The Hunter Read online

  “Janet …” he warned huskily. “Keep touching me like that, and I might forget my honorable intentions and your injuries.”

  She smiled and looked up into his eyes. “Good. I’m fine, really I am. Please, I want this. I want you.”

  Just so there would be no argument, she dropped her hand a little lower, grazing her wrist over the fat tip.

  He sucked in his breath. “Jesus, Janet, you don’t fight fair.”

  A wicked smile turned her mouth. “You can be gentle, can’t you?”

  He scooped her up and carried her over to the bed. “I sure as hell hope so.”

  With her injured wrist, she needed help to remove her clothes—a duty he was most happy to help with.

  “I thought you weren’t a ‘damned handmaiden,’ ” she teased him as he unbuttoned her surcote, reminding him of a similar request she’d made in the fisherman’s hut not so long ago.

  He gave a sharp laugh. “I think I’ve changed my mind. If you intend to help me with my baths, the least I can do is help you with your clothes.”

  “Your enlightenment on parity in marriage is truly amazing,” she said dryly.

  He chuckled. “Not to mention self-serving.”

  When the last garment was removed, he stood back and looked at her for so long she started to try to cover herself with her hands. But he gently pulled them away. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “You are so beautiful.” He started to skim his fingers over her bare skin. “I want to touch every inch of you.”

  It seemed as if he did just that. Janet’s breath was already coming fast when he finally leaned over and slid one taut nipple into his mouth, tugging it gently and circling it with his tongue. His silky dark hair slumped over to the side, brushing against her bare skin. She slid her fingers through it, holding him to her. He scooped her breast in his palm, squeezing and plying it between his hands as he took her deeper and deeper into his mouth.

  Forgetting all about her injured ribs, she started to arch her back, moaning as the sensations started to build.

  He lifted his head. “You are making it hard to go slow.”

  “And who is to blame for that?”

  He grinned, and it made her heart catch.

  “I love seeing you smile,” she said softly. “You do not do enough of it.”

  “I haven’t had much reason. But I suspect that will change.”

  She knew it would, especially when he learned—

  He leaned over and kissed her, and whatever she’d been about to tell him was lost in the sensual haze that crashed over her with all the subtlety of a tidal wave.

  His heat, his scent, the feel of his skin rubbing against hers infused her, drowning out everything but the powerful sensations building inside.

  He held his chest over her, careful not to press against her injured ribs, but she pulled him down, wanting to feel the contact. The heat of his bare chest against hers, and the heavy, solid weight of his body on top of her.

  He’d removed the drying cloth from around his waist, and she could feel the equally solid length of his erection hot and throbbing against her belly. She pressed and circled her hips, trying to inch him closer.

  He groaned, deepening the kiss and the long strokes of his tongue until she couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to feel him filling her.

  Her heart was hammering, her breath was quickening, and the place between her legs was quivering with need. “Please,” she moaned.

  Lifting his head, he looked into her eyes. She could feel him positioning himself between her legs. “Tell me if it hurts,” he said tightly, his muscles clenched with restraint.

  He pressed into her. Slow and gentle. Inching. Stretching. Filling her. She gasped. Moaned. Opened around him.

  It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt at all. It felt incredible. She felt full. Possessed. Loved.

  His eyes were dark and hot. “You feel so good.”

  “So do you,” she said huskily.

  “I love you, mo chroí.”

  She smiled, tears of happiness filling her eyes. “And I love you.”

  Slowly, his body started to move in hers in long, smooth strokes. It was overwhelming, the most beautiful thing she’d ever experienced. He claimed her body even as his eyes claimed her heart. The pleasure was every bit as intense as before, but it was deeper. It wasn’t simply the sharing of two bodies, but the sharing of two souls. He made love to her. To every part of her. Slowly, gently, and thoroughly. He was a part of her, and she never wanted to let him go.

  Finally, she could take no more. Her soft moans grew more urgent. He heard her silent plea and responded. His strokes started to lengthen. Deepen. Quicken. Become harder. She could feel his body tense under her fingertips even as hers started to break apart. She had to break apart. There was nowhere else to go.

  She cried out, the pleasure shattering over her in a slow, pulsing wave.

  “Oh, God,” he groaned, letting himself go. He came into her in a hot rush that melded with her own. It seemed to go on forever. The spasms reverberated through every inch of her, not letting go.

  It was just like before, except this time, when it did finally end, he rolled to the side, tucked her up against him, and held her as if he would never let go.

  It was a long time later when Ewen found the energy and the words to speak. He was humbled, and a little awed, by what had just happened. He’d never known it could be like that. He’d never felt closer to anyone in his life. He’d swived many women, but he’d only made love to one: the woman who would be his wife. He still couldn’t believe it.

  As if reading his mind, she asked, “How did you get Robert to agree?”

  She was cuddled against him with her cheek on his chest, playing with the spattering of dark hairs in a V at his neck, but to ask her question, she’d propped her chin on the back of her hand to gaze up at him.

  “You’d already done most of the work,” he said, running his fingers over the bare skin of her arm. “And so had my brethren.”

  Ewen still couldn’t believe they’d refused to go on any missions unless he was brought back. MacLeod had reminded Bruce that he’d given him full authority over the team. The Highland Guard fought for Bruce, but they were MacLeod’s men.

  “How did you get Walter to come to Dunstaffnage to help you plead your case?”

  “It wasn’t easy. But I made him see that I was more valuable as his man than not. I also might have given him the idea of an alternative bride.”

  Walter Stewart might be young, but he was every bit as ambitious as his kinsman James Douglas—and his kinsman Robert the Bruce, for that matter.

  She lifted a brow, intrigued. “One more impressive than a daughter of Mar?”

  He laughed at her affront. But in this case, yes. “I thought you wanted out of the betrothal, so I thought it better not to argue your finer parts,” he squeezed her bottom, “of which there are many.”

  She made a face, and then ruined the effect by laughing.

  He kissed her head and then drew her in closer. “What did you say to the king?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I just reminded him of all we’d done in his service.”

  “And?”

  “And reminded him of his own marriages.”

  “That’s it?”

  She shrugged again. “It was enough. But I came well prepared to plead my case and was confident he would see reason. Though I was not forced to use it, I had one argument that would ensure he would see things my way.”

  He looked at her skeptically. “I thought you were done being overconfident. The king was about as angry as I’ve ever seen him.”

  “Ah, but a good lawman always saves the best argument for last.”

  “And what argument is that?”

  Her eyes met his, and he felt something inside him shift even before she spoke. She put her hand over her stomach. “My menses are late.”

  He stilled. His body had sensed the import of he