanks of his backside looked hard and tautly muscled. And his arms … his arms were like battering rams, thick and powerful, rippling and flexing with every movement.

  Muscles like that could only be earned on the battlefield.

  The sheer masculine perfection of his body might have given her the illusion of a Greek god but for the numerous scars that gave proof of his humanity. Still, it was a thing of beauty, something to be admired—hard and chiseled as any statue, but bronzed and radiating warmth.

  Or maybe that was her. Looking at him made her feel all hot and tingly.

  “Do you like that, my sweet?” he purred.

  Mary jolted at the sound of his voice. Sweet heaven! It was dark, deep, and mesmerizing, brimming with sensual allure. It was the voice of sin, and it blanketed her body with heat.

  “Tell me what you want,” he murmured, weaving his sensual web around them both. It was as if he were talking to her.

  Mary wanted to look at his face but couldn’t seem to take her eyes off his hands. He was rolling the woman’s nipple between his fingers as if massaging it to a point, and then squeezing gently. Seeing those big, blunt-edged fingers work so deftly …

  Her own breasts felt heavy, her nipples peaking under the thick wool of her gown.

  The woman seemed incapable of speech. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her expression one of total rapture.

  A rush of memories hit her hard, memories that had been buried a long time ago. Feelings and sensations that had confused her at fifteen and been blunted at eighteen now returned, clearer, sharper, and stronger. Much stronger.

  Passion, Mary realized. In that one look she saw the realization of something she’d never known but had instinctively longed for. How she envied the woman!

  “Please,” the woman begged.

  She wanted something and seemed increasingly urgent to find it. The man’s strong hands started to roam her body, touching her in ways that seemed to increase the woman’s agony. Or pleasure; the two had seemed to have become one. He was teasing her, each caress of his hands calculated to stoke the flames of her desire.

  His hips moved at a steady beat, slow and easy, in long, deep strokes. Not the frantic, hurry-up-and-get-it-over way Mary remembered.

  He was drawing out the woman’s pleasure.

  My God, he cared about her pleasure. All his efforts seemed to be focused on the woman. He was moving as if he had all the time in the world.

  But the woman had had enough. “Please …”

  Mary took such pity on her, she almost told him to put the poor creature out of her misery.

  But she wasn’t miserable at all. The woman was in heaven.

  He slid his hand down between the woman’s legs and his fingers dipped between them in the place …

  Mary gasped, feeling a rush of heat between her legs, almost as if he were touching her there. She shifted, feeling hot and uncomfortable. The warm air of the stables felt sultry, the small area too intimate.

  She couldn’t breathe, poised on the precipice of what would happen next.

  The man leaned forward, pulling the woman up against him, and put his mouth on the nape of her neck, nuzzling, nipping, almost as if he were a stallion.

  He was a stallion, Mary realized. A prized stallion. Sleek, lean, and hard, exuding a raw, unharnessed strength. A creature of magnificence to look upon.

  Even in profile she could tell he must be handsome. He had dark, wavy hair, just a shade too long to be reputable, a nose that appeared to have been broken more than once but was still nicely proportioned and reasonably straight, high cheekbones, a wide mouth, and a strong, square jaw.

  She had no doubt he was a lord. Even if she hadn’t seen the jeweled handle of the sword resting against a stool beside his leather surcote, the aura of arrogance and authority was eerily familiar.

  He was undeniably attractive, but it was what he was doing to the woman that made it impossible to turn away, that made Mary’s skin flush, her breath catch, and her breasts heavy.

  That made her want him to do that to her.

  Mary couldn’t seem to turn away as the woman stilled, and then cried out, her body shuddering with the release of something incredible. For a moment her face was filled with such rapture it seemed divine. Oh … it was amazing!

  When she was finished, the woman went completely limp, as if her limbs had lost their bones. All that was holding her up seemed to be his hands.

  Mary looked at those big hands, the thick, powerful fingers, and followed them up, over a stomach clenched with tight bands of muscle, past the incredible chest, to the equally incredible face that was now turned toward her.

  My God, he was looking at her! She jolted, riveted to the floor by piercing blue, feeling the shock not just at being caught, but also of awareness.

  Attractive was an understatement. He was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen. Deep-set brilliant blue eyes in startling contrast to the darkness of his hair, a bold, aggressively sensual mouth, a nose that had been broken (as she’d anticipated), but the crook only seemed to enhance the pugnacious, masculine appeal. None of his features was perfect, but together …

  She almost heaved a dreamy sigh. Together they were incredible. Hard, physical, brutally male. It was a face to stir even a heart that should know better.

  But it was the way he was looking at her that sent her heart slamming to her toes.

  His warrior’s heightened senses had alerted Kenneth to the woman’s presence well before he heard her startled gasp. He wouldn’t have lasted very long in this war if someone could sneak up on him—even while engaged in the more sensual pursuits.

  Although “engaged” was probably putting it strongly. Engaged implied interest, which he was fighting hard to maintain. He’d been silently wishing for the woman to come already before they’d been interrupted.

  It was hardly uncommon in a crowded castle to come upon two people giving way to their baser needs. It wasn’t common, however, to stand there and watch.

  Rather than run off in shocked embarrassment as he’d expected—as she should have done—the woman had seemed transfixed. At first, when he’d seen all that black and the wimple, he’d thought her a nun. All she was missing was the natural wool scapular over her gown.

  Amused, given her prim, officious attire, and not wanting to frighten her off, he hadn’t look