The Ranger Read online

  He rubbed himself in her creamy dampness, lingering, wanting to prolong the pleasure. He knew that when he was inside her, it would be too late.

  His body was on fire. Every muscle tense, poised for entry. Blood pounded in his veins. In his ears. In his bones. His skin felt tight and hot.

  Thrust. God, he wanted to thrust. He’d never wanted to thrust into someone so badly.

  He knew it would be incredible. Her body would grip him like a hot glove. Milking him in long, hard pulls. Sending him deeper and deeper into mindless oblivion. He wanted to see her moving under him with the power of his thrusts. Lifting her hips to meet each deep stroke. He wanted to watch his cock sliding in and out of her.

  He clenched, the urge to plunge inside almost overpowering.

  But he couldn’t hurt her.

  So, he forced himself to go slow, teasing her with his thickness, getting her used to the size and strength of him, slicking the head of his cock with her dampness to ease his entry.

  It felt too good. The pressure was coiling at the base of his spine, cinching tighter and tighter.

  She was moaning again, her breath coming hard and heavy. Desire flushed her beautiful face. Her leg tightened around his hip, trying to draw him inside her.

  It was all he could take. He started to push.

  She cried out in surprise.

  Jesus. He gritted his teeth. Sweat gathered on his brow. Blood drummed through his veins. Tight. So incredibly tight. He had to go slow and easy. God, he wanted to come.

  Almost there …

  A faint sound penetrated the haze.

  He froze, a flicker of premonition brushing the back of his neck. The air shifted.

  He swore and pulled away, his body throbbing in protest. “Cover yourself,” he said, yanking up her gown while simultaneously fumbling with the ties of his braies.

  But it was too late—or too soon, if the frustration burning in his bollocks right now meant anything.

  The door opened with a crash.

  Sir Hugh Ross stood in the doorway, his steely gaze taking in every detail.

  Though they’d managed to cover themselves, nothing could hide what they’d just been doing. Anna was still leaned back on the table—cheeks flushed and eyes hazy—Arthur was still positioned between her legs, and the small room was hot and heavy with the musky scent of mating—or near mating.

  She gasped. Horror draining the blush of pleasure from her face.

  Instinctively, Arthur moved in front of her, trying to block her from view, as if he could protect her from the venom shooting from the other man with the shield of his body.

  The dead silence—punctuated only by the flicker of flames—extended to well past uncomfortable.

  Sir Hugh stood stone still. Too still. As if he were waiting to pounce. Arthur watched him like a hawk, waiting for the first sign of movement. Hell, he hoped for it, wanting the excuse.

  “I heard a cry,” Sir Hugh finally said. “I thought you might be hurt.” The proud knight’s face twisted with disgust, contempt dripping from his voice. “But I guess you didn’t need rescue.”

  Anna made a sound of pain that tore at Arthur’s heart. Knowing he had to protect her from Sir Hugh’s anger, he turned and took her by the shoulders. “Go to your chamber,” he said roughly. She tried to protest, but he stopped her. “We will talk about this later. Right now I need to speak with Sir Hugh. Let me handle this.”

  He looked into her eyes. She looked confused, horrified, and frightened at the same time, ready to burst into tears at any moment. It was hard for him to breathe. A knife of pain twisted in his heart. He’d done this to her. This was his fault.

  He shook her gently, trying to get her to focus. “Anna, do you understand?”

  She looked at him then, seeming so lost he almost dragged her into his arms again.

  “It will be all right,” he promised, knowing that it wasn’t true. How could it ever be all right? Not only was he lying to her, but he’d just destroyed her chances of an alliance with Ross, and he knew how much that meant to her. She loved her family. Failing them … it would shatter her.

  She nodded, and the look of utter trust she gave him lodged like a giant albatross in his chest. He was a bastard. A cold-hearted bastard. He’d never forgive himself for what he was doing to her. Anna didn’t deserve this. She deserved to be safe and protected, to have a happy home, a husband who loved her, and a half-dozen children clinging to her skirts.

  He could never give that to her. All he would leave her with was a broken heart. He might not have taken her maidenhood, but when she learned the truth about him, he would have taken her innocence all the same.

  Where desire had burned a moment ago, now there was only sorrow and pain.

  Sir Hugh had not moved from his position in the doorway, but as Arthur ushered her out, he stepped to the side to let her pass. Feeling cornered in the small room himself, Arthur followed her out and into the solar. It wasn’t much larger, but at least he would have room to maneuver if necessary. Sir Hugh seemed eager for a fight, and Arthur was just as eager to give him one.

  She glanced at him uncertainly once more before she left.

  “Go,” he said gently, trying to reassure her. Her gaze flickered to Sir Hugh, and her face crumpled. The knight wouldn’t meet her eye, but animosity radiated from every proud, noble inch of him.

  Arthur’s mouth thinned, wanting to kill the man for hurting her. Anna wasn’t to blame. This was his doing.

  Jesus. The realization struck him. Had he wanted this? Had this been his intention all along?

  He’d wanted to ruin her chance for an alliance.

  Nay. Not this way. He hadn’t meant to push it so far.

  But he’d overestimated his control and underestimated the intensity of his desire for her. Arthur was in too deep. He’d gotten too close, and it was only going to hurt them both.

  “I should kill you,” Ross said when the door had closed behind her.

  The knight was trying to stare him down, but Arthur met the challenge with his own. “Why don’t you?”

  Ross’s gaze hardened. “Because then I would have to explain why.”

  The certainty in his voice made Arthur smile. They were near the same age and evenly matched in height and muscle. But not in skill. Arthur would not be the one to die. Sir Hugh, however, didn’t know that. Then why …

  Suddenly the reason came to him. “And you don’t want anyone to know that the lass humiliated you—twice. First in refusing your offer and then in being caught with another man right under your nose.”

  The truth of his accusation was revealed on Ross’s face. It turned florid with anger, the white lines around his mouth sharp in contrast. “Did you defile her?”

  Arthur’s jaw clenched. It was none of his damned business. He wanted to lie—to claim her as his own—but to salvage what he could of her reputation, he spoke the truth. “Nay.”

  Sir Hugh’s eyes were cold. “But you would have had I not interrupted.”

  Arthur shrugged as if the answer didn’t matter to him.

  Ross took a step toward him, hand on his sword. “You bastard! You’re a knight. Have you no honor? She was betrothed—”

  Arthur moved quickly. Using a maneuver he’d learned from Boyd, he knocked Ross’s arm, forcing him to release the grip of his sword, and then twisted the same arm behind his back, leveraging his own body weight against him. “Nay. Not betrothed.”

  Ross instinctively tried to free himself, but his movements only increased the twisting—and thus the pain—in his arm.

  “Close enough,” he bit out, his voice tight with pain. “I’ll kill you for this! Let go of me.”

  “Not until we reach an understanding about what happened here. I don’t want the lass hurt. She is not to blame.”

  Wisely, Ross chose not to argue, but Arthur could see the rage in his eyes. He twisted harder, eliciting a grunt of pain from the spitting-angry knight.

  “Why did you come back here?”